Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Gay Pride Week (day three)

Spent the day surfing the web and cleaning up my files. I was pretty wiped from the weekend at work/play and I have a standing policy of "no expectations" on my day off Tuesday. If I get to the gym, fine. If not, no pressure. Ditto laundry, house cleaning or any other pending projects.This rule does not apply to masturbation. Indeed, an afternoon pulling my pickle is frequently the only thing I'm guaranteed to accomplish. I did spend some time tending to my vast financial empire, as "Tha Man" was trying to keep me down again by fucking with one of my accounts. As I write this, an e-mail came in sniveling an apology for offending me by thinking I would not notice their evil machinations and ham-handed attempt at bilking me out of my riches. As If! Back out of my presence slowly, miscreant, lest I incinerate you with my fiery glare!

All of this preparation left me free and clear to attend my second blogger event:

The difference being this time I was determined to not be such a wallflower and take the time to meet/be introduced to at least a couple of the people I've been trading comments with. I'd never been to P.S. 122 so I had no idea what to expect. I was surprised to find a legitimate theater space that held approximately 100(?) people or so and I'll be damned if the thing wasn't sold out! They even had a helpful two page "playbill" to take. The performance would consist of 6 people reading their pieces plus two musical guests. Now, in the interest of full disclosure I did bring my increasingly snarky digicam with me, and true to form the first five or so shots I snapped were followed by a "format disk" message, this for a disk that is already formatted and an action that results in me losing said pictures. The only mitigating facts in this are that upon examination this morning all the shots I snapped during the performance are unusable as I was trying to take performance shots in a dark theater with no flash. I was hoping to capture the performers in their light on stage, what I got was a series of proto-human white blobs of no discernible gender.

I suppose I could say it's my take on the next possible evolution of humanity and call it "art", instead of what it really is, which is "crap". But I guess that's why I'm destined to be po'. I did get some usable shots just not at the actual event. There's this one I managed to salvage from a musical performance by The Hazzards, who in addition to performing a pared down version of their internet sensation video "Gay Boyfriend", hilariously decided that their contribution to the spoken word portion of the evening would be to read aloud their hate male. 'Twas brilliant, I tell ya.

The other musical performance was courtesy of Faustus. He performed an original song composed especially for the night. How do people do that? Gee, I want to write a song. And then they do! I think it's an amazing ability. It was a great performance, although I have to admit, when the lyric "my perfectly sculpted ass" came out it sent me careening on a whole 'nother tangent involving me, Faustus, the inside of the Scooby Doo Mystery Machine van and 3 jars of Fluffernutter.

As to the spoken word performances they were a lot of fun, mostly. His best stuff being the exasperation us professional homosexuals are feeling regarding this new pan-sexual, poly-morphous not gay but not straight call me queer culture that kids today seem to be fond of. Feels a bit like chicken-shit fence sitting if you ask me. Like I can have my straight and suck dick, too. I say pick a team. And you can never go wrong ending your piece quoting from Funny Lady. Read on

He did a very funny but slightly touching (if you were paying attention) piece about a night when he and his partner performed in drag for a charity event. In between the obligatory Liza jokes there was some obvious affection shining through. Nicely done.

While I haven't been following his exploits on a regular basis (Come on, I only have so much to give!) I may have to squeeze him in now. Knowing you're not the only one who totally wanted to be The Bionic Woman makes the world seem a little more right. Sparky generously posted his piece on his site in it's entirety. Go see it or be lazy and click here.

Another drag-themed presentation courtesy of Jim Barrett from DC. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble tracking down his weblog so for now, suffice it to say it involved a charity drag race, your tax dollars in action and a horrid multi-fag pile-up on the streets of DC. Head's up, comin at ya...

There were a couple of lesbians on the bill as well....


*sound* crickets

*gets some water*

No. I'm kidding, sort of. Lesbians can be rather earnest and there were no restrictions on the subject matter beyond "gay" and if you like, stereotypically all the men went for laughs, so it's not all that surprising that true to her "nature" one of the lesbians decided to recount a gay bashing from college. And you can make a case that someone ought to take the time during this little celebration of pride that not all is right in our gay little world. Still, as politically correct as I'm trying to be, way to suck the life out the room, girl.

*Ahem* Well, that was unpleasant.

My first impulse is to go back and totally deconstruct Kiri's piece and what I didn't like about it. But I felt that I would be proving a point over the back of another and that hurting someone while trying to defend myself didn't seem like the most decent course of action. I didn't like it. I have my reasons, and I'm allowed. And self-righteous harpy's who wrap themselves in the queer civil rights movement flag and then insult you and then cry foul won't dissuade me.

Since my scorched earth policy has seen to it that I won't be participating in any of these events in any capacity but audience member, I might as well wrap up the night and give you the rest of the story. I hit the street and dialed up The Hellcat who was supposed to attend the show with me and almost made me miss it waiting. He missed a message from me that I was on the way and once he arrived at the space it was sold out and too late. Being 7 blocks from 9th st they just went home. We agreed to meet on a nearby corner and started wandering the neighborhood as I recounted the show. Part way up 9th st. I came upon this little fella in a locked up store front and he seemed to need me to take his picture. I obliged, seeing as he had dressed and all. I'm pretty sure the leg is plastic.

We decided to head over for dinner to a place The Hellcat likes. Goofing around along the way as they do this punch/slap/kiss/hand holding combo that you do believe it or not find unremarkable after spending enough time with them. More silly pictures ensued.

Dinner took place at The Pink Pony. It's on one of those little side streets off Houston. I could find it again easily, but I couldn't tell you exactly where verbally. I had a vegetarian eggplant lasagne that was to die for and a really well done gazpacho. We polished off a bottle of wine in about 20 minutes. Entrees were in the $11-$15 dollar price range. The decor was a bit haphazard for my taste but the space itself, long and narrow with rooms separated by enormous heavy wooden doors. She's got good bones, as they say.

After dinner, I convinced The Hellcat and Hellkitten to go with me to The Slide as his friend Aaron was on the turntables and I had yet to hear him. There were probably five or six men left over from The WYSIWYG event. Aaron was very sweet and I of course recognized Him and Bob and found out later who he was. Shots were poured (shades of college), drinks were made and spilled (OK that was me), stories were told and confessions were made. Charlie owned up that he was still polishing his piece (that sounds dirty) right through the intermission. I know, I know you want more dirt. It seems Aaron is celebrating a protracted birthday week if you will and in lieu of presents he was requesting you expose your little man to earn a free drink. A reasonable trade off if you ask me. Many bloggers agreed and there was periodic dickus floppus occurring. Eventually some found it so liberating that spontaneous dickus floppus occurred with just a request and no reward. Far be it for me to name names but I do wanna say, crisafer, "call me". Pretty soon I felt an embarrassing drunk coming on and this hard core core wasn't showing any signs of stopping so I said my goodbyes and weaved (jus' a l'il) up Second Ave. But not before I got this shot, one of my favorites of the night. Is this not a slick bunch a "dudes" or what?

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