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July 01-31 picks
OFM IS PUBLISHED BY OFM PUBLISHING, LLC, A COLORADO CORPORATION 1 6 10 13 11 14 16 18 19 25
Lesbian Night
Bad Habits
5 4 26
Poetry Open Mic
The Pearl
Making the Space Artists Market
Lady Justice Brewing
Comedy Queens
RISE Comedy
Colorado Burlesque Festival
ReelWorks Denver
Denver’s Annual Halloween in July
Tracks Denver
Queer Bazaar
Bierstadt Lagerhaus
Drag Me to Pride: Classics
D3 Arts
Gay Games Denver Community Night
ReelWorks Denver
Talia Tucker’s Musical Bingo
Bierstadt Lagerhaus
Spectacular Drag
Barfly
Queer Comedy & Arts Festival
Town Hall Collaborative
Mk.gee
Filllmore Auditorium
This time of year, we take a little bit of time for Pride reflection following the big blow-out in June. And while we do that, it’s easy to fall into the nostalgia of reflection and start to feel sorry for ourselves. We look at other Prides in the past when there was more funding for the queer community, when the world didn’t seem like such a scary place, and we fall into a desire to escape the now and disappear into the past.
Don’t get me wrong—Memories and reflection are super important to the queer community. We need to remember where we come from, the legacy of Pride, Stonewall, our Black trans sisters who paved the way, and our queer family lost to HIV and AIDS. And personal reflection is super important for self-development and for celebrating life. We never know how long we have on this planet, and memories are more precious than wealth.
But despite all that, there’s a side of reflection that can fall into the selfpity category. For example, it’s easy for me to sit here and think about how much better OFM had it pre-COVID, when we had a big team, a massive Pride issue, a ton of sales, and a better economy. It’s easy to even look back at last year when Trump wasn’t in his second term and it felt like there was hope of pushing the country in a more progressive direction.
While our present-day fears and nostalgia might be completely valid, it’s also very important to recognize that right now, this year, the first year of Trump’s second term, is going to go down in history as perhaps another Stonewall-like era for the queer community. We are actively making history and showing that Pride has always been a protest and a party, and we aren’t backing down. What we do this year will be important, and it will be remembered.
And we also need to look forward. Too often, I see doom-andgloom rhetoric about this being the end of the line. While fears from the queer community are extremely valid, it’s also important to remember that we’re fighting, and partying, during Pride to make sure that we have a legacy of queer joy before us, and that those who come after us do as well.
So this year, while you reflect on Prides past, don’t forget to find the joy, and the fight, in this year’s Pride, and make sure to enjoy the moment and also look forward to all the amazing queer years to come. I refuse to think even for a second that this is the beginning of the end for Pride celebrations in the U.S. It’s something that will ultimately make us strong enough to keep facing the challenges and celebrating the joy.
-Addison Herron-Wheeler
FROM THE EDITOR
FOR Many pRIDEs TOcOME
When my ex-husband told me in writing he was going to get me in front of a judge to prove me a liar and a fraud, I didn’t flinch. He was right about court. I too knew it would be the only way to live a life of autonomy for me and my kids. Leading up to one of many court appearances, a trial where decision-making rights for healthcare (which I won) and parenting time on the table, my exhusband wrote a letter to the Adams county Judge presiding over our case.
“Should the children not be exchanged ... I wanted to please make the Court aware of how I hope to proceed. I will file a Motion for Contempt … I will
HOLDING TRANS HOPE THROUGH FAMILY COURT
By Alex Vaughan
ask for Immediate Decision Making indefinitely. I will ask for the police to arrest Alex Vaughan. I will ask that the police be allowed to remove the children from Alex Vaughan’s home and place … directly into my care.”
