I wrote this while waiting two hours for a delayed plane in Seattle's airport, so it's a bit turgid.

A ticket to the well-known but banal 2006 Flash Forward conference brought me to the lovely city of Seattle in late February. Flash compositing examples can be had here: www.fmaonline.com/ff06_seattle

But I digress...

I hadn’t visited the area in nearly a decade, so I was anxious to explore Seattle’s gay nightlife. Unfortunately, on the day of my flight, I managed to give myself a mild case of food poisoning. The prospect of getting on a packed two-hour flight feeling like I could barf out of one end or the other at any moment was no fun. I almost backed out of the entire trip, but the tickets and conference fees were nonrefundable, so I emptied my guts as much as possible and perservered.

I didn't go out my first night in Seattle, mostly because I was sick. Explosive diarrhea is just never sexy. This hasn't stopped me in the past, but as a 40-year old gay man, I'm allowed to skip a night of carousing once or twice a year.

NOTE: Weeknights aren’t a fair measure of the popularity or clientele of a bar, so take these comments with a grain of salt.

I booked myself into the Paramount Hotel through a deal with Alaska Airlines, mostly to save the company about $300. The hotel—newly remodeled, great staff, plain-jane rooms, impossibly noisy heater—was serviceable, but not spectacular. As I’m writing this, I’m drifting off because like I said I never actually got a complete night’s sleep, and not in a fun way. As chance would have it, the Paramount is one of the closest hotels to the Capital Hill bar scene.

The Seattle Eagle is about a 10-minute (uphill) walk from the Paramount. Seattle gay bars have surprisingly bad signage. I walked right past the bar and only found it when a tiny flyer for a bear event caught my eye. There were five other men there when I arrived, two of whom were perched in front of video games. Bad sign, but I decided to stay for a drink.

The bar has an odd layout (due to a fire, I was told later). A small bar is on the first level, and the pool table and a short catwalk are on the second. There's no real separation between the first and second floors; it's just one tall room. A large video screen takes up one wall. That night’s feature was a cowboy jerk off video. Zzzzzz. If it was busy, I probably wouldn't have left.

There’s no patio to smoke although it looked like an outdoor space in the back that was closed that night. The bartender and other patrons all seemed occupied and not chatty, so I finished half my drink then headed up Pike St.

I don't know who is doing their advertising work, but they do one hell of a job.

I’d met a bear at the International Bear Rendezvous in San Francisco in February, and he highly recommended “C.C.” if I was into bears. Even though I've given up on the whole bear thing, I wanted to see it. According to locals, this is in fact the default bear bar on the weekends.

Lesson #433: Never assume maps in gay periodicals are accurate. They just put those dots wherever they feel like. After a bit of searching, I finally saw the giant white lighted sign for C&C. Unfortunately, the building has two other bar names on it (Man Hole and something else), so I wandered around for awhile looking for the entrance.

There’s a brightly lit front bar and restaurant (closed by the time I arrived) and a separate back bar with really bad lighting (think 50s diner). I’d never hang out in a place like this, no matter who went there. I was tired, and the bearish bartender was cute, so I perched there and sipped a bourbon. The three of us sat there quietly watching reruns of Match Game from the 70s...which was strangely entertaining.

There’s one pool table, but I overheard the bartender say that they shut it down at 11 p.m. I could be wrong. Anyway, I only ventured to the back bar because you can only get to the smoking patio through the other bar. The smoking patio is a long narrow balcony overlooking the park, which would be a nice place to sit if it weren't 35 degrees and raining.

This is the bar I’d probably hang out at if I lived here. I’m really glad I decided to make one last stop, because the evening would have been a dog otherwise (more on this theme later).

This isn’t the easiest place to find. The front door faces 13th street at the corner of Pine and the door isn’t clearly marked (I again walked right past it and only figured out it was the bar from the drunken laughter from behind a high fence.

Cuff Complex is huge, especially for a leather/levi/bear bar. There’s a decent-sized front bar (about the size of the inside of The Eagle in SF), a separate dance floor downstairs, and a large paved outdoor area for smoking (no plants, but lots of space). The outdoor area has a double garage-sized tent and a heater in a smaller back tent for the smokers. There’s a separate dance floor downstairs, about the same size as the front bar.

After my little tour, Rick—an Abilene escapee and the bartender that night—introduced himself to the tourist (me). I was feeling a little drunk and faintly queasy from the food poisoning, but he was so friendly and handsome that I forgot about rubbing my aching calves through my chaps.

I mentioned to Rick for some reason that I was moving to Montreal, mostly because French-Canadian men are the sexiest people on earth. Lo and behold, Rick is half French-Canadian. Ka-ching!

I always feel like a fraud when I go into leather bars in chaps, but it gets conversations started. I always wonder exactly what people think when they see me in leather: am I into some form of S/M? Does he know Midori? Why am I even worrying about stuff like this when I know most men are frauds?

But enough internal monologue...

Rick introduced Jeff who was helping out that night. Jeff owns a local leather shop, Dog House Leather, which is sort of named after his other half who he said has puppy dog eyes. I left it at that. I mentioned that I designed the logo for The Brotherhood in San Jose, so he showed me two of the logos he was having designed: one for the Seattle Men in Leather (SML) group and one for his shop. It pays to be a designer sometimes.

The front bar has a pool table, pinball machines, dartboards, and several electronic games, and the night I visited was “free game” night, so a lot of people were hovering around poking at touchscreens. They serve hot snack foods (chicken wings, etc.), which is pretty unusual at a leather bar.

Smokers note: They sell cigarettes, but I was forewarned that they were $7 a box for some reason, so stock up before you go. Cab fare was just under $5.

Cool Weather Mardi Gras
Got a late start on Mardi Gras night because I wanted to meet up with my best friend from high school (we had a fabulous Malaysian dinner near Redmond). I got to Cuff Complex at around 11, which was in time for Bear Karaoke in the dance room. There was at least one singer, Bobby—a past Star Search performer—who blew the house down. Amazing performer, and a great pool player.

The bar wasn’t much busier than the night before, but the crowd was livelier/drunker. I was told that Seattle gay boys are still doing a lot of party drugs, so barfing isn’t all that uncommon on the weekends.

Rick looked busy, so I watched people play pool and got drunk.

Alcohol does some lovely things to you fantasy life. What do you say to a friendly, sexy guy who has had a ¾” metal chain and padlock swinging around his neck for the past 11 years? If I even wanted to play, would I need a note from his daddy?

After my third Jack Daniels on the rocks, I started zen flirting with the locals. This wasn't difficult since I was fresh meat and therefore would still be the center of attention even if I was 3' tall, smelled like a turnip, and had a horn sticking out of my neck...which is not all that far from the truth. In any case, I ate it up, and as a tourist I think that's my right.

Judging from the two nights, I’ll say that Seattle gay men are on the whole exactly the same as their San Francisco or San Jose counterparts, which bolsters my theory that gay men are the same no matter where you go. The only difference seems to be that they don’t feel the cold.