Speaking in Tongues

Regular readers may remember my outburst a while ago when I went to a Madame JoJo drag night and found myself trapped between two hen parties. You might wonder, then, what on earth possessed me to buy tickets for an Eagles of Death Metal Ladies Night at Soho Review Bar. Well, it’s simple really – Josh Homme.

I heart Josh Homme and I had an idea that just *maybe* if I went along and stared at him REALLY HARD and used ALL MY MENTAL ENERGY, then all the little tranny ghosts in the venue would use their powers to help me and then this morning when I woke up I would actually BE HIM.

I felt my resolve weaken instantly when we walked into the room and were hit by the caterwauling clatter of harpies. I had reasoned that as it was a rock gig it would be largely populated by rock chicks, and there were some people there who weren’t total muppets, but there was kind of an invisible divide across the room with cool people at the back and tragic munters in ridiculous outfits down the front.

It makes me wonder what they’re thinking when they go out to the shops – flicking through the racks going “no … no … no” until finally they chance upon the elusive outfit - a sailor dress with an ENORMOUS bow and a neckline that plunges down to the navel, or a white witchy dress that could have come from the bargain basement of Clintons at Hallowe’en time. I think that there is something clinically wrong with many heterosexuals, either wanting to look like that or wanting to fuck something that looks like that, it’s all mad. MENTAL.

The worst thing of all was the toilets, not so much the queues but the endless, mindless quacking about toilet rolls. This continued ALL NIGHT, different groups of idiots, SAME CONVERSATION – “Oh, I can’t believe there’s no loo roll”. GET OVER IT BITCHES - you’d have though the world was ending.

Finally the band took to the stage and lead singer Jesse started handing out kisses, so it was all swoony swoony screamy screamy. (Don’t tell her I told you this, but I even had to restrain the Hayloid from going down in search of her own tongue sandwich, I blame the cocktail I made her drink earlier at Enclave). Anyway, after the first couple of tracks one girl decided to announce it was her birthday, so she got called up on stage for some special attention. Whaddaya know if suddenly it wasn’t EVERYBODY’S birthday and at least 10 more of them climbed up on stage to manhandle the band members at various intervals.

The really amusing thing is they all go for the bass player, Dave. Now he seems like a nice guy but he is getting on a bit and has jowls and a turkey neck. Would they be so keen to make his acquaintance if he was Dave from Accounts at their day job? Hmm, I don’t think so.

We stayed for most of the gig because the band was pretty fabulous but finally we could take it no longer. The cool crowd at the bar was getting progressively thinner and the harpies were getting louder and shriller, there's only so much fun you can have laughing at them and pointing.

We went to the pub to drown our misery because, as you may have already gathered, THERE WAS NO JOSH HOMME; he was absent, removed, gone missing.

DENIED.

The End is Nigh

No blogs. Nothing happening. Nothing to say. I guess it must be January then. BORE.RING.

I’ve even got bored of watching telly now. The Celebrity Big Brother outcome was a letdown, Coronation Street hasn’t moved on since I left it two years ago ... the only salvation is Undercover Princes. Have you seen it?

They’ve got three over-privileged members of Asian and African royalty and brought them to Brighton to find love. One of them’s gay, one is homophobic and the other’s a bit of a wet lettuce. None of them are particularly likeable but the gay guy’s very funny. I was a little distressed when he thought he might be turning bi last week, but the sight of him watching lesbian porn while clutching his groin and moaning “Oh my God, I am getting full erection”, was, whilst very disturbing, worth the lack of queer integrity.

There were also the faces of stone on the other two while the gayer was upstairs *with a boy* having a bit of noisy but very vanilla hanky panky. They were pretending they were worried about his reputation and the feelings of his subjects, but you know they were just peeved because they have got NOWHERE with the lovely ladies of Brighton - and no wonder really, they’re completely clueless.

Meanwhile, in REAL LIFE, there has been one light at the end of the January tunnel – my stunning appearance at last week’s Polari. I had been asked to go and talk about tranny stalking, and proffer dog-eared old copies of Tranny Hag, in the middle slot between two proper authors who’ve done books and stuff.

I was a little nervous by the time the day came, but I was only on for a few minutes so wasn’t too bothered. Paul Burston insisted on introducing me as “a lesbian” which gave me the red mists, but proved to be a good opener - I stormed to the mike and declared, “Actually I’m queer, not lesbian, and don’t make that mistake again Mr Burston.” The faces of the crowd were a picture – those laughing and those wondering who the insane militant freak was.

