Toga, toga, toga!

The, uh, regular folks have a huge toga party at Sloppy's, and gay guys show up by the hundreds at the Equator guesthouse in Roman garb that is one helluva lot better accessorized. Gene sewed up the basic tunics for both Robert and me, and I draped an old Egyptian galabiya over it and put on one of John McBride's Maskerville creations, feeling quite pagan.

There is a lot of flesh on display at both venues, but they don't have R.V. Beaumont, drag extraordinaire, doing a running commentary on various . . . male features.

For some reason we felt like Italian food, and they put us in a window table at La Trattoria. That's Jerry on the left and Gene on the right.

The tortellini ala Romana were delicious.