I was going back to work full-time, and my ex-husband had a long history of using tactics of coercive control to get what he wanted. This included (but was not limited to) bullying me to give him parenting time that wasn’t his, denying care our children needed, purposeful misgendering and deadnaming me and our child, withholding child support as punishment, filing relentless motions in court representing himself pro se,
Photos by Becky Duffyhill
accusing me of hiding inheritance I’d received from my deceased father (all of which I had to use for legal fees), demanding $50,000 in random settlements, verbally and psychologically assaulting me, my lawyer, and the Child Legal Representative over Talking Parents, text, and emails.
His behavior at in-person exchanges was quiet violence. Hard staring, menacing, and stiff body language; he brought a white board with a dry erase marker (he’s a teacher) with
him, telling the kids he was going to write down anything I did he saw as problematic. This was after the judge told him to stop recording us with his phone. He threatened to report any provider to their governing board who would not give him information he wanted to appointments he didn’t attend and wasn’t invited to. He filed a motion to check paternity when my daughter started puberty blockers, taking hair from her hairbrush for DNA.
As the Child and Family Investigator, Dr. Mark Kilmer, suspended in 2023
from the Colorado court system, wrote in our 2022 report, “Mother should not go anywhere near Father,” recommending that I do not interact with him face-to-face whatsoever because he saw how “problemsolving becomes impossible and/or unnecessarily delayed.” This record of domestic abuse went ignored. Living through this dehumanization, my ex-husband could not understand that who my daughter and I are as transgender people, and how we live, is not his decision nor in his control.
Without the support of the court, I knew that any flow of life would be stopped dead in its tracks. How? Because I’d been living in it for years. After receiving notice of the letter he wrote to the judge, I laid on the back porch in the sunlight for 30 minutes, breathing, crying, letting my nervous system alchemize the energy. I laughed. These threats, though empty, were frequent and came at a relentless pace. It was intentional, attempts to pummel me, to make me feel like I couldn’t keep up. As a trans child, my daughter’s life entered the courtroom carrying assumptions by her father to which she didn’t consent. My wife and I made a point to laugh often, especially during those five years we spent in family court, because laughter brought exceptional relief amidst a time where life felt stranger and more dangerous than fiction.
Being a transgender, nonbinary parent to a transgender child, I had a huge advantage—my lived experience—but it held nuance I was not sure providers nor the court would be able to see nor feel. The hearing when the magistrate berated me and my ex-husband for not “getting along” revealed to me how heteronormative narratives rule, and transphobia will be impossible to detect to the untrained heart. Every motion filed, every hearing attended, and every trial held was holding onto hope that the Universe was looking out for us. Every step alongside my lawyer was purposeful and intentional to make a dent in a system that was not built for us.
I was the system’s best nightmare—a queer parent, a queer coach, protective and unwilling to be silent. There is a very hard line to draw when a parent dehumanizes their child. Joy
can diffuse fear. Creating an authentic life is a radical act of love and the legal system is designed to not only let transgender people fall through the cracks, but ignore them completely. It says, “If we dismiss, invalidate, minimize, and exploit them, we can keep ignoring them, and then, they won’t exist.”
Going through family court was a risk as an LGBTQ+ family, one that impacted me, my wife, and kids in so many ways. It changed us. As a family, we transitioned—even those of us who aren’t trans—into allies, advocates, and accomplices. Our case ended in wins but winning wasn’t about getting all the parenting time and decision making. My mission was to break the cycle so my children could grow up free and brave to be honest about who they are.
The fact that my wife and I had the privilege and opportunity to even navigate the system is never far from my mind. The system is structurally gendered, often inconsistent, and frequently hostile and unprepared to meet the needs of transgender people. It is exhaustive on purpose, especially to marginalized identities. Knowing what we were up against, I was intentional about securing transaffirming legal representation to build a strong and impactful team. Every provider or court-appointed official involved in our case had to understand how to advocate for my daughter— because her life was at stake. She is honest about who she is, and for that, her father dragged her through his hell. Getting honest with myself included not covering for cowards.