Anyway, I quacked on about Pete Burns and Justin, got a few laughs so I think it was OK. Rupert Smith told me afterwards, “Everyone thinks you’re really weird now”, so that felt like business as normal. He could have had a point because although lots of people took free copies of my magazine and sat reading them, not a soul attempted to talk to me. Ha ha.

This week’s looking lively - I’m working with Ophelia Bitz tomorrow, going filming with David Hoyle on Wednesday and then, OH YES ... come along to the Peter Tatchell Fundraiser Event at Phoenix Theatre Bar on Wednesday evening. I’m not DJing or anything so you’re spared that, I’m just helping out, but there’s a great line-up including David, Miss Kimberley, Dickie Beau and Bearlesque, and it’s all for a very good cause so you’d be a tit to miss it.

Thursday I’m seeing Eagles of Death Metal at Soho Review Bar and then it’s Leee Black Childers at the Southbank Centre on Friday. Hurrah – the return of civilisation.

Drug of the Nation

I don’t do being ill well, so when I was suddenly struck down by a chesty cough that made me sound like I’d smoked about a million Woodbine last week, I went into total hibernation. I didn’t leave the house to go further than the local shops for a whole week and I have to say, it was actually rather nice.

I find that if I do the day job and do nothing but sit at home in the evening I go mental, but if I cut out the day job and just do the sitting at home, it’s quite bearable. I’m losing the plot a bit now, mind you, having been back at the Office of Perpetual Misery ( ™ ) for three days and still no sign of a social event.

The worst thing is, I’ve found myself slipping back into watching telly. I gave all that up ages ago and I really hadn’t missed it, but last Wednesday I found myself plugging in the Freeview box and reaching for the remote control.

So now I’m addicted to Celebrity Big Brother and am back on a steady diet of Coronation Street. I can just about cope with that, and I’m not ashamed of dipping into the odd episode of Father Ted or Family Guy, but last night I found myself LAUGHING OUT LOUD to some rubbish called The IT Crowd and then, worse still, TV Heaven/Telly Hell. What is to become of me?

To my credit I did take in some serious cinema at the weekend when I went to the ICA’s Destroy Every Closet Door season. I bet you hoped I’d have shut up about New York now but I haven’t, because one of the other things I saw when I was there was Milk – the fabulous new Gus Van Sant bio-pic starring Sean Penn as former gay San Francisco supervisor and all round good-egg, Harvey Milk. The film is so powerful it had me blubbing at the end. I don’t think I’ll be spoiling the plot too much by telling you he gets shot, and the film closes with a very beautiful scene of thousands of supporters holding a candlelight vigil right down The Castro and onto Market Street.

It all moved me so much that I rather loftily thought I should check out the documentary, The Times of Harvey Milk, which is currently showing as part of the aforementioned ICA season. I reasoned that a proper documentary would be a more informed product than a Hollywood blockbuster-style movie, but I was wrong. In fact the film version does a much better job of showing Harvey’s background and explaining his motivation for standing as supervisor, and also of introducing some of the other characters who were instrumental in his campaigns and success. I recommend you go and see it immediately.

While I was at the ICA I also caught The Celluloid Closet, a rough guide to gay presence in the history of cinema. I’ve always been too lazy to read the book of the same name so was glad that somebody had the foresight to make a film version. There were some great clips from The Hunger, probably the second ever dykey film I ever saw after Vampire Lovers, and my all time fave Torch Song Trilogy.

Best of all, Harvey Fierstein was one of the interviewees in Celluloid Closet and then the narrator in The Times of Harvey Milk. I saw him when I was in New York, did I mention?

Oh well, gotta go now, Channel 4 is calling - I wonder what Coolio’s been up to ...

Coney Island Baby

Each time I’ve been to New York I’ve planned to take a trip to Coney Island to see the funfair but never got around to it. As much of it is due to be ripped down next year for redevelopment work, I thought I’d better make sure I got there this time before I missed out forever.

Another advantage of going during this trip is that it was cold and wintery and I wanted to see it when it was all closed down and faded. I’m delighted to say that it really was like walking into a real-life ghost town.

I decided to get off the subway a stop early to visit the Aquarium before walking to Surf Avenue to see the sights. But I got HORRIBLY excited when I left the station and was walking over the bridge outside to find that suddenly the famous Cyclone was RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME. I got quite giggly and awe struck as I stopped to savour the views of the rest of the street below.

I realise now that I should have done the trip the other way around because, much as I loved the aquarium, I kind of rushed it as I was itching to get back to see the main purpose of the trip – and it really is a great aquarium, it deserved my full attention! You start off indoors with lots of tanks of exotic looking fish, then you go outside to meet penguins, sea lions and huge walruses. Around the outside area are a number of themed buildings with a variety of exhibits, and my favourite turned out to be the Alien Stingers.

