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So maybe we were wondering if we're
really up for this-- I mean, just how cozy was that bed and it's two
a.m. Monday morning of Black Party weekend, and we were out at Black
Party last night, and now it's kinda cold and icky outside-
But never mind, here we are, again in front of Crobar, and without
even thinking about it, our pulses quicken as we step out of the cab
and past the doormen and up the stairs, and oh God, it's
starting--Starting all over. You can hear it in the background. You
can hear it everywhere. It's Abel, sure as jack. And the boys are
here to party and play, all night long and morning, too. And OMG,
it's our girl Marion. She's here – a surprise appearance, looking as
cute as Rebecca of Sunnybrook and a hundred times as hot, and legal
too. So we make plans to meet, meet somewhere in the mayhem, and
onward we plunge, deeper into the party--
Alegria Xtreme 5, and already it's extreme. Abel's pounding into us,
seeping into our veins before we're through the Reed Room and into
the blue conversion tunnel – and out into the Big Room where—This
party is happening. It's the last hurrah before the fall of Saigon.
It's an aircraft carrier and everyone's partying on-decks. It's the
Intrepid before it's docked. There's a helicopter soaring over the
shirtless masses and camouflaged soldiers scaling the webbed nets
and barely camouflaged gogo boys gyrating on the speakers,
lowering their pants, exposing all there is to expose.
We're dancing along the railing, riveted by the throbbing orgasm at
our feet. An entire room of beautiful people grooving to Abel's
propulsive beat. You can't resist; you can't fight it. Your body's
taking over now, leaving reason behind, and you follow where Abel
leads. You're enthralled to Alegria and it's a marvel to witness.
This exertion of energy, the power of music to make you do its
bidding. And there goes Ric flying up the stairs looking better than
a body has a right to, given all that should be on his mind, the
every little detail, the thousands of details – and yet somehow he
makes it all come together. Two thousand people partying with energy
enough to send this aircraft carrier crashing out onto the street
and up into the sky.
It's the last party of the weekend. The biggest blowout of a blowout
week. Say goodbye, winter, hello, spring – and bring on the
hormones, the pheromones, and drop the drawers and here they come--
There's that sound again. No, not that one, the other one. There she
is, Zora Saunders or Inda Matrix, or whatever her name is, and she's
singing that song-- No, not that song, the other one. The other song
that makes the boys cheer and clap, the song they've been waiting
for-- Waiting for tonight-- Waiting for – ALEGRIA. And Zora Inda
Whatever rips into it as the foghorn blasts and her two humpy
servicemen pound the floor alongside her as a hydraulic lift slides
the three of them up the back wall of Crobar–
And now the crowd's crazy because now it's really here. We're all
living it now, everything we've waited for since the last one, the
last one we loved so much, and it's here again, Alegria again, the
Alegria we love, and it's the same but it's not, it's different
every time, because no day's the same as the day before, and no
moment is either, and never is one Alegria exactly like the other,
no more than making love to the same person is the same time after
time – and all of which is to say, no, this boat ain't jumped no
shark – it's all good, it's still happening – and if you have any
doubt, all you need do is stand where we're standing, dance where
we're dancing, hear what we're hearing and gaze all around – because
this party is now.
That gallop, that pounding gallop, Abel's got us moving across the
deserts of the galaxy, sailing through the stormy waters of the
universe, and everyone you love, all these humpy boys and girls are
dancing alongside you, with you, like SAP Jeff from Portland, and
Alan F. and his Joey and some cutie they've roped into their posse,
and Joe Caro, of course, thank the heavens for Ninja Joe Caro and
his inimitable style and his unflagging energy--
And meanwhile in the Prop Room, Alyson Calagna's ripping it up. She
feels the Big Room and she's taking it and making it her own thing.
She's got her own thing going on, no apologies necessary. She knows
what she's doing and it's clear it won't be long before she's
driving us in the Big Room – and uh—
Wait a minute, oh my— My goodness, but who is that sweet cherry pie?
Hiding back here in the Prop Room, there's this most adorable
bartender, the kind of boy who makes you pause for beauty-- We're
riveted by his every move, his own bartender dance, as he twirls and
points his fingers, dancing in front of his row of bottles, and if
there was justice in this world, he'd be roped and bound and gagged
and in the backseat of our cab-- If we were going home, that is,
which we're not, not yet, so never mind-- You gotta keep moving on.
And there's Marion again-- Our global dancing nomad, this girl knows
a good time and now we're back in the Big Room, and she's dancing
near the bar for her hottie behind the bar – what is it with these
fresh-faced bartender boyz? – and she knows him, he knows her –and
they've got a thing going on and—
All at once, there's an explosion, and whoa, we're off again with
another production number and the hydraulic lift is scaling the back
wall, with half a dozen or ten soldiers in camouflage rising above
the crowd – and then BAM, the lights explode and instead of war and
devastation there's PEACE above the crowd. A sparkling white
ten-foot lettered PEACE sign shimmering white gold and shooting
sparks while a tsunami of confetti washes over this party extreme.
Extreme times five. Frisky extreme boys, and boys extreme in their
outfits with chain mail and feathers and black netting and black
lace and leather, leather, leather – and Marion's scooping up
confetti with a fiendish grin – tossing handfuls at her bartender –
and it's Abel's birthday and there's Inda Zora Whatever partying
with her film crew – because even she's powerless to resist this
beat.
We're on the staircase looking down into the maelstrom – dancing on
the staircase, dancing to Abel who's making us werk. He knows what
we need, how we need it harder, faster, deeper--
Oh, yeah, Sundays at Alegria, now and forever, with all the hundreds
of hotties, all the boyz who fly in from all over the country, like
Goofy Ramon who we don't even get to meet, but we know how he flew
across country for his first time to New York, and all he's doing in
New York are the parties, because Miss Liberty ain't going nowhere.
It's boys like him who make this party, boys who come from all
around the world because this is it: this is Alegria. This is the
party for right now.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
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