As a Nationally Certified Recovery Coach, LGBTQ Peer Support Specialist and a fitness instructor, the wellbeing of the transgender/noncis community is my specialization. Currently, many states are revealing how they do not possess the compassion, the emotional awareness, nor the heart-centered skills required to navigate nuanced care with the trans community. My daughter calls me and my wife, Kim, her bonus mom, her fiercest protectors. And she’s right. We are. Trans kids shouldn’t need protection from their own caregivers or their own states. It’s their birthright to have equal access to care, love, and safety from the very start.
APRIL 20, 2025—AUGUST 17, 2025
By
The Story of Ash A JOURNEY OF GRIT, GRACE, & GASTRONOMY
PICTURE IT: Paonia, Colorado, the mid80s. A little hippie kid with big dreams and an even bigger appetite for life. I grew up in a world steeped in macrobiotics, meditation, and brown rice. Food was never just sustenance—It was philosophy, ritual, creativity, and connection. I didn’t know it then, but this early exposure would shape every twist and turn of my life, career, and identity.
The journey hasn’t always been a straight path—and frankly, thank goddess for that. I’ve zigzagged through restaurant kitchens, fine wine shops, culinary schools, private cheffing gigs, management roles, and now—perhaps most rewarding of all—I’m using my words to nourish others as a food writer. My story is proof that no experience is wasted, even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones.
There were moments I doubted myself. I’ve been underestimated, dismissed, and yes fired. I’ve felt the sting of imposter syndrome and the ache of reinvention.
But I’ve also felt the thrill of rediscovery. Every time I sharpened a knife, opened a bottle, led a team, or told a story— I found my voice a little more.
Realizing that I had made the conscious decision to not to have a preference when it came to gender preference hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been one of the great spices in my life’s recipe. My sexual fluidity isn’t just part of me—It flavors everything I do. It gives me compassion. It gives me my sparkle. It gives me resilience. It gives me wings!
But it wasn’t until I truly began writing—openly, honestly, and unapologetically—that I became part of the LGBTQ+ community in a real and connected way. Through interviews, feature stories, event coverage, and sharing my own experience, I found myself surrounded by a vibrant network of queer chefs, drag performers, activists, artists, and culture-makers. My writing became a kind of connective tissue—a way to celebrate, uplift, and reflect the beauty and brilliance of our community. And woven through it all, there’s Lyle Dean Duke—my dear friend of 30 years, also known as Gadgette. A wild, crazy, livin’ out loud princess and an irreplaceable constant in my life. Lyle has seen every version of me: the scrappy new kid in the big city, the heartbroken girl, the passionate storyteller. Our friendship has been a bedrock of humor, love, and chosen family. His presence in my life long before
I fully understood my own identity gave me an unspoken permission to explore, to embrace, and eventually to shine.
Through these friendships and interactions, I didn’t just write about LGBTQ+ folks—I became a part of the chorus. A participant, not just an observer. I’ve MCed queer food events, danced my ass off at Charlie’s and in rainbow-lit kitchens, swapped coming-out stories over cocktails, and witnessed firsthand the power of food and storytelling to create family where there once was none.
Because the truth is, being part of this community has given me far more than just a place to stand—It’s given me a family. A sense of belonging so deep and true that it’s transformed me. Through the LGBTQ+ community, I’ve grown in ways I never imagined. I’ve learned to love others more fully, to see beauty in difference, and most importantly, to accept and love myself with grace and pride. I am not the same person I was before—I am more whole, more vibrant, and more alive.
I write because it’s how I process the world. I write because I believe stories are sacred. And I write because I want the next generation of queer kids, kitchen lifers, misfits, and dreamers to know they belong. In the dining room. In the spotlight. At the head of the table.
Today, I’m still learning. Still cooking. Still listening. Still growing. And maybe most importantly, still laughing. Life has asked me to pivot, to grow, to stretch beyond what I thought I was capable of. And every time I said "yes" to that scary next step, I found something golden on the other side.
