Moon Memo: Coffee on Davie
Good morning from Melriches Coffee, deep in the heart of Davie Village in Vancouver British Columbia. It took me a while to get here today. Drove around a lot of the city looking for a place to write. And I found myself dragged right on back to The Village, where I spent last night people watching and dancing with leather clad gay men and watching two different drag performances. Portland claims to be a queer city, and it is. Everwhere you will find queer people. But to be deep in a separate space, two blocks of gay owned bars and coffee shops and diners and rainbow crosswalks. It's delightful. It's something magical, to know that you are in a place based around its queer identity. At one table, 4 bears are talking business. At another, a couple of indeterminate gender are huddled together. An old queen trundles in, out of character, her eyebrows plucked from last night's shows, ready for tonight. It's beautiful.
I've been on this trip for two days, and already met at least 20 trans people. They all have the same look as trans people everywhere: low key worry. Not wanting to be openly out in unsafe places. Gregarious only when drunk. The drag show last night was wonderful, but every queer person in there had their guard up until the alcohol settled in. But then they got too cuddly, too overwhelmed by the energy around them. We get to love each other. Even in a half assed drag show. Not to discredit the performers, but the crowd was predominantly cis and pretty. I had at least 3 people buy me drinks, though. I drank so much ginger ale.
Stuck out like a sore thumb in my leather dyke outfit, expecting that I would be dancing with the leather boys at a gay bar just down the street. That was definitely a masculine crowd, and people looked at me like I was an alien flown in from Mars, or the states, which I am. But I was able to dance a little bit, let the rhythm take me over, like it always does. Soaked up the energy of gay men, cruising lightly but mostly there with their husbands. It was definitely a crowd of a certain age, which honestly is my age right now. (Gordon Lightfoot just came on the radio. What a stereotype. I love it.)
"She keeps shrinking, my little Gayborhood," the old woman said. Owner of Little Sister's Books, sex shop and zine emporium, sex positive fighter of censorship, and hub of the community. Found Casey Plett's books on the shelves, so I felt like all was well. But yes, these queer places are shrinking, especially as we assimilate. I hope we never full assimilate.
I parked specifically beside the Sex Worker's memorial. Remembering watching Hookers on Davie a few months ago, with a room that I found out later was full of sex workers. All of them gathering late at night at Hamburger Mary's. Mary's is now pacified, a gleaming Drag Race dream. https://youtu.be/uQ_Akrckd0E?si=3XnGtXqvbR1X4ZHt
Last night, a moment that was a poem in itself: room full of gay men carousing and dancing, all in classy leather, not the hard edge that I expected. But at the bar a man in his 70s is sitting with a jug of beer and the crossword, oblivious to everything around him. This is his place, HIV hallowed but vital, now having to deal with the inevitability of time. I wonder what kind of stories he has to tell?
