Showtunes and Ambition

Last night my friends and I were celebrating the end of another manic Monday - it's not an unusual occurrence except for the fact that our employer has moved us down to oh-so-cool Tribeca, forcing us to leave Times Square, and the proximity of gay hotspots in Chelsea and Hell's Kitchen, behind. In the dark of the downtown night, we meandered uptown, past quaint but not gay, bars and restaurants. Where could we go in our skinny ties and pocket-squares to talk about ourselves, how smart we are and, most importantly, look at boys? Stay with me folks, there's a point to this post.

They say you learn something new every day. Last night, I learned that I better get my act together lest I wind up having to cozy up to octagenarian johns at a piano bar off Christopher Street to pay my rent (and let's face it, I'm pushing 30, who's gonna want this in a few years?). While Greenwich Village may be the historic center of gay life, it's also a modern-day hovel. Walking into the fabled Stonewall Inn on a lark, we were overwhelmed by the stench of history (?) or a smoking, but empty, hot dog roaster. Across the street at the Monster the crowd by the piano was merry, but a bit sad in my eyes. I wondered, will I too, one day after 30, be sitting at a piano singing "pa-pa, pa-pa-razziii" while some 19-year-old reaches for my wallet?

These are the questions one ponders as they near the end of their twenties. But, as I've said time and time again, I am a man of faith and I fully expect great things in life. So, yes, maybe one day I will have James tickle the ivories to play my favorite gay tracks, perhaps It's Not Right but it's OK in b-flat or something, but it'll be in my own home, perhaps overlooking Park Avenue or a bevvy of muscle marys in Rio, but I'll be just fine.