Although I have been a veteran of Daniel Nardicio's underwear extravaganzas on Fire Island, since they originated at the Tides before moving to the Ice Palace and elsewhere, I had never attended one of his and DJ Adam's Speakeasy parties in New York City-until January 15. An address, in deepest Loisaida, was given to a select mailing list, and no club name, it seemed, was mentioned, but there was a password, "Crude Awakening," to gain admittance, as there was at real Prohibition-era speakeasies, and there was a painting of Oscar Wilde on the wall.
There were go-go dancers atop the bar, some in hardhats and little else, but photography was discouraged-even some of those in the limelight declined to pose. Still, I got to shoot the divo of the hour-smoldering Bulldog, of Playgirl fame-and one of the guys-Keith-asked me to take pictures of him. There was a smattering of Fire Island faces-Julien, Thierry, and a host of others whom I don't know by name. It was, by and large, a young crowd, fairly devoid of body hair, but, as with so many of these affairs, there was, ultimately, someone for nearly everyone.
