Friday, May 30, 2008


If "Paper" Says It's True

Add a dining room and bar to The Kitchen, (pitch in some primates) and you've got MonkeyTown, a Brooklyn experimental arts space brimming with video art and short films. Drag group The Cockettes are the subject of this evening's festivities, where Cockette archivist Rumi Missabu hosts a night of film and fun. Members of the Cockettes will be in attendance, along with similar performance artists including the bizarre and British La John Joseph.
MonkeyTown, 58 N. 3rd St., Williamsburg, Brooklyn, (718) 384-1369. 8, 10:30 p.m. Free, $10 drink minimum.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Payless for Patricia Field

This is not a joke, no, it is a very serious, one might even say reverential moment. Queen of downtown glamour and wardrobe mistress to the stars, Patricia Field, has designed a collection for Payless Shoes! Yes ladies, just in time for my birthday in fact. And I'm a 12.

You can read all about the launch party here. It's everything you would expect and more; KennyKenny killing it at the door, LadyFag licking her armpits and Andre J radiating like the holy Mother. Oh and Ms Field has a bar in her apartment, perfect for entertaining.

Madame X Realness

Picture by Joshua Kristal.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


It's really laughable.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Pat McGrath hearts The Cockettes

June 2nd is the Cockettes tribute/reunion at Theatre for the New City, I will be emceeing and performing a version of Sylvester's "Mighty Real". I hope to be working a make-up look inspired by make-up artist to couturiers, Pat McGrath. Looks inspired by the Cockettes themselves as it transpires, though there's a bit of Crawford to those brows isn't there? And a bit of Bjork going on in that lipstick as eyeshadow.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Proud Mary!

Amazingly, only one person was hospitalized at the show last night; she got hit in the face by a doll during the baby Jesus tossing contest. It was Darlinda's idea.

With thanks to Mondo Lucien for the image.

In the line of duty

Last week I had the enviable experience of trying out five new(ish) careers.

On Monday I was an emergency replacement go-go dancer at Sugar Shack Burlesque, where I made a regal $7 in tips. On Tuesday I sat for a figure drawing class with Darlinda; it was full on naked realness in front of sixty people and one blues singer who was belting out Bessie Smith. On Wednesday I strategized with my client MargOH! about the press for her upcoming show at Lucky Cheng's. On Thursday I performed at a comedy improv night and on Friday I acted as wig stylist forward slash beauty consultant to the artist formerly known as Enya Buttox. There were highs, there were lows, mainly lows if we're honest.

This week I go back to stripping, ho-hum.

The above drawing is by Arkady Roytman and you can purchase it from him for a mere $75 which is $25 cheaper than an illustration of Legs Malone. BARGAIN!

Monday, May 12, 2008

Gemini Dog

I was born June 1st 1982, which makes me a Gemini Dog, astrologically speaking. This is what says about that.

"Dogs can be overly shy when making friends or courting someone. If they are interested, they want to make certain you are as well before expressing any interest. They are emotionally sensitive people, who don't take wounds to the heart very easily. As a lover, Dogs are compassionate, supportive partners, eager to hear about your day at work or the project you just finished. They share the highs and lows of being in love, defending their partners to anyone who attacks them...Gemini Dogs can talk your mother under the table. They are charismatic and charming, not intimidated by other people. They love to take on new experiences."

So come on boys, boyz, and bois, you heard what the lady said, and it's all true. It's like she know me, but she don't even know me!

Is It Any Wonder?

It was one of those weekends.

Thursday night I performed at Upstairs, generally making a scene to Bowie's "Fame". I took my face full of green food coloring and lipstick back to Brooklyn where I enjoyed too many rose martinis with my room mates and an amiable Brit who flirted with all four of us and then went home with somebody else. So we had a pillow fight and listened to "Edge of Seventeen" repeatedly, drank rum and unpacked all of Mrs G's boxes of drag. There the mess began but there it did not stop.