So, here’s to the late bloomers, the career shifters, the creatives, the LGBTQ+ trailblazers, and every beautifully complicated soul on a journey of their own. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we are never too much, never too late, and never too far gone to become the fullest version of ourselves.
I’m Ashley Trego—food writer, lifelong student of flavor, and a phoenix made of sass, salt, and soul.
303-582-5283 | gilpinhistory@live.com Check out upcoming events at gilpinhistory.org
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All
THE DEVILS
THISPOEMAPPEARSINTHE COLLECTIONPUNKROCK AND SCIENCE FICTION, PUBLISHED JUNE 2025 BY QPUBLISHINGHOUSE.
by Julie River
I had to make room for my true self inside.
When all the devils begin to scream, Do you hear their voices when you put on your bra in the morning? Do they tell you that we aren’t women?
Dear Laura Jane,
When I was a child I used to fantasize
That I was secretly a robot designed to look like a boy And that there was a girl somewhere inside operating the robot.
It was why I had to be so freakishly large
I used to imagine that, one day, the boy robot would open up And the girl inside would step out.
I believe that that day has come.
Dear Laura, Are trans lesbians a thing? Are they a thing that I’m allowed to be? Because everyone keeps acting like they’re not.
Dear Laura, Did she leave me because I said I wanted to be her girlfriend instead of her boyfriend?
Dear Laura,
Is that what happened with your wife, too?
Dearest Trans Queen of Punk, Will the ghost of David Bowie fight alongside us?
Iggy Pop with a pencil skirt and high heels
Ian Stuart’s only talking to himself.
GG Allin explodes all over the place.
Dear Laura,
I don’t love it when people say that I’ve always been a woman trapped in a man’s body. I’ve never felt like a woman trapped in a man’s body.
Except that time about a minute ago where I told you that I used to imagine that I was literally a girl trapped in a robot boy’s body. OK, I’m complicated.
But I don’t like this whole idea that somehow
Until the day I first put on a dress I was living a lie and that somehow all that life was invalid,
A prank the world was playing on me that I wasn’t in on.
We love to talk about being born this way
Because it implies that there was never a choice.
I don’t know why we focus so much on choice in the LGBT community.
I get it, none of this is a choice, but what difference does that make?
If you could definitively prove to me,
Beyond a shadow of a doubt
That being gay, bi, lesbian, transgender, genderqueer, asexual, or whatever else was a choice
I’d still fight to the death for everyone’s right to live their life
The way they fucking choose to. And if you could definitely prove to the haters, The toxic Christians, The army of darkness
That none of this is a choice
That we are absolutely born this way
Do we somehow think they would just relent?
Do we think that America is a land where nobody is
discriminated against for something they never chose?
Something they were born with?
Show me in the history book where that happens
Because I must have missed that part.
Dear Laura Jane Grace, I spend so many hours worried that I’ll change my mind someday
That maybe I’m not as trans as other people, That someday I’ll realize I’m not really born this way. And I’ve come to the conclusion that who the fuck cares?
This is who I am today, And I make no promises about who I will be tomorrow
And I refuse to hold any obligation
To be the person I was yesterday.
Dear True Trans Soul Rebel,
Today my name is Julie. And I still love you, too.
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TIGER CHAMPAGNE
A QUEER-OWNED RESTAURANT THAT LIVES ITS MISSION
ABOUT THE QUEENS
Pony and Anita Goodman have long admired and supported the drag community, but it wasn't until 2023 that they both had their first ever drag show which was with Champagne Tiger at Sunday Vinyl. These sisters in drag have since started hosting a monthly show at Champagne Tiger on the first Sunday of every month, while Anita hosts Drag Bingo at XBar on Saturdays, and individually they perform across the city at multiple events and venues. Their unique shows blend their personalities and talents in seamless expression of true queer joy. They are dedicated not only to a good time but work to supporting the whole queer community and have raised over $1,000 for Black Pride through their shows at Champagne Tiger.
by Ash Trego
This isn’t a rainbow-washed corporate eatery slapping a Pride flag on the wall every June. Champagne Tiger is unapologetically queer every day of the year. It’s baked into the menu, painted on the walls, and woven into the very purpose of the place.
