It feels like the San Francisco equivalent of a Hollywood insider party: Everyone is dressed to the nines and conversations are carried in tones too loud to be private; friendly greetings become flamboyant displays of public affection; and casual observations become well-broadcast fashion critiques or audible forms of lustful veneration. No one seems troubled that the line outside the King Street Garage still stretches around the block as the clock approaches midnight, inching forward at an inexperienced drag queen's pace. This is the fifth annual San Francisco Drag King Contest, and the line is not something to be endured, it's part of the show, a parade of gender-bending eye candy -- butch bikers, gangsters, cowboys, and leather daddies with stiletto-heeled femmes and busty tarts in tow -- that literally stops traffic. While women drivers are cheered and acknowledged, the men who lean out of their car windows to ask what's going on are pointedly, almost... More >>>