|Photo from NewJerseyStage.com|
We're traveling through the Middle East, in a country that's not-entirely friendly to Americans. One night we're forced to leave a party being held in an abandoned grocery store when the police arrive. They've come because someone has complained that men and women have been seen dancing together.
We hop in a cab, but I immediately get a bad feeling about our driver. Sure enough, it turns out that he's part of the opposition, and he has a plan to take us to a farm far outside the city where several of his cohorts are waiting.
Before we can leave the city limits, though, our cab is attacked by a group of rioters in the street. Someone throws one of those old-fashioned fire extinguishers--the big silver kind--at us. It barely misses the other guy, and all four of us crouch down in the cab, trying to hide ourselves as much as possible.
We don't get out at our hotel--that would just tip everyone off as to where we're staying. So instead we get out several blocks away and sneak back to the hotel, dodging crowds, fires and gun fights.
We hide in our room until morning, while violence continues erupting just outside our window. When morning comes, we'll begin what we all know will be a long journey to safety.
Then I'm in New York City, for the Next Big Thing Awards. The ceremony is taking place in a museum, which is having an exhibition of famous discotheques throughout history. Several of them have been recreated, right down to the restrooms, which we're encouraged to use. I find myself in one based on ancient Roman baths, and I urinate into an elaborate fountain.
I comment that Chicago should have one of these, so that people would know they'd had a good time when they visited.
A fabulous drag queen nearby overhears my comment and finds it hysterical. "Good morning, bitch!" she says. I reply, "See you tomorrow!"