“Champagne Tiger is a platform to showcase queer excellence,” owner Chris Donato explains. “We want everyone—especially queer folks— to feel seen, celebrated, and fed with intention.”
To that end, the Tiger regularly roars for the community. Fundraisers, queer weddings, engagement dinners, nonprofit happy hours, and birthday blowouts are all part of the rhythm. The restaurant partners with a growing list of local LGBTQ+ organizations, including: Black Pride Colorado, Rainbow Cult, The Center on Colfax, Envision:You, Haus of Other, Yes Please, and OFM.
Champagne Tiger is more than a brunch or dinner reservation. It’s a movement with martinis.
Photos by Ivy Owens
Champagne Tiger, it’s a signature dish—and for good reason. Let’s get into it and talk about that French omelette with shaved truffles (and everything else).
“Our French omelette is thin, not fluffy. It has a soft-scrambled interior and Boursin cheese that melts into this rich, silky bite,” says Donato. “Then we serve it with a local farm arugula salad to balance that richness.” “It's the kind of dish that makes you put your phone down and say, Oh hell yes!”
But don’t stop there. Chef Josh Hood, formerly of major Tom and Beckon, has created a menu that’s both whimsical and refined. Think Julia Child gets ready for a dinner party with a drag queen.
Menu IncludeHighlights
•Brunch Carbonara – Classic comfort with poached egg drama.
•Oysters & Caviar – Luxe and luscious, for when your inner diva needs pampering.
•Fried Chicken Thursdays –Crispy, juicy, and best paired with live music and bourbon.
•Handmade Pasta Wednesdays
– Cozy up with rotating pasta specials and piano music.
There’s also a killer kimchi grilled cheese that gets the gourmet treatment, and a burger that could make a grown-ass queen weep. The menu balances indulgence and precision with a wink—and sometimes a rhinestone.
Top Picks Include
•Champagne by the glass (or bottle) – Because it’s not just a name, it’s a lifestyle.
•Tiger Spritz– An aperol, bubbles, and grapefruit cocktail that might make you purr.
• Slippery When Wet– Herbacious and refreshing, it's been on the menu since they opened.
Whether you’re there for martini lunch Fridays or raising a glass at drag brunch, every sip feels like a celebration.
and a lineup that includes iconic performers like Felony Misdemeanor, Anastasia Krystals, Pony and Anita Goodman, and more. There are wigs. There are splits. There are high notes and higher heels. And yes, there are mimosas by the gallon.
Reservations fill fast, so plan ahead or prepare to stalk the patio.
Indoor reservations are available via the website. The garden patio is first come, first served—and ideal for sunny sipping or sultry stargazing.
Final Word: This is Not Just a Restaurant. It’s a Revolution.
Baby, now let’s talk about cocktails. Every drink at Champagne Tiger feels like it could have its own entrance music. The cocktail list leans into effervescence and playfulness with standout martinis, sparkling wines, and whimsical concoctions that perfectly match the maximalist vibe.
Denver’s Best Drag Brunch Lives Here
Sundays at Champagne Tiger are sacred—and absolutely outrageous. The drag brunch has quickly become one of the best in Denver, with two seatings (10:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m.)
Champagne Tiger is where oldschool glamour meets newschool inclusivity. Where queer identity isn’t just accepted—It’s the foundation. Where you can eat oysters in leopard print, propose over pasta, or toast to your queer bestie’s promotion with a round of bubbles.
This is the future of dining in Denver: vibrant, vocal, visionary—and damn delicious.
So go. Book that table. Order the omelette. Tip your queens. And don’t forget to look fabulous while you do it.
