Miss Thing, There IS No Guestlist Tonight!

Back in the day when I first came out, my friends and I used to go to this club called Tracks, a sprawling nightclub in a warehouse in the sketchiest part of Washington, DC.  You would pray to find a parking space close to the club so you didn't have to walk too far or get harassed by the thugs and homeless people that always cased the neighborhood, but once inside it was amazing!  An enormous dancefloor surrounded by raised platforms, a separate video room and an outdoor dancefloor overlooking a volleyball court, this club had it all, attracting live performers like Robin S., Crystal Waters, CeCe Peniston and some of the hottest porn stars of the day, all governed by Sister Face, a gigantic bitch of a drag queen with a bad attitude and the fashion sense of a garbage dumpster.  Her arch nemesis was this bald black queen in platforms, latex and sequins who used to march around the volleyball court yelling 'CUNTY!  CUNTY!  CUNTY!' at the top of her lungs, and who would have ever guessed she'd turn that phrase into a song, and then a recording career as Kevin Aviance?  Not me!  To me she was just an annoying queen who always had the good shit.

And since today is Gay Pride NYC is dragging all the dance divas out of mothballs for another victory lap.  Remember Ultra Nate?  My boyfriend sure does, and 'Free' has been running on an infinite loop in my brain for the last two days thanks to his incessant need to find one song that he's excited about and play it over and over AND OVER again and sing along even though he's never bothered to learn the words.

So as this concert is going on my boyfriend leans over to me and whispers 'There's Coco' and since it's classic dance music and my brain works in mysterious ways I immediately think Coco from Fame and I'm looking all over for Irene Cara, but no, it's supermodel Coco Rocha.  New York!  You slay me every time!

I Wanna Do Bad Things With You

My genitals starting howling again last weekend, which can only mean one thing: a new season of True Blood!  Sadly, it's the last season, and only ten more episodes to show as much vampire, wolf and fairy dick as possible.  If my fuck parts produced the show, that hussie slut fairy Sookie would be killed and we'd get a whole season of Jason and Alcide wrestling naked in baby oil while Pam cracks an whip and they do a million crunches in between takes but since they don't we're gonna get a season full of Sam shifting into a dog for no reason and Lafayette still not getting any. 

Sam Trammell was in town to promote that cancer kid movie he's in and took time to sign autographs and pose for fans and sign more autographs that quickly went up on ebay because no real fan needs ten of the same Sam Trammell photo autographed

which might explain why Joe Manganiello was ducking graphers all week while promoting his latest cinematic masterpiece about a Dallas male strip club, which is sure to clean up at the Oscars come February.  Make room on your mantle Joe!  I managed to catch up with him leaving Fox & Friends, and if I'd been a little more awake and turned my head slightly to the right I would have had Manganiello nipple for breakfast on Wednesday instead of my usual egg white and avocado wrap.

Artsy Fartsy

My girlfriend Shana used to take an art history class when we were in college, and every weekend we'd make a trip to the National Gallery to appreciate the art.  She'd explain the style and the symbolism of each piece and I'd wonder where the fuck that Campbell's Soup can painting was or how Escher got all those people to walk up and down the stairs at the same time.  As hard as she tried to teach me about angels and cherubs and Renaissance art, I just wanted to spend my day with Brad and that Lichtenstein drowning girl in the modern art wing.  I guess I've always been attracted to flashy, kitschy cartoon irony, which might explain my fascination with supermodels and Real Housewives. 

I never got to meet Andy Warhol or Keith Haring, and Banksy, well...you know, so imagine my excitement meeting art world bad boy Jeff Koons this morning.  The subject of a career retrospective at the Whitney Museum in New York City, Koons is best known for his marriage to an Italian porn star and his oversized balloon dog sculptures.  His flashy, vibrantly colored art is gaudy, tasteless, sometimes whimsical and often crude, and I fucking love it! 

Gumpy Old Men Who Don't Give a Fuck!

You see all kinds of things riding the subway in New York.  For instance, on my way home from work there's an older man who reads the New York Times folded in quarters with the sourest expression on his face, just radiating misery.  He probably has some military background since the crease in that paper is PRECISE, and you can see him fuming with rage if someone is selling candy for their 'basketball team' or God forbid "It's showtime!"  He gets off at the same stop as me, and marches to the escalator, heading home to a loveless marriage and another mushy, tasteless dinner on a TV tray in front of Wheel of Fortune next to a wife who is slowly poisoning him for robbing her of the best years of her life.

He reminds me of Billy Dee Williams, who looked absolutely pained during his Dancing With The Stars press tour.  I know it's a huge step down from Mahogany and Lady Sings the Blues, but would it kill ya to force a smile Lando?  You're an actor God dammit!

