Excuse Her Beauty

"Anyone doing anything tonight," Kyle texted Monday night. (This is the Kyle that Geraldine Visco of the New York Press calls a "hunky club kid Kyle"). I say there's an open bar from 11:00-11:30 at Eastern Bloc (one of their stools is pictured above) for Sherry Vine's Big Sexyland party. We decide to meet there and then make our way to Barracuda for Peppermint's show and Miss-ter T-Boy DJ'ing. Kyle brought his friend Shane. The crowd at Eastern Bloc was dancing to Sherry's beats--she DJ's the night--and keeping the bartender busy. Between cuts, she came out to talk to Kyle and me. I told her again how much fun I'd had the night before at the Bar d'O reunion.


After a few rounds, we hopped in a cab. We didn't want to miss Peppermint (pictured above and below). We had plenty of time to make our way through all the people, grab our next round, and say hello to T-Boy. Peppermint's show was fantastical. She did her standards and danced up a storm. She even brought up a lesbian onstage for some play bondage (pictured below).


Peppermint also showed some footage from her new video, "Excuse My Beauty" (a still from that footage is below). She looked amazing in it. Can't wait for it to premiere!

After the show, T-Boy kept us dancing all night--even Peppermint. She rarely left the stage. Sometimes, when I'd look up past my cocktail, she was onstage with others. One guy played Omar to her Janet as Peppermint nailed the choreography for "If." 

Jonté came by to say hi to T-Boy. I told him again how much I liked his performance. Kyle (pictured below) and I had a few more rounds before he vanished off into the night. I knew he was leaving because he asked if he had his coat. Again, I managed to close out the bar. Peppermint, T-Boy, Jonté and I said our goodbyes outside.

Keeping the Fanta'zhézhé Real

My quiet night at home was tossed out the window with Baby Jane's comment to her status update: "what would you be doing this evening Sethingtons?" I'd liked her status update, thinking about her plans, after all. We were set to have a B-eautiful night accompanying Epiphany, swinging though Boybox at G Lounge, Bonbon, and The Box. So, I was pondering my look for the night, going through things I'd bought in London and Venice ... to find the evening reduced in one of Jane's subsequent updates: "Scratch that! G Lounge it is." I donned a version of the new uniform--with my hipster leather suspenders on full display--and headed out.

G Lounge was packed--at times in that hard-to-walk-around kind of way--which was nice since I thought it might be a bit quiet this week out with people traveling for Christmas. Making my way in, I enjoyed a hearty greeting from Glammy-nominated Go-Go Boy Geronimo (pictured above), whom I hadn't seen in a while. I miss how he'd come over and dance to my beats in between sets at another bar. Epiphany was there, by the bar; but I didn't see Jane, whom Epiphany said was there somewhere. "Look for the white glasses," she suggested.


After I said hello to DJ Cazwell and bopped to what he had on, Peaches' "F*ck the Pain Away," I found Jane Lane giving office boy realness with her best friend Daria Casey. Rob was there, too. I was working on my first round while everyone was passing off jackets to watch and figuring out what happened to Rendi. (Check out Jane Lane's animated ego introducing her Jane cam 4:49 into the clip below: "All Jane, all the time. Well, except naked time." She explains that "it's a public service. If my mundane little life can somehow provide comfort to lonely Web trollers, then I'll know my time here on Earth wasn't wasted." A sarcastic blog manifesto?)

We were losing people like we were on a shipwreck, taking on water. Rendi, Rob. Casey was about to bolt. Jane and I finished our next round and decided to head over to Barracuda. First we dropped by to pick up Rob at his apartment overlooking Barracuda launching pad. Along the way, Jane and I discussed the balance between ethics, comedy, and racial politics in Facebook posts.

We popped down to Cuda to say hi to Kyle, our favorite barback, and to Mimi Imfurst (pictured above) hosting her weekly Karaoke-fest. To my surprise, Cuda was also packed--was everyone out nabbing one last hangover for the road?--and Miss-ter T-Boy (pictured below left, with Nicho) was filling in at the DJ booth. James Coppola and Ben Andrews were there, too.

My De La Blanca sister Dallas DuBois (pictured above right, with Mimi) was by the pool table. Soon, Mimi dragged her onstage and asked her to sing "I'm A Little Teapot." Mimi and T-Boy lovingly traded barbs between the singers, among whom was Yuhua, giving a subdued fantasy, and belting out the Glee-revived Journey mega-ballad, "Don't Stop Believing." Someone should have sung the Cheers theme, since it seemed like Cuda was the spot for all of us to catch up and close out the night. Nicho was talking about his New Year's party at VIG 27. I was talking with T-Boy about doing a track with him. Baby Jane introduced me to, and told me to watch out for, Lady Blue. I told Bianca del Rio I had to edit that video I took of her and Dina a couple weeks ago. Glammy-winning Go-Go Boy Matthew Camp came to Cuda after finishing his shift at G Lounge.