You Can Sit With Us, But Don't Say Too Much
By Rose Eden
I charge five dollars to talk about my race and ethnicity.
It started as a bar joke. Got a laugh every time. People thought it was clever. I thought it was survival. Deep down, I meant it. I was tired. Tired of strangers framing my face like a puzzle. Tired of being everyone’s exotic conversation starter. My mother is Korean. My father is white. I live in the space between their histories. Most people don’t know what to do with that.
If you want the full story now, it costs more. Sliding scale. Pay wall.
I’ve spent most of my life explaining myself before I even get a chance to introduce who I am. Racially. Sexually. Socially. I’m queer. I’m femme. I’m mixed. I live in a body that doesn’t come with easy answers. During Pride, that tension feels louder. Queerness becomes a spectacle. Visibility turns into currency. And if you don’t fit the template, it’s easy to get mistaken for someone who wandered in by accident.
Queer spaces pride themselves on being inclusive, but the welcome mat sometimes stops at the surface. I’ve arrived at Pride events and felt more like a ghost than a guest. The music is loud; the crowd is glittering, but the air feels choreographed. Masc bodies gleam under disco lights. Conversations swirl like practiced scripts. No one makes eye contact. It’s a catwalk disguised as a sidewalk. Everyone knows their part. If you don’t, you learn to shrink.
Some of the coldest silences I’ve ever felt in queer spaces came not from strangers, but from people I thought might understand, especially queer men, who hold their own center of gravity in the community. Their safety rarely extends to those outside their orbit. As a femme, you learn quickly that protection is not guaranteed. Discomfort is yours to hold alone. Quiet pain has no audience for “drama.”
On paper, femme identity is celebrated. But in the room, it’s often sidelined. Softness becomes misread. What I wear gets noticed. Who I am gets ignored. And if you’re racially ambiguous, as I am, the doubt doubles. I’ve been told I don’t “look Korean.” I’ve been told I don’t “look queer.” I’ve had people try to connect through their favorite K-dramas or skincare routines, not realizing they’re speaking to a surface they’ve projected onto. It always felt like they were scanning for something familiar, not someone real.
So I watch. I always have. I sit at the edge of the room and collect details others miss. My writing comes from that quiet place. Years of being overlooked have made me a sharper observer. I have a photographic memory and a long archive of moments where I’ve been present but not included. I remember everything.
It’s not just queer spaces where I float in between. I move through San Francisco’s high society too. I’ve sat at candlelit tables, worn gowns I chose myself, made small talk over caviar. And yet, when queer people hear that, they’re quick to scoff. “They don’t see you. They don’t care about people like us.” But here’s what no one seems to admit. The queer parties and the galas, the underground clubs and the marble foyers, they all leave me feeling the same kind of invisible. Both sides love to call each other out, but neither one really knows how to hold someone like me. Between the
two, I’ve learned how to take up space without permission. If I’m going to be overlooked, I may as well choose the room
Still, I go. To the parties. To the parades. To the rooms I wasn’t exactly invited into but feel compelled to enter anyway. I take my time getting dressed. Not to prove anything. Just to feel more like myself. There’s a TikTok sound going around that says femmes are closer to drag queens than to cis women, and honestly, I feel that. We build ourselves out of gesture. We sculpt our presence from intention. It’s the same ritual, the same reverence, even if no one names it that way. I know what to expect. I’ll be passed over, talked through, or more likely, treated like a canvas for other people’s longing, envy, and invention. And yet, there is still something quietly radical about arriving. Because even if the room doesn’t notice me, it’s still mine to walk into.
And now, as a queer journalist, people ask me what Pride feels like. They want my perspective. They want me to explain something I’ve never been fully welcomed into. I used to think no one saw me. Now everyone wants to know what I’ve seen.
That’s a strange kind of visibility.
I don’t go to Pride to be seen. I go because I have always been here. I belong, even in their silence.
