As long as I'm passing by various New York institutions... comes word that the death of one has once again been staved off...
Some five generations of gay boys - gay generations, after all, being much shorter than others (hell, I went to Mars Needs Men, which makes me 105 in New York gay years - which is nothing compared to the Dorian Grays who can still claim to have been at The Saint - "which is when it all mattered, really") - have been influenced by Roxy, the nightclub that (still) defines Saturday night in gaytown. I 
probably belong to generation number 2 on that one, though my first fabulous night there was back before John Blair took it over and made it into the gym bunny paradise it remains to this day. From its drag queen entertainers to the go-go boys to the occasional stars (no, I didn't see Madonna there, but I saw several others) who just showed up "surprise"-like at 3 in the morning, Roxy was the place that perfected the nightclub as theme park.
Well, it appears Roxy was about to die... but it has been saved. Again. Long may she reign, I suppose, though I suspect the world is ready to move on. Although I miss the wondrous roller rink dancefloor, I can't start dancing at 1am these days, and in truth the music isn't what it once was. Ah, but the memories... :)
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