Faggots usually avoid pussy. It’s become a cliché. But last week Earl Dax reunited them with Pussy Faggot!, an evening of queer performance and culture at practically-in-the-East-River spot The Delancey Lounge, attracting a motley crew of performers and attendees, with something for everyone—faggots, pussies, pansies, drag queens and kings, straights and anyone who likes to have fun.
Headliner Bambi Lake couldn’t make it to the show from the West Coast due to “legal mishaps,” but luckily Kenny Mellman was on hand to sing a tribute to her with a shit load of new kids on the block (and all of the old kids, too).
“People mistake me for Debbie Harry because I’m blonde now. It’s just the bone structure. I don’t look like Debbie Harry! Even Debbie Harry doesn’t look like Debbie Harry anymore." Laughs and boos from the audience packed near the stage, but nothing daunted performer Penny Arcade, sneering at us all in a gold leather jacket, silver sequined dress and high-heeled boots. "I didn’t have to tell you that story. Is it too much for you? Can you handle this honesty? Can you handle Penny Arcade?" Cheers, but no jeers for the 59-year-old who shared hosting duties with the ever-lovely Sophia Lamar who chided me recently for calling her a club kid. “I’m an actor, an artist, a model.”
The Delancey is a maze of nooks and crannies. On the street level, the kiddies were dutifully sipping complimentary vodka watching Ryan Trecartin’s video “P.opular S.ky,” until later when Deelite’s Lady Miss Kier, wearing a big brimmed red hat, DJed. With three floors and a bunch of acts, even with my rampant ADHD, I wasn’t bored. In fact, I’d been text-recruited the night before by Dax to be a pussy faggot myself. Up on the tropical rooftop, amid the palm trees and wooden picnic tables, I set up my Gerrification Project. That’s my humble attempt to beautify America and bring joy to the world by letting people look like me with the cat-eye glasses, a platinum wig and tacky outfits. Let’s face it, most people need a makeover. Hypersexual drag queen and performer Jordan Fox took the plunge before his performance later that night. He was uncharacteristically pure without his usual outrageous costume and grease paint. “Do you have any lipstick?” Fox demanded then smeared it way beyond his lips. A toss of the wig and some white cat-eyes and voila! We weren’t just pussy faggots, we were look-alikes.