Excerpt: The Story of Disco World

I walk down the street, almost blinded by the sequins, trying to make my body as small as possible to avoid touching anyone. Where did they all come from? They are dressed like women but with manly features, large jaws and adam's apples highlighted with bronzer and red gloss. They have wide platform stilettos and fishnet stockings, miniskirts and shiny ringlets, and bras pushing up god knows WHAT they are stuffed with. They meet each other with names like Allison Wunderland and Goldie Locks. They watch me with whispers and licked lips and I finally realize I've somehow managed to go where no straight male is ever meant to be: Drag Queen's Row.

When I was a child, I always wanted to live at Disco World. I mean, who wouldn't want to be in the middle of Saturday Night Fever twenty-four hours a day? Even at age six I had four pairs of bell-bottoms, eighteen tie-dyed t-shirts, and an afro wig. I owned every album put out by the Bee Gees, and I never washed my hair or feet. I was the ultimate stereotype and I couldn't wait until I was old enough to get a job at the happiest place on earth. I wanted to be John Travolta. I wanted to date the Dancing Queen and I wanted to be her Disco King.
The eighties were a tumultuous time. The introduction of the microwave and synthesizer meant the end of life as we knew it. The disco ball was out, and neon was in. Disco World was created as a magical kingdom where Grateful Deadheads and flower children could coexist as they extolled the virtues of world peace and free love. It was the most original theme park in the world, of that I was certain...