Tag Archives: F@g Day

Drive-by Pride

New York shouted a collective “hurray” for human rights and put on its best Sunday chaps. Of course, sale I feel personally responsible for making the whole thing come about. After all, see we instituted F@g Day on June 14th. Then I gave $20 to a young man in the park collecting funds to bring about the vote, patient in order to do penance for using the word “F@g”. At least I think he was collecting funds to bring about the vote. He had a clipboard. Personal responsibility is what really rings the changes. Plus I am a sucker for a clipboard.

After such a great labor of activism, I felt I had a right to be proud. And I, too, suffer for the cause. I had a date with a very attractive lady last week and she canceled, due to a cold. I had to attend several art openings all by myself. I was even invited to a fete! If you do not bring a date to a fete, surely there are negative social consequences. Alas, you cannot tell the sufferings of others until you have tried walking a mile in their highly stylish footwear. So it has been quite the emotional whirlybird. And here I would like to put in a good word for Everest Hall, painter and all around fancy gentleman.

His show is at DCKT through July 23rd.

Not really being a parade person, I celebrated pride by going to see Midnight in Paris and ogling Marion Cotillard. One other thing that I will say about this very special film, is that finally I have found an antidote to the hopeless feelings I have attached to the pursuit of an art career ever since watching “the Extras”. Really.

Anyway, we are done feeling proud and can heartily return to our bitter march toward oblivion, hastened by the guilt and self-recrimination that so becomes us. Or perhaps I should go home and watch Cabaret again. Tomorrow belongs to ME.

Happy F@g Day!

Oh yes, I know it is FLAG Day, but where is the fun in that? We are not the least bit patriotic, at least not what passes for patriotism these days- the ability to consume one’s own weight in ground beef, drape a flag over everything, and pull a lever for the most lipless totalitarian on the ballot. We are much better suited to black and blue than red, white and blue.

So, back to the gays. If we had a three dollar bill, who would we put on it, anyway? For our very first F@g Day, I nominate Quentin Crisp, the English writer, bon vivant and cleverpants famed for his fabulousness, and fabulous for being so famous. My mother gave me his memoir, the Naked Civil Servant, to read when I was a tender high schooler, a good girl with a horrible attitude. Perhaps she wanted me to quit feeling so special for being such a smartass. Naturally, it worked the opposite. I loved the book and the film so much, that I was hardened in my desire to be a ribald contrarian, a vulgar raconteur. Crisp proved that if you could survive on peanuts and champagne, you could make a living out of charming people at social engagements. Hats off to the finest of glad fellows, Quentin Crisp, but make sure it is replaced at the appropriately jaunty angle.

“If at first you don’t succeed, failure may be your style.”- Quentin Crisp