Swan Song of the Chute Complex

The first gay bar I ever visited was in New York City many, many years ago. It was a place in the village called "Nuts and Bolts." I remember it as a warm, friendly, cozy, little place where the beer was cold. I don't know what happened to it, but that was my initiation. After that first time, it was many months before I darkened the door of any other gay bar. Probably the third or fourth was a place called the Chute Complex in Nashville, TN. Alas, this bar is closing. This weekend. Sure, I have many memories of the Chute and the people I met there. And, looking back on things, I would have even more memories if there never existed something called a "beer blast." Lots of the memories revolved around good conversation with friends in the "Silver Stirrup" piano bar component of the complex or karaoke in the "main stage" section. Oh, and there were some cute guys from time to time.

When I lived in Nashville, the gay community congregated in different venues all over town. Now, the city seems to be getting its own "gayborhood." I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but for the short term, it is at worst an experiment worth trying in Tennessee.

I have written a letter to the owner, offering best wishes on what must be a sad occasion. I haven't yet heard from him, but I hope he writes back before long. Cheers to Papa (Don) and all the other fine folks I have met through the Chute. Drive safely.

This post has no headline. That could apply to the feeling I had while bypassing the Grand Central Station on the 6 line this morning. The train operator gave ample warning at 86th Street and 59th Street and 51st Street that no green line trains were stopping at Grand Central. Remnants of the steam explosion yesterday...

It was odd to enter the station and see no passengers standing on the platform, maneuvering into place to assure themselves of a familiar entry point on their daily jaunts to work or to school or to whatever awaits them at their final destinations.

Lately I've been recording episodes of "Twilight Zone" and watching them late at night when sleep eludes me. This morning I actually wondered if Rod Serling might step from behind a column and warn some unseen, distant viewer that this train had just entered a place where passenger cars are not always crowded, and stations are not always bustling.

Hairy Toes

When I am on the subway, I am usually reading. When I am not reading, I still keep my head down just so I won't accidentally make eye contact with someone I'd rather not see. Some might consider this a form of social retardation, but I just consider it a way to enjoy an oasis of solitude in a desert of strangers.

Keeping my head down also incubates questions in my mind. A recent question is, "do women have hairy toes?" With summer now in full swing, flip-flops have emerged on the city's feet like cicadas on their first day of flight. I have noticed toes of all kinds and shapes and sizes. Almost without fail, every guy's foot I have seen has hairy toes. And 100% of women's toes I have seen lack a single hair. Is this a gender thing? At first I thought that women must include the removal of toe hairs as a part of regular grooming. But I have seen feet on several women that are completely ungroomed (yes, nasty, even). And, no toe-hair.

It really makes no difference, but it is one of so many things that occupy the mind of a simple Kentucky boy still learning his way around the big city.