What used to be my nightlife has quietly become my life. These rooms, these glances, these tensions, they’re not passing moments anymore. They’re material. They’re memory. And now, somehow, they’re my responsibility. I’ve become the person others turn to for the story. The narrator. The lens. The explainer of a space that rarely explained itself to me.
Funny how that works. The one who was never let all the way in is now asked to explain the way through.
And I do it. Not because I owe anyone clarity. But because I know what it’s like to look for yourself in a space and find
QueerAcross
Six years ago, I packed all my belongings into my car and set off on the ultimate queer road trip. My plan was to travel indefinitely, exploring queer cities in each state. Why was I doing this? How was I going to make money while traveling? Where was I going to stay? The answer to all these questions was: I’ll figure it out on the way. Probably. I guess I really couldn’t even call it a plan. All I knew was that I needed to leave Los Angeles to see what else was out there.
LA is my hometown. I know most Coloradans reading this will think “of course” and roll their eyes, since so many of us have made our way here. That’s the usual reaction I get when I’m traveling and tell people where I’m from. However, I don’t blame them. LA is its own bubble of self-sustainability, full of locals who have gotten everything they’ve ever needed from that metropolis and transplants who have sacrificed their worldly comforts in search of an adventure.
But what was my adventure? Growing up, I never dreamed of leaving the City of Angels because why would I? It had every-
thing I had ever known. However, the thing with staying in your hometown, no matter how big and self-sufficient it may be, is that you are denied perspective.
Think about your idea of what someone from a small town in West Virginia would be like if they never explored outside of it. You’d probably stereotype them as a bigot or uncultured. Even though LA is a massive, liberal oasis, if you never explore beyond your hometown, you’re doomed to retain false ideas of the outside world. Sure, there are plenty
of people from all walks of life and perspectives living in LA, but the city doesn’t conform to the varying ideas of the people. It’s the people that conform to the ideas of the city, thus creating a singular perspective of the rest of the world.
I took a weekend road trip outside of California. I didn’t have a destination but decided to travel north. I ended up in Portland, Oregon. That’s when my perspective shifted. Roaming around downtown, I came across an assortment of queer and trans people. I went into women- and Black-owned shops that reveled in a more casual pace than what I was used to. I attended drag shows where performances were much different than those in LA. Artists twirled fire, sang live, and bantered on the microphones with each other. Even
By London Alexander
Across America
etiquette was different (don’t throw crumpled dollar bills at performers on stage; it’s considered rude there).
The moment that my life changed was when I understood that not only were there thriving queer communities outside of LA, but they were different. They catered to the culture and needs of their own queer communities. They didn’t look at LA to see how we did queer community. That’s because it didn’t apply to them. The needs of the LA community weren’t the same as those in Portland.
I attribute my blindness toward such an obvious idea to ego. I thought LA was the end-all, beall. It was the ultimate goal for so many people. Countless individuals left the comfort of their hometowns to create a new life in the City
of Angels. Since it was so many peoples’ life-long adventure to get to LA, I assumed that it should have been mine, too. And, bless! How lucky I was that I was already from there! So, I must have had everything I could want … right?
My trip to Portland changed everything. If the City of Roses showed me a rich, new queer culture that brought me such joy to explore, what could I learn in other cities? I had to find out.
Nine months later, I was permanently traveling in my car packed with everything I owned.
I saw the world’s oldest drag queen perform in Portland, picked up a bartending job in a former mortuary in Seattle, moshed to a queer punk band in Vancouver, Canada, attended a queer leadership conference in New Orleans, was forced into an emergency room in rural New Mexico, went to a gay rodeo in Phoenix, got a tattoo on a beach in Florida, fell in love in a cemetery in Salem, and now call Denver “home” as I continue travelling periodically.
