gimme gimme gimme

Time goes by ... so slowly

The words to Madonna's new song certainly fit my mood Saturday night at Roxy, when it felt like a lifetime passed between the time we talked our way through the VIP line (thanks, Darren — you're the best) and jammed our (mostly sober) selves onto what has to be the most crowded dance floor I've ever seen at the club.

In case you haven't been reading every fag blog in this city, Madge herself was supposed to make a "surprise" guest appearance. The BF and I fell for the hype, which is weird considering that neither of us are rabid Madonna fans. Nevertheless, we somehow found ourselves singing along, on cue, with the new single as Peter teased the audience with it just after midnight. And hating ourselves for being so damn predictable.

Waiting for your call, baby, night and day, I'm fed up ... I'm tired of waiting on you

I'm not sure there's enough vodka in the world to make me enjoy a mob scene like this. After standing in line for half an hour for the ATM (door karma in action, I guess) we kicked back a couple of Red Bulls and waded into the insanity.
Things were fine and good until about 1:45 a.m., when folks stopped dancing and started just standing and staring at the empty stage.
Darren disappeared, and Jeff turned his back to the circle. Even the BF abandoned me, clawing his way a few people ahead of us to get a better look at the spot where the Material Mom may or may not appear. I suddenly sobered up and started thinking that if Madonna didn't show, there was certainly going to be a riot at the Roxy. What a mess that was going to be. Stonewall be damned: This had all the makings of a gay Rodney King incident. Where again was the nearest exit?

Tick tick tock it's a quarter to two ... And I'm done ... I'm hanging up on you

Though Jeff had heard from a reliable source that Madonna was supposed to make her grand entrance at 2:30, a roar rose up in the V.I.P. area beside the DJ booth a few minutes after 2. And sure enough, out she sprang like Venus from the mists, sporting a blue dress and a retro hair wings lifted straight from "Thank God It's Friday."
The crowd shrieked like school girls. I'm not sure Christ on his second coming will earn a more spirited reaction. At least not from the gays. All around us, gym-perfect arms shot into the air, many of them clutching camera phones to capture the action.

Ring ring ring goes the telephone ... The lights are on but there's no one home

The BF realized that I could barely see above the crowd, so he was sweet enough to lift me up — like a handicapped child — just long enough to see the diva on stage. She didn't really sing, but danced around and kept prompting her Secret Service-looking security guys to pull screaming fags up from the crowd to do a little shag on stage. Poor queens. They can die happy now that they've touched Madonna.

In truth, I don't mind the new song, "Hung Up," even though it's a ripoff sample of Abba's "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)." The other two songs she danced to were less memorable, not so radio-friendly.

After the impromptu performance, the BF and I said goodbye to Jeffy and hit it for the coat check line. When I got home, I was dismayed to find that the photos/videos I took with my phone (yes, guilty) didn't turn out so great. Here's what I got:


So yeah. That white/blue blob to the right? That's her. Aren't I glad I sprang for the Razr?
Jesus.

Anyway, as I said before, every other homo in this city has been blogging about Madonna nonstop this past week. So there are plenty of other photos to be seen, if you're longing for more Madge. Yes, you could say they're "Hung Up" on her lately. Heh heh.
But I'm sure someone else has said that already.