I’ve never really been much of a fan of jelly fish before, as the Alien Stingers turned out to be, but perhaps that’s because I haven’t seen them displayed so magnificently. Each tank was backlit to give the creatures a sci-fi kind of feel and I could have watched them bloop up and down for hours.





I also adored the sea horses and fell in love with a very beautiful, brown eyed seal.

After a quick look around the disappointing gift shop (why do they always insist of stocking loads of very poor soft toys?) I headed back outside to the boardwalk to take a look at the sea and view that funfair properly for the very first time.

There were a few people about but all the faded paintwork and closed down shutters gave the place the feel of an un-used film set. I was delighted that it was a grey and overcast day which added perfectly to the bleakness of it all and I felt like I had actually found my nirvana.

I particularly liked the Shoot the Freak booth where, according to a very knowledgeable man I bumped into, some guy rented an empty lot and made a fortune by dressing in a silly costume and charging people to shoot paint balls at him – genius!

A picture paints a thousand words so I will now hand you over to my fabulous Coney Island picture gallery. Usually I brighten the colours of photos on this site to give them a David Lynchian “perfect word” kind of feel, but these I have left suitably grey ... enjoy!

Take me to the Coney Island image gallery.

I'm Your Puppet

I spent much of Joey Arias show at the Here Arts Centre cringing at the corset he was wearing. It pulled his waist RIGHT IN so that his hips stood out at right angles beneath it, like on an old wooden marionette. As someone who is not prepared to suffer ANY physical discomfort in the pursuit of style, I found this impressive and horrifying in equal measures. I also started to wonder if he’d “done a Cher” and had a couple of his hips removed, it just didn’t seem possible that any human being could contort themselves into such a shape. Scary!

For his Arias with a Twist show, Joey has teamed up with puppeteer Basil Twist to produce a multi-media show that features lights, projection and many fabulous puppets alongside the live performance.



When Joey first appears on stage he has been captured by aliens and is strapped to a silver table that spins around and flips him up and down as he is singing - clearly this man has no concept of nausea. Throughout the show he is thrown into different worlds for each song so the scenery is constantly changing. There’s a jungle where he is pestered by snakes, an incident involving magic mushrooms that results in him being thrown to hell where he dances with two amazing devil puppets. There’s also a mannequin jazz band, a troupe of plump lady dancers, a rotating plinth with high kicking legs sticking out of it...



I think my favourite bit was a pastiche of King Kong (or perhaps Attack of the 50 Foot Woman) with a giant sized Joey clomping his way through the streets of Manhattan. Oh, and did I mention there’s a scene where he gets attacked by a giant octopus? Silly me!

Most of the songs were unfamiliar to me so annoyingly I can’t remember much about them. I know there was a version of All By Myself and no doubt a smattering of Joey’s trademark Billie Holliday numbers. To be honest I was too busy enjoying the spectacle to pay too much attention to the actual content of the show.

On the way out of the theatre I stopped to buy a souvenir fridge magnet and admire a display case of some of Basil Twist’s other puppet works, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice behind me. I looked around and there was Joey, wearing a stunning red dressing gown and chatting to a couple of fans. I’d like to be able to amaze you now with tales of my stalking prowess but, I’m ashamed to say, I bottled it and didn’t say a single word to him.

*Hangs head in shame* – I am a stalking FAILURE.

Nights on Broadway

Pretty much all evidence of Christmas had been removed by the evening of 25 December. All the shops would have been shut by then anyway and, certainly in midtown Manhattan, for all the restaurants, bars, theatres and fast food joints, it was business as usual. And there was I, hotfooting my way up to 52nd Street for my first ever show on Broadway – Hairspray, starring my long-time idol, Harvey Fierstein.

I was in a state of some excitement but, I must admit, for the first ten minutes or so I was a little nonplussed with my theatrical experience. As this was BROADWAY I was expecting a really elaborate theatre and great service with people ready to cater to my every whim. So when I walked through the door and was frog-marched *immediately* to my seat with a brisk “that seat there, no photographs”, I was a little bit taken aback. Where was the nice programme seller ... and what of my pre-show drinkie?!

I got up to explore and eventually found a Mr Pinkies stall selling tshirts and, down the stairs, ah sweet salvation ... a small bar. En route I had noticed a few children clutching Hairspray drinking glasses with blue lids and a straw, I was suffering from severe drink vessel envy. I was delighted to find them lined up on the bar top. “Could I have a double Jack Daniels and coke...”, I requested and, brandishing the coveted plastic item, “IN ONE OF THESE?!” Well, so what, I’m English, we’re allowed to be eccentric and, now stocked with alcohol and proudly clutching my sacred chalice, I was ready and willing to take my seat.

