You know the thing I love about gay bars? They never change. I mean: Never. I stopped going to them c. 1980 or so, and in the few times I’ve been back since then, it’s like vis­it­ing my youth pre­served in amber. The patrons have more tat­toos now, there’s now some­thing called Apple Pucker schnapps avail­able behind the bar, but oth­er­wise? Time­less.

Last night, the NN.C road­show stopped in Chicago, to visit one of our most loyal and sup­port­ive read­ers, Alex, seen above at an early stop in the evening, hold­ing a coaster for the house brew. Snicker all you want — I had one, and I’m here to tell you if it weren’t for the name, this ale would be some­where around the bot­tom of the sales charts.

Any­way, after din­ner and a nap, we went back out, to Big Chick’s, a north-side bar for gen­tle­men and the under­stand­ing ladies who love them. We walk in, and what are they play­ing? Don’t even guess: Thelma Hous­ton, “Don’t Leave Me This Way.” It’s like they picked the nee­dle up off the record as I walked out the door 20-plus years ago, and dropped the laser back on the CD when I walked back in: “Nance’s here! Put on the oldies mix.”

The rest of the evening: Not a blur, exactly — I can’t act like that any­more. But I stayed out clear past mid­night! It had to be mem­o­rable!