Talking 'bout a Revolution

It’s the candle lit vigil against hate crime at Trafalgar Square tonight. I’ve thought about it long and hard but I’m not going, does that make me a bad gay?

I’m glad it’s happening and don’t get me wrong I AM NOT ATTACKING THE ORGANISERS, but there are just things about this event that don’t gel for me.

A group of people holding a vigil in memory of their friend, Ian Baynham, who was violently murdered in the Square a few weeks ago, that makes perfect sense and I have the utmost respect for it. But do we really think this action is going to challenge hate crime?

Come to think of it, why isn’t it to challenge HOMOPHOBIC crime? Homophobic attacks are on the increase but we still have to be limp-wristed and inclusive and campaign for ALL HATE CRIME. Why can’t we just stand our own ground for once?

Why can we not LET THEM KNOW WE’RE ANGRY? If there’s going to be a full-scale, organised event to challenge homophobic and/or hate crime, I’d rather march through the streets and have my voice heard – you know, an old-fashioned demonstration like they used to have. Back when Gay Pride was Gay Pride and not LONDON Pride. Back when Gay Pride was to challenge homophobia … but they tell us we don’t need to do that anymore don't they? It’s a thing of the past. Is that why we’re getting our heads in?

It’s all so passive, why are we waving candles when we could be kicking chavs? Queer gangs should be running amok around council estates intimidating people. Instead we have '2 minutes silence at 9pm' hmmm … the homophobes must be shitting themselves.

So while I support the people who will be attending the vigil, I will be sitting at home and silently seething with fury. I do my bit for gay rights walking round with a boyish haircut, flat shoes and a bag saying Pussy Faggot. Queer visibility all day every day, not a token gesture.

Mother Ruscha

The guide booklet for the Ed Ruscha exhibition at the Hayward Gallery states: “There are no rules for looking at my paintings ... There’s no right or wrong way to approach my work, each viewer will come away with his or her own associations anyway. And that’s the way it should be.”

I like that a lot.

One of my biggest ambitions is to open a queer arts venue in that big space on Charing Cross Road –the building that was the Marquee for a while but is now a dreadful sports pub called the Montague Pike or something. One of the rules is that there will be NO SCHOOL OR COLLEGE PARTIES - nobody being dragged around by a know-it-all telling them what to think and what to feel when the look at the exhibits. How arrogant!

Instead there will be glittery sofas where people can relax and enjoy the works while sipping a finely mixed cocktail. There will be ambient music, tasteful lighting and a strictly no cunts allowed door policy. Sound perfect? Yes, I thought so, but let’s face it ... it’s not going to happen.

I lack the necessary drive or whatever it is to develop such fanciful notions. Try as I might, I can’t even manage to find my way out of a shite job in local government, never mind open up an elitist art salon in London. I was born into the wrong life, I’m convinced of it. My parents used to say, “I think we got the wrong one when we picked her up from the hospital.” Is it too late to go back and press charges?

Anyway, let’s focus, where were we? Oh ... ED RUSCHA, yes. After that auspicious start I was sad to find the show a little disappointing. It’s not awful, it just never really gets going. There’s no atmosphere and there's not really all that much to look at. Even though I like to wander round slowly and absorb all the pieces, I was still all done in about 30 minutes.

It’s hard to think that this is the same place that had the wonderful Walking in my Mind until a few weeks ago, where I spent ages visiting and revisiting each of the rooms, experiencing their individual magic.

There were two pieces I enjoyed a lot, my favourite was this one - Wen Out For Cigrets N Never Came Back.



I’m always enchanted by the suggestion of abandonment and the enormous sense of freedom that comes with it. I’m not sure where the streets below are but it reminds me very much of New York, and I love the romanticism of NY being the kind of place you can get lost in. Or of just checking into the Hotel Chelsea and never leaving, living among all that history and creating random bits of art.

The other one I loved was this – Not A Bad World Is It?



I think maybe I should buy a print of this and put it up on my wall at the day job, next to my pictures of drag queens and kittens – the things that remind me there is a real world out there when I’m having problems staying upright in my chair.

It’s kind of the antithesis to Banksy’s paintings where he will take an idyllic country scene and then put across a barrier of police tape or a surveillance system. They always make me smile.

I’m thinking of the Anish Kapoor at Royal Academy next ... or maybe Pop Life at Tate Modern. I’m put off by the fact it’s at Tate Modern though. Anyone been?

Start Your Engines

Apologies once again for my lacklustre approach to updating this thing, but hopefully you’ve all been hooked on Rupaul’s Drag Race like I have for the past few weeks and haven’t even noticed.

Isn’t it fantastic? The best kind-of-sort-of-reality TV show EVER - I’m going to be heartbroken when it finishes.

In case you’re a complete spactard and don’t know what I’m on about, Rupaul’s Drag Race features nine queens from across USA competing to be America’s next drag superstar. It was shown on American TV earlier this year but has only just made it to our UK TV sets.

The contestants are assembled below and, in approximate order of preference, they are: Nina, Jade, Shannel, Bebe, Ongina, Victoria, Rebecca, Tammie and Akashia.

They are set weekly tasks by Rupaul who stops by to give them advice and judges their efforts at the end of the show. The two who have put in the weakest performance then have to LYPSYNC FOR THEIR LIVES in a final head-to-head competition, and the loser has to sashay way.

During the first show I instantly fell in love with EACH AND EVERY ONE of the contestants (except perhaps Tammie) and it was sad to think that each week one of them would be asked to leave.

First to go was Victoria, who failed the ‘make a fabulous garment out of a load of old rubbish’ task. I was kind of upset about that as she was the only fattie and I quite liked there being a fat girl there. Still, I hadn’t really had time to get too attached to her and she did seem to have had an awful lot of botox. I don’t really understand why fat people need botox, isn’t that just for the skinnys?

The winner of that first task was my absolute favourite, Nina Flowers. Nina has this amazing androgynous look going on with a bald head, tattoos and 17-inches of make up. As Rupaul says in Supermodel, “she is FIERCE!” She is also by far the nicest and most level-headed of the group when being interviewed in male drag as her alter-ego, Jorges Flores. Just have a look here – GORGEOUS!!



By episode two the cracks were beginning to show when the contestants had to form two rival girl groups. Group captain, Akashia was proving herself to be majorly FLAWED in the personality department with strops and sulks and bitchy comments. When she ended up in the final two I hoped we were rid of her, but her rival Tammie didn’t put up a fight so she lived on to annoy us another week until she got her comeuppance.

Episode three was an odd one with the contestants having to produce an Oprah-type TV show, then for episode four they had to produce an ad for MAC. This time Rebecca proved herself to be a pain in the arse by attention seeking and basically being rubbish. (Actually Shannel was a bit annoying too but she has beautiful eyes so I forgive her.)

Rebecca was rightfully cast down into the final two but, in what I consider to be a dreadful miscarriage of justice, my other favourite, the beautiful Jade - who reminds me of Suppositori Spelling - was announced as the loser.

Rupaul, what were you thinking? Look at