The queer communities in each city have been incredible. Some are understandably more hesitant to welcome an outsider than others, but every one of them has made me feel safe. The United States has been a tumultuous place for queer people, especially in recent years, but I find solace in learning that no matter how rural of an area I’ve been in or how major of a metropolis, there is always a queer community close by. Some wave the Pride flag above their doors, while others are more subtle and require a bit more looking, but the community is there.
I’ve chronicled my travels on my YouTube channel, Queer Across America. Through the channel,
Discord, and Patreon, I’ve created a digital community so individuals from each city can connect, and we can break down barriers to learn that there is more than one way to be queer. I recount the travels in my weekly column on the OFM website and recently completed a book manuscript as a follow-up to my debut memoir, The Downtown Underground: A Memoir of My Time with the Underground Drag Queens of Downtown Los Angeles.
I was wrong about my judgments of cities outside of LA. Even the biggest hometowns can skew one’s perspective of the outside world. I continue to witness, firsthand, the beauty of having such diverse queer areas all around the country that focus on the needs of their communities. I’ve learned the importance of exploring outside my hometown and the significance of pursuing my own adventure instead of conforming to others.
During this time of uncertainty in the U.S., it’s crucial for us to understand that, wherever we are, there’s a queer community for us.
Set the summer trend.
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Know when it matters most: text “BETTERAIRCO” to 21000 to sign up for summer ozone alerts.
BAR TAB
BAD HABITS DENVER
3014 E Colfax Ave. Denver (303) 335-9690 badhabitsdenver.com
BUDDIES
504 E. Colfax Ave. buddiesdenver.com
CHAMPAGNE TIGER
601 E. Colfax Ave. champagnetiger.com
CHARLIE’S NIGHTCLUB
900 E. Colfax Ave. Denver (303) 839-8890 charliesdenver.com
DENVER EAGLE
5110 W. Colfax Ave. Denver (303) 534-0500
Facebook @denvereaglebar
EL POTRERO
4501 E. Virginia Ave. Glendale (303) 388-8889 Facebook @elpotreroclub
GOOD JUDY’S
BAR & CLUB
103 N. 1st St. Grand Junction (970) 433-7115 good-judys.com
HAMBURGER MARY’S
1336 E. 17th Ave. Denver (303) 993-5812 hamburgermarys.com/denver
LADY JUSTICE BREWING
3242 S Acoma St. Englewood (303) 578-8226 ladyjusticebrewing.com
LIL' DEVILS
255 S. Broadway St. Denver (303) 733-1156
Facebook @lildevilslounge
POISONED BY ME
1526 E. Colfax Ave., Denver
THE PEARL 2199 California St. Denver
R&R LOUNGE
4958 E. Colfax Ave. Denver (303) 320-9337
Facebook @randrdenver
TIGHT END BAR 1501 E. Colfax Ave. Denver (303) 861-9103 tightendbar.com
TOWN HALL
COLLABORATIVE
525 Santa Fe Dr. Denver (720) 389-7502
townhallcollaborative.com
TRACKS
3500 Walnut St. Denver (303) 836-7326 tracksdenver.com
TRADE
475 Santa Fe Dr. Denver (720) 627-5905 Facebook @tradedenver
WILD CORGI PUB
1223 E. 13th Ave. Denver (303) 832-7636 wildcorgipub.com
X BAR
829 E. Colfax Ave. Denver (303) 832-2687 xbardenver.com 5pm-9pm
#VYBE 1027 N. Broadway St. Denver (720) 573-8886 303vybe.com
THE 99ERS SPORTS BAR 909 E Colfax Ave, Denver the99erssportsbar.com
#VYBE 1027 N. Broadway St. Denver (720) 573-8886 303vybe.com
DENVER SWEET 776 N. Lincoln St. Denver (720) 598-5648 denversweet.com
TUE: Solve That Puzzle w/Mr. Will 7pm w/Taco Tuesday, $3 Modelo Draft, $5 House Margs
WED: Trivia w/Alejandro 7pm w/Wing Wednesday .75 Wings, $5 U Call It At The Bar