Then, my De La Blanca sister Celso (pictured above, serving the dance floor at last week's B*tch @ss Trick party, with me beside her, and below from last night) came in with Tyler. T-Boy, Celso, Tyler, and I had more than a few laughs, both in Cuda and at Unicorn video store next door on our way home.

I'll share a couple quotes. At Cuda, Celso was waxing nostalgic. She longed for the 1991 club scene because if it were 1991, she reasoned, "my p*ssy would be beaten up tonight." Tyler was busting out his Hammer moves and chanting "Too Legit to Quit." T-Boy and I were reminiscing about Oaktown's 357, singing "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah" to the beat of whatever was playing at the time. At Unicorn, where we said hi to Ben Andrews' poster and greeted the last customers of the night, Celso sighed, "Who needs a Glammy when you can't get laid?" At the subway, I suggested that all she needed was a Penn Station fantasy. We all laughed, said our goodbyes, made our way home. I posted Mariah's "Fantasy" remix with ODB to her wall, reminding her to "keep the fanta'zhézhé real, son."

Where Them Bloggers At? Here I Am, Here I Am, Here I Am.

2009 has blessed us with two pop divas giving us looks for days. Of course, there's Lady Gaga. But there's also the Grace-Jones-loving Rihanna (click here for some shots and video of Rihanna's American Music Awards performance to compare with mine from Grace's July show in New York City below).

I loved "Hard" before I saw Ri-Ri's fantastical video. Now, I can't get it out of my head. I'd love to see Miss-ter T-Boy (pictured below) do "Hard" because, aside from Rihanna, T-Boy was the "hottest b*tch in heels right here," as Ri-Ri boasts, at this year's Glammy Awards. Watching "Hard" makes me want something with pointy shoulders again. As if Michael Jackson in This Is It and Janet Jackson in her video for "Make Me" weren't enough. Don't stop it shoulders. Don't stop 'til you get it up.

The Glammy Monster, Part Two

I actually like awards shows, no matter how long they dawdle about, through seemingly endless categories and performances. I've set VCRs, TiVos, and DVRs to record them. I've re-watched the bits that I liked. I've used those moments to chart nosedives and breakthroughs in movie and music careers. Cherry Jubilee's Glammy Awards are no different. They're sort of like the Golden Globes, where everyone involved with a certain project sits 'round a table boozing it up. We do, too. I was with Glammy nominee and presenter Dina Delicous and my Wonder Twin and the maestro of the launching-on-December-12th Fierth.com site, Brian Mills (pictured above). Also at our table were Gay Socialites King Ralphy and Charles Winters.

Brian and I moved into the front-row fray of camera-wielders (us being two of them) to get a good gander at the fantastical performances. One was by Sahara Davenport (pictured above). Before Sahara took over the stage, Glammy Host Sweetie admitted, "She's one of my favorite performers in New York because she's just not afraid to come out and do whatever the fuck she feels like." Indeed, she wasn't. She started off with the theme song to RuPaul's Drag Race since she's a contestant on its second season; then she tore through a club mix that included Mary Mary's "Shackles." There were enough splits, leaps, hair twirls, and arm and leg extensions that presenter Bebe Zahara Benet said afterward, "I almost felt close to the Motherland." I couldn't tell if the "kinda, sorta" that Bebe added to that praise like a punctuation mark was a clarification or a dig.

Best Male Performer Cazwell (pictured below, with director Francis Legge) was clear about the fun he was having. He explained in his acceptance speech (above) that "I've had a smile on my face since I walked in the door." He also followed in Acid Betty's pumpsteps by proclaiming, "I fucking love the Glammys."

I did, too, Caz. That's why I'm presenting my own awards for the evening below. It's my small way to give back to a fantastical evening. The awards follow pictures of the winners.

BEST SAVE FROM A FALSE START

-- PEPPERMINT

Her dancers lined up. Peppermint took center stage. The beat to her song "Working Girl" kicked in. Peppermint talked to us. We couldn't hear a thing she said. Sure, the crowd laughed when she made a "cut" motion with her hands and stage-whispered to the crowd, "Hold on." But after going to the DJ booth and finding out that something wasn't turned on, Peppermint laughed it off: "Oops. My bad. I'm ready if y'all are ready. Y'all ready?" The crowd was.

