And you can actually help your own chances of getting in by humoring them a little.

These thoughts just came in from Calen David -- a/k/a the above-pictured drag star and hostess Epiphany Get Paid -- about which faces in the crowd generally get picked to get in, and what you can do to become one of them:

Me and Joey Arias

She was actually going there. And to set up a joke, God bless her.

"No, let me not bring down the mood," added Judy. "Let's talk about cancer!"

And she did, saying, "Everyone's finding tumors these days -- and it's always the size of a fruit. A lemon, a grapefruit, Richard Simmons ..."

But that's the excuse one guy was given when the doorman turned him away from the new gay club I wrote about this week.

("You should be more dressed up for a Friday night.")

And he was very surprised because he knew other guys had gotten in in T-shirts.

Yes, I checked out the queens in Queens.

It was a snowy Wednesday night, but there was still some life to be found in the Jackson Heights bars, where salsa and merengue sounds, twinkly lights, and cheapish drinks make your butt vibrate with the excitement that you've decided to embrace the larger idea of what NYC represents.

Photos: Chuck Attix

Friendly bartender at Friends Tavern. He called me "papi," but I liked him anyway.

John Blair's JB Saturdays at xl

And in the process, I tell you which recovering teen idol was at the VIP preview party and why.

What insouciant activity the club's low-hanging row of urinals allows patrons to do.

According to Odyssey magazine's "F" List -- for the fabulous and fierce, not the fucked up and forgotten -- I have the top spot this week.

And I did it with no promotion whatsoever!

He loves being walked on!

I've known Kevin since the '80s, when he was just a young, up-and-coming carpet sample. But now he's practically wall to wall!

I just contacted him to see how he's been shagging lately, and here's how it played out.

Me: Hi, Kevin. Where do you work these days and how do people book you?

Chuck Attix

Come on, park your butt somewhere other than the usual twinks-in-retail vodka palace.

Last night, the place's circular bar was topped by half-clad dancers and surrounded by a multiethnic mix of fun people as the bartender unexpectedly barked into the mic, "We like pussy ... cats."

And since dance clubs are as hard to come by as deli coffee these days, you might as well start scheduling every single night there.

Fortunately, they have a different event planned for each evening of the week, for the rest of your godforsaken life.