The following is actually a comment that I left on Muscato's site some time back, and through the magic of cut and paste: Viola! A new posting.
Having come out at the ripe old age of 17, I was a nightly habituate of The Lost & Found. (Washington, DC's premiere superdisco!) Everytime Donna Summer would release a new record, posters would go up around the club about a month in advance announcing that at the stroke of midnight on said date, our beloved DJ would drop the needle so be sure not to miss out on being the first to hear Miss Donna's latest revelatory effort. The minute those posters went up, the work began: new outfits were procured, haircuts purchased, groups of friends assembled, decisions about where to have dinner on the special evening. Girl, we was plannin'!! (Mind you, all this for a few ounces of black vinyl sandwiched between two pieces of cardboard) Excitement would be built on the night in question as we showed our fabulous selves off to each other over dinner. We would be sufficiently fed and subsequently likkered up. At the 'L&F' the DJ would devote almost two hours to spinning an incredible set whipping us to near frenzy level and then at 11:59:30 the lights would begin to dim, the music begin to fade so that by 11:59:45 we would be in silent darkness where we would be left for the next interminable 15 seconds. During that time we would all turn and face the DJ booth like Mecca and gaze up at the glass, popper bottles at the ready, and wait. There would be a silent timpani roll deep inside each of us and just when we thought we couldn't take it anymore, he'd drop the needle. Our shrieks, screams and whoops were that of Donna's newborn being welcomed into the world and, honey, we'd DANCE!!!
The next morning, with hangovers that should have been in the Smithsonian under glass, we'd rush to the record store to buy our own copy of the musical heaven that we'd hear nightly for the next year until the next one came out.
And that, children, was part of what it was like to be gay in the 1970's!