For many years the Hotel Dufferin was a skankeriffic alternative to the slightly less skanky gay bars on Davie Street. It was certainly unpretentious, for what that's worth. I went there a couple of times, but the smell of the patrons barely concealed the smell of the mildew in the rug, and I usually left before I hurled (an option too-few of the regulars exercised).
Alas, the Dufferin is no more; now it's called "moda". In the words of Matt Foley: Lah-di-freakin'-dah.
Three experiences stand out, probably because they're the only three times I went there. The first was in 1990, the first time I went there. Some drunk spilled a drink on me (because he was drinking while "dancing"). I spent the evening with a rum and coke in my left shoe and by the end of the night both were well ruined. The second was on a visit in the mid-90s. I went there with my friend Matthew to see the strippers - because he wanted to see the strippers. It started out gross, but got worse from there, when Matthew touched the stripper. This prompted an angry tirade; the night lives forever in the collective memory as "The Night Matthew Made The Stripper Political". Some day, when the memory no longer makes my skin crawl I may write about it in greater depth, as much as such a thing is possible. The third time I went in there for five minutes with my friend Doug on the way to the Royal Pub in 2000; the same people were in the same places they were the previous two times I'd been there, which is frankly sad.
I have no idea if it's still a queer space or not. In fact, I may go down there tomorrow and check it out. Strictly in a citizen-journalist way, of course. My disdain for gay bars is a matter for the record, but then I do need to get over myself. This may be just the opportunity I've been looking for.
(Mainly this post is a test exercise. Click on the above photo for an enlarged view.)
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