BEST ADDITIONAL HEIGHT

-- MISS-TER T-BOY

Glammy nominee T-Boy rocked his own black leather take on the vertigo-inspiring Alexander McQueen pumps that Lady Gaga sports in the "Bad Romance" video. I joked, "You could be a little taller tonight, you know." T-Boy's fierce looks and onstage force is why Acid Betty thought T-Boy was going to win Alternative Artist, not her. Betty said that T-Boy is one of her favorites. He's one of mine, too.

BEST. VERBAL. PACING. EVER.

-- AMANDA LEPORE

Whenever Amanda Lepore speaks. She knows exactly when. To stop. And pause. I wanted. Her to host. So that I could. Hear much more. Of her. On the microphone. And I'm not just giving her. This award because I loved Amanda for years. Before I had the opportunity to DJ a couple times. For her and Cazwell's Go-Go Idol Contest. At Boysroom. The second of those nights. I had her and Cazwell cutting a rug on the dance floor. All night. One of her friends. Kept running up to ask. What I was playing.

BEST SAVE FROM A WARDROBE MALFUNCTION

-- ERICKATOURE AVIANCE

Sure, Erickatoure won the Best Dance Performer Glammy; but she was serving her own Janet Jackson nipplegate while performing her song "My Pumps." As she strutted to and fro--in pumps, of course--her poof of a skirt kept slipping down to reveal some areolae that, unlike Ms. Jackon-If-You're-Nasty's, were not covered by nipple piercings. Erickatoure kept working the floor and adjusting her look as if the mishap illustrated the lyrics of her song: "You can't bring me down / Don't you sit and hate / Just congratulate." Yes.

BEST MEA CULPA

-- EPIPHANY

Epiphany's unprompted expression of gratitude to all of us working in New York City nightlife--she didn't win either the Entertainer of the Year or Best Vocalist award she was up for--came when she was onstage presenting another award. It was coupled with her admission that she had been less than kind to some of us. This was rare realness in a group priding themselves on serving all kinds of it. Epiphany made me so mushy inside that I wanted to scream out, "I fucking love the Glammys," too.

BEST INCONSPICUOUS EXIT AFTER NOT WINNING AN AWARD

-- WITHHELD

If I named all the winners for this category, they'd no longer be inconspicuous. I'm sure they were all off to paying gigs.

There Was No Guest List Last Night!

It was cold and I was tweeting Logan Hardcore on 57th Street, outside Providence. She Facebooked me to say that she'd put me on her list; but according to Giovanni, the doorman, Logan didn't give him any names. Moreover, he explained to me, she gets one guest when she arrives, and she had one with her when she walked in. Giovanni just should have said, "Miss Thing, there is no guest list tonight!" No worries. I was already less than impressed by the way they only let three people trickle in at a time at 10:20 p.m. because, of course, the place must have been packed. We were lined up that early for the open bar. It was over at 11; and we're on a budget. OK?

I texted my Wonder Twin Brian Mills (pictured below) and suggested that we meet at Therapy instead so we could visit Miss-ter T-Boy, who had us shimmying at our table to Janet Jackson and Kelis--and toasting him when he sent over a bottle of champagne. Brian brought Chris (pictured farther below, with Brian in front of the blue van) along for the fantastical Saturdaying we were about to get into.

Baby Jane (pictured below) was back in town, apparently having survived Thanksgiving with the family, and texted that he was off to Eastern Bloc. We finished our drinks and hopped in a cab. I thought it best not to look as the cabbie weaved through traffic to his own soundtrack. Very loud 2Pac. With some bass that we could feel.

Epiphany (pictured below) was there, too, out of face. She came with her own Gladware® and fork. She needed some Thanksgiving leftovers to nosh on between drinks.

Johnny was a' go-going. We talked about how excited we are about throwing a new party at Uncle Charlie's new Lower East Side location on Thursday December 10th. I even joined him on stage and swung around the pole.

After a few more rounds, we decided to head over to The Cock. And I decided to point and click away along the way.

It was Saturday and after 2:00 a.m. in the East Village. Where else were we going to go? Plus, we wanted to check out Ernie Cote's party in the basement. On our walk over, we came across a blue van.

Perhaps emboldened by surviving the cab ride earlier, Brian decided to run out into traffic on Second Avenue. Or maybe it was that last drink at Eastern Bloc.

The Cock was packed and I was groped on my way to the bathroom. We had a drink downstairs with Ernie and danced in what room we could find on the main floor. I can't tell you what was playing or when Brian left. Or what happened to Chris once we went outside looking for Brian. I found myself in The Urge, closing the night out. On my way home, I stopped by Punjabi to grab my usual bowl of saag and rice. I don't even have to order it anymore.

Apparently, after I was done eating, I took ten self-portraits. I love waking up and going through my camera. I always find surprises.