So I spent the weekend in lovely southern Wisconsin with 80 other gay men and we really worked up a sweat...

Get your minds out of the gutter...we were dancing...and singing...and rehearsing our (oftentimes ample) butts off staging the upcoming Chorus production...

No stand and sing concert, this one, oh no...but a hour and a half of one production number after another. The show is going to be incredible, but I'm exhausted. And I have a cold...

There was drama, there were cliques, there was laughter, there was amazing talent on display, and...there was nudity. (Sadly, not one of the hunkier chorus members, but a streaking bridesmaid from a group of women at the same resort spending the weekend fete-ing their soon to be married friend. [Aside: If her little walk did nothing else, it confirmed for most of us that we are indeed, really gay. For even an attractive woman in the full Melissa only inspired us to talk about her bad dye job.] The ladies hung around us 'mos most of the weekend, and I think they will remember their karaoke adventure with 'the boys' for years to come!)

I discovered my new favorite thing that I'm never allowed to have again....fried cheese curds. Geez-Louise they were good....and it only took 3 Lactaid and I was fine. Why am I never allowed to have them again?...about 80% of the calories are from fat.

Other highlights of the weekend...

Walking along Lake Delevan...truly lovely experience until the midges began eating me alive...

The No-Talent Talent Show, when some of the truly gifted members of the chorus (and some who are merely "special" in the rather frightening sense) choose to sing, act, or tell stories. (Highlight of the Highlight: when BH did his impersonation of Kate Hepburn reading "Swallowed the Fly" ("I know an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed the fly...perhaps she'll die.....") we all busted a gut when "Kate" spoke of the spider that "wi-ig-gled and ji-ig-gled and ti-ic-kled inside her" in that scatter-patter warble that marked La Hepburn's last few decades.)

Staging "Walk Like an Egyptian" and "Istanbul/Constantinople." They are going to tear the house down...and yes, I do walk like an Egyptian in the number more than once...and that whole bending your arm backwards at 90 degree angles...HURTS...the suffering we endure for art!

Finding out that the requisite pelvic thrusting number is one that happens while I'm changing clothes for another number. All will be spared the chubby pastor's pumping pelvis. Let the people rejoice...

Getting to know some of the guys better...and breaking through the "he's a minister, watch what you say around him" BS with at least a few of them. But why did it take so long? What has the church done to these guys? Or am I just that unapproachable? :-)

So while my overworked croak heals back into something resembling a bass/baritone....y'all go out and figure out a way to make low-fat fried cheese curds.