Rumor has it Wicker Park is becoming the new eclectic Lakeview, if it hasn't already. Having to check it out for ourselves, the RtVR entourage toured the Damon/North/Milwaukee intersection to experience the shops, sidewalk churro salesman, artsy things and the Blue Line Stop. Fun times. However during our meanderings we found a delightful little hidden treasure. Behind an old shop door on West North Avenue and obscured by a blue vinyl tarp blockading the storefront window, there was Experimental Theatre Chicago. Enamored by its exposition and cultural charm, we just had to go in.

Founded in 2002 by Artistic Director Jaclyn Biskop, the ETC works to bring alternative performances and independent artists together on stage in their own novel and unique ways. That night we had walked into the first night of Etcetera: A Festival of Short Experimental Performance. We watched in awe as Shelia Regan was carried off by her surgeon, Kim Kolarich lost her fleece, Shannon Latimer offered tips on carjacking prevention while Cliff and Chelsea showed us what can be learned, loved and lost in long term relationships. Color us impressed. We look forward to their future works.

Party hosts Russena and Vanity Fair played with JP at Fireball Saturday

I would have loved to have seen the rest of the ETC festival, however it was Fireball weekend. With three days of fun, fetish and flesh, Jason Paul had to represent. Starting Friday at House of Blues, props go to Security Stud Lee who recognized my high ranking social status and pulled back the Velvet Rope to grant me entry before anyone else.

Later there was more than just Mercury Rising when the tall, tan and buff Chicago pop icon took the stage in his white patent leather ensemble, exposing his body piercings with his equally undressed back up dancers. With Mercury on that big tall stage and I in the front row, arching my neck to view him was really painful. I was forced to endure his entire hot sweaty show staring directly at his crotch. Poor me.

Saturday was when it all went loose. Of course there were your not-for-profit circuit standards: Hot volunteers, Flagger boys and topless attendants crowding the dance floor. The Union Station Great Hall was something to behold. An absolutely extraordinary venue, totally Chicago and totally architecturally old skool hip ­ it's a party over the Amtrak. Serious pats on the back to whoever thought of it. Yet interest in the 90 foot ceilings was totally lost when Kristine W took the stage in all her fiery leather fishnet glory. And the 20 or so buff backup dancers were nice too.

Things only got hotter Sunday when photographer J.R. joined forces with Jason Paul. With twice the man power we engaged the cavernous Excalibur nightclub promising boys photos in the press if only they adhered to our whims. The main event was the DJ showcase featuring the spin stylings of the nation's best jockeys like Chicago local DJ Matt Harvat and Kansas City's DJ Jerry Griffith. Our own Goove Line's DJ Plez was there to show his support and called to me from over the dance floor, "Hey! You're the Velvet Rope guy!" So grateful I was for the public recognition, I hugged him.

Having to bring it down a bit after the three day bare chest fest, I hitched back Monday to Lakeview's Bailiwick Theater to catch the Solo Homo Show performed by the New Town Writers. Celebrating 25 years of preserving the cannon of LGBT writing, NTW's Solo Homo showcased a variety of performers expressing personal views on the gay world surrounding them. One of which was the local famous playwright David Cerda who told us all how Debbie Harry saved his life. Later he gave me permission to head up his fan club, which shows a great deal of potential. At the very least it should get me free tickets to all his shows. Not that I wouldn't get them anyway