The show was a colourful and entertaining spectacle, although the £85 price tag was niggling me slightly. From my fabulous fifth row seat I had a great view of Harvey, who got a loud cheer when he appeared on stage and was very much the crowd’s favourite. I can’t think of anyone who could make a better substitute for Divine and he played the role with the just the right amount of cheerful bitterness and eye-rolling. That growling, gravelly voice suited the character perfectly, not least when taking phone calls from Tracy’s admirers, “Yes, this is Tracy Turnblad’s residence ... no, I’m not her FATHER” (cut to black).

As in the film I kind of preferred it at the beginning when Edna Turnblad is in a housecoat and slippers, before the Mr Pinkie’s Hefty Hideaway glamour makeover. Though Harvey looked amazing both in a red satin with white fur trim, slightly Father Christmas-sy number, and also this mesmerising mother-and-daughter ensemble.

From my close vantage point I was amused to note that most of the teenage characters were played by actors who were at least in their 30s, including Marissa Jaret Winokur as Tracy. Besides Harvey, my other favourite was Susan Mosher as Penny Pingleton’s mom / the gym teacher / prison warden. She played each of the characters with the same borderline hysteria and stood head and shoulders above the head of the cast. I think it could only have been improved for me by having Queen Latifah, who appears in the film version of the musical, as Mouthmouth Maybelle. She kind of makes me feel a bit funny down there.

The show quite rightly ended with a standing ovation and, on leaving the theatre, I decided to end the day with a peek at one of my other favourite New York locations – Times Square. So here, for your delectation, is Times Square on Christmas evening – no snow, but plenty of tourists!

Fairytale of New York

Well firstly let me say, if I was under any illusion that I would have New York to myself over Christmas (which I suppose I kind of was) I was wrong, wrong, WRONG. Midtown Manhattan was literally crawling with people who don’t like Christmas either. Even entire families, stubbornly refusing to stay at home with outsize roast dinners getting on each others’ nerves – the very cheek of them!!

I had thought that going up the Empire State Building on Christmas morning would be a nice idea but guess what? So did every other visitor to the city! Ha ha – I walked past at about 11am and the queue was about the longest I’ve ever seen it. I didn’t fancy standing about with a load of wittering foreigners, so I had to make do with a photo.


Don’t you love the Empire State? It’s a much better New York icon that the rotten old Statue of Liberty.

Continuing uptown I realised that the Americans are not ashamed of cashing in on festive boredom. On a normal day on 5th Avenue you will see a few yellow-shirted City Tour reps trying to encourage you go on bus tours and what have you, but on Christmas morning there was an entire fleet of them, knowing they could make an easy buck as the options for day trip fun were somewhat limited.

While most of the big shops were shut, there were no end of cafes and restaurants open so no one had to go hungry. There were also plenty of opportunities to buy electrical goods or jeans, these stores being largely operated by Asian people. Quite frankly if you own a retail premises that didn’t open up then you’re stupid, as every available establishment was packed to the gills, from Virgin Records on Union Square (yes, they still have proper Virgin not bleedin Zavvi!) to the hideous Shoe Mania, which even at the best of times resembles a shoe jumble sale and is the least enjoyable shopping experience EVER.

But anyway, I digress - my mission was to press on uptown to Central Park to see the animals at the zoo. The park was fairly busy but it had a nice, friendly and relaxed atmosphere. I’m not sure of the relevance of this bridge but it appears on all the postcards so I thought I’d better take a picture of it - look at all the little duckies!



There had been some snow the previous day, and a little of it still remained on the grassy areas of the park, allowing me to take this very festive snap of a friendly squirrel.

New York squirrels are so big and fat that they clearly have no need to hibernate and were out foraging for nuts. Hurrah!

I regret I have no photos of the zoo, I can’t think why I forgot to take any, but had a lovely time feeding goats with a small amount of grain that you can purchase for 50 cents and be rewarded with a soggy handful of goat spit. I also saw penguins, a polar bear, sea lions and very cute monkeys.

I considered taking a ride in a horse and cart as I exited the park, but at $34 for 15 minutes it seemed a bit excessive, and most of the people I saw looked bored shitless with the whole experience by the end of their trip anyway.



I opted instead for the subway and headed back to the Chelsea to prepare for my big Christmas treat – Hairspray with Harvey Fierstein on Broadway! Details to follow ...