No classy dinner-party invites in a long time for us plain-vanilla heterosexuals. That vacant seat at the dining room tables of Manhattan's movers and shakers has been going to the lesbians and transies. Of course, I understand. We heteroes are boring, always have been. Our zone of conversation is binary: love found and love lost. Lesbians and transies have had such a broader range of experience to share with their gawking hosts and the host's gawking guests.