Because of this, in my research I use the catchall “queer” … to refer to people whose sexuality or gender identity isn’t conventional for their time.” In When Brooklyn Was Queer, Hugh Ryan writes, “When you add in all the euphemisms, slang words and legal categories, it becomes easy to miss (or misunderstand) queer history, even when it seems obvious. The creators are “ invested in creating a fun space where they celebrate disco and dancing, especially the expansive sense of community that came together originally around disco.” Disco Connie adds, “Like Prince sang: ‘Black, White, Puerto Rican, everybody just a’freakin….’” Jackson has been spinning here since shortly after 2003, when the bar opened. Jeff Jackson and Pete Money (different Pete) handled the music for Disco Connie’s birthday one night at Nowhere, and Double Headed Disco was born. We used to joke that Nowhere is like a gay Cheers, where everybody knows your name, with a solid core of regulars but very open to anyone who comes down those few steps into the bar.” Another five bucks and more liquid grain down the hatch.ĭisco Connie tells me, “We love the anything-goes, come-as-you-are feeling of dive bars like Nowhere. Tonight Pete Madden subs fabulously for Disco Connie with Miss (Jeff) Jackson “if you’re nasty.” I count five disco balls at the neighborhood queer dive bar but am probably seeing double again. Ripped photographs of queers smile at you while waiting for the bathroom, which advertises events at Nowhere: An underwear party is coming soon and Scratch, too, a “casual pool pickup game for trans masc people of color” on the third Sunday of every month at 4 p.m. The honored rockers’ headshots are suspended, with pink wallpaper in the background and Mylar fringe tossing its hair. A week earlier the pair spun Goddess, a pre-Easter tradition inviting the goddesses’ children to dance in the sound waves of women rockers. It’s the last Saturday of the month, which in over a decade of Nowhere Bar language means it’s Double Headed Disco: two DJs, usually Jeff Jackson and Disco Connie, have each other’s backs on the turntables, swapping sets.
I remember the very bent years that somehow got me here, in a Manhattan bar, with queer people and chosen family dancing to Fantasy’s “You’re Too Late.” My friend Hannah and I dream about making a gay church, and I think we’re close. I’m 29, going on 29 + 1, and feel like I’m at church again on 322 East 14th Street: My hands are crossed at Nowhere Bar, where I accept the club soda with liquid grain from the bearded beauty in front of me. I have never been able to sit down at a bar without crossing my hands and imagining that I’m about to receive the Eucharist.