Two Fridays ago I ran into a problem I run into most Fridays around 11 p.m. I had imbibed one too many drinks before leaving the house (during an event some might call a “pre-game”). Damn Cornell’s campus for making any destination annoyingly out of reach, because wouldn’t you have known it!, 300 yards out the door, and I I realized I had to use the restroom.

No, really, he was. It was Saturday night and I sat at the Common Ground drenched from another one of Ithaca’s torrential downpours and watched as one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever had the fortune of being within ten feet of dance naked in the name of art. The show was called Queer Love Shoefest, and the performer of the first piece was completely naked. Did I mention that already?