Friday was "Night of a Thousand Stevies", my opportunity to wear a wedding dress backwards and see all of my friends blissed out on psychedelics. If you've never seen a gaggle of trannies high on shrooms chasing each other about to "Stop Dragging My Heart Around", or watched a nude and bewigged burlesque starlet talk to plastic birds as if they were real, then you haven't lived. I myself was stone cold sober, which allowed me the honor of *ahem* enjoying all of the performances, and wondering if the event would not be better named "Night of a Thousand Trainwrecks". There was some serious so-pilled-up-I've-forgotten-my-words-and-anyway-who-am-I? legendary realness happening on stage.

The divine Mixter Justin Bond however, complete with a triptych of dark beauties on backing vocals and the passionate Our Lady J on piano, gave a performance that can only be described as transformative. Singing "Night Birds" she summoned up all the dark magic of Stevie and belted out a spiritual of emancipatory power.

Saturday it got worse. I worked the door at Victoria, the monthly faux-queen throw down at Stonewall. The party was slumber party themed so I wore Betty Boop bedsheets and rollers. I discovered two things at the door of the party; that absolute power corrupts and that people find Betty Booop irresistible. Then I got smashed and don't remember anything else until I woke up at dawn , wearing only bikini bottoms, staring at my reflection in a mirror on the ceiling above a bed in a Times Square flop house, with Erin Markey reading Bible stories out loud to a collection of barely dressed party goers.

Sunday brought me the hangover from Hell and a trip to Legs Malone's apartment for a housewarming brunch. I made it there for seven pm with a bottle of sparkling water functioning as both gift to Legs and covenant with sobriety. The get together was something of a burlesque convention, and I enjoyed the bruschetta very much thank you.

Images by

Tuesday, May 6, 2008


If there was any faggot I wanted to be when I was a teenager (besides Brett Anderson who was an outright fauxmo and therefore doesn't cut it), it was David McAlmont. In all of his Shirley Bassey singing glory, David McAlmont was a delirious combination of melted steel and caked on honey. I was somewhat afraid of him, he provoked the same terrifying desire in me as Joan Crawford; he's the last word in refinement but probably wouldn't hesitate to clock you if you mispronounce his name.

I met him once, along with Brett's old pal Bernard Butler, at a record signing in Manchester, when they reformed the band in 2002. I took one (of my seven) younger sisters with me and they were all about her. Sad to be upstaged by a four year old in front of Brit-pop icons.

Sunday, May 4, 2008


Designed by Muffinhead.

Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

It's misty, rainy on Avenue A.

I'm leaving my friends behind, walking up, towards 14th ST for the L train. I'm tired. I'm down at heart, yeah, you're bumming me out because you won't play fair. I let my jacket fall open, I pull the hair from my eyes, I continue, and I know that track repairs will prolong my journey home unbearably.

Bobbing amber spots, lit cigarettes, punctuate the inky night and I breathe in loneliness. You won't play fair.

I am not startled when he comes towards me, steady and to the point.

"What would you say," he asks, "To having a drink with me?"

I almost turn him down, shake my head silently and continue on, force of habit. But the haze has filled me with a hopelessness.

"Alright," I say, flatly, dashed with a glimmer.

"Oh." He says, "I'm sorry, I thought....."

"I know," I say.

And we part.

Friday, May 2, 2008

For the record

I am not, "drug addled and fuck hungry," as a certain Mr Culbertson imagined me to be earlier today.

Curiously this image is the top return on google when you use the search terms, "drug addled and fuck hungry". What is the world coming to? I thought I'd at least get a picture of Liza waving from her wheelchair, or something from

No such luck. Even with safesearch off.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Marie, Anne, John, Medusa, Divine, Charlie, Joan and Joan.

Are the subjects of my new play, yes all of them. I'm casting soon. It's a montage, it's Playhouse of the Ridiculous, it' s political satire dressed up in Surrealism, like an old Hollywood dame.