One of Hollywood's coolest mofos Samuel L. Jackson was also in town recently without any fucks to give

and John Malkovich couldn't be bothered to stop, look up, or give one of his fucks either.  (Or maybe it's John Cusack as John Malkovich in that shitty movie that nobody saw.)

What IS it with old people anyway?

Red Carpet Ride

Broadway opening nights are often star-studded events with great photo opportunities, as celebrities arrive and walk the red carpet.  Think Liza!  Or Sandra Bullock!  Off-Broadway openings are a little more low-wattage, attracting serious theatergoers with a more indie spirit.  Think Liza!  Or Sandra Bernhard!  But last week's opening of The Village Bike was more like a solar eclipse, drawing only Judith Light (a HUGE LGBT activist and ridiculously good in Dallas, but how many pictures of her do I need?  OK, here's one more.)

Zosia Mamet (of Girls, a show I do not watch)

and Diane Lane (I KNOW!!!), who had to be coaxed into walking the red carpet.

Red carpet?  More like a slip n slide covered in cherry Kool-Aid, but I guess that's what you get in the West Village.

She IS Titanium!

You may not recognize her face, but unless you're deaf or living in a cave you can't escape the music of singer/songwriter Sia, who has collaborated with everyone from Flo Rida and David Guetta to Rihanna and Kylie Minogue.  "Hey I heard you were a wild one....ooh ooh."  Yup, that's Sia!  "You shot me down, but I won't fall.....I am titanium!"  That's her too!  "Shine bright like a diamond..." She wrote that, along with her own hit Chandelier (currently #19 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart).  I didn't realize I was a fan, but I've had each of those songs stuck in my head at some point (and all of them stuck in my head today as I write this), so it was great to meet the notoriously camera shy singer after her Howard Stern Show appearance, thank her for some awesome tunes and her support of LGBT causes, and get a warm hug and a cool photo in return.

Orange is the New Masturbation

Watching Orange is the New Black is a lot like masturbating.  Some people like to take their time, teasing themselves to the brink with a few episodes, then purposely stopping to prolong the experience, while other gluttons for immediate satisfaction binge watch the whole season, and are left with a mess in their hand, an empty feeling inside and a craving for pizza when it's all over.  Either way, the pleasure is real, the show is a huge hit, and the cast was all over town last week to promote the second season (which I may or may not have already finished), including Laura Prepon as lesbian drug smuggler Alex,

Natasha Lyonne as trash talking recovering heroin addict Nicky,

 Taryn Manning as meth-addicted fanatical Born Again Christian Pennsatucky,

Danielle Brooks as Taystee, a low level drug distributor with dreams of being a lawyer,

Dascha Polanco as Daya, secretly pregnant with the C.O.'s baby

and Pablo Schreiber as corrupt prison guard Pornstache.

I know it seems like I spend my life in front of the television, but with characters like Black Cindy, Crazy Eyes and transgendered firefighter/hairdresser Sophia, this is one show you should really check out!  The things they do with tampons!

If You Seek Jaime

Anyone who's been on the barricades with me knows that I don't lose my shit around celebrities.  I keep my cool, snap my pictures, maybe get an autograph, and move on.  Like a gay ninja (ginja?).  Unless it's a supermodel or Pamela Anderson, beautiful women don't get a reaction out of me (let's face it - I'm a jaded bitch) so imagine my surprise when Jaime Pressley of all people blew my mind not once but twice last week.  So good in all those My Name is Earl commercials that used to play during I Love Lucy reruns during my lunch hour, Jaime was in town to promote her latest show I won't watch in every form fitting, figure hugging, boob lifting short skirt she could find, and I'm sure I would have sounded pervy or offensive telling her how great she looked if my voice was even slightly masculine, but instead I sounded like a nasally Richard Simmons as she thanked me, smiled and posed for pictures.

The Other Sister

We all (aka just me) know La Toya Jackson as the most naturally beautiful creature in the universe and the crown jewel of the Jackson family.  If Siegfried and Roy had a baby with Jerri Blank that was put up for adoption and raised by an issue of Essence and a can of play-doh, it would look something like La Toya Jackson.  But did you know she's also the star of the greatest television experience of all time, Life With La Toya?  She needs to make room in the trophy case for the Emmy, Oscar, Grammy, Nobel Peace Prize and People's Choice award this masterpiece will win, because it's JUST THAT GOOD, and the new season starts tomorrow night!  You better binge watch Orange is the New Black tonight kids, because this is not to be missed!  Release the doves!  I'm just glad my camera lense didn't shatter under the strain of La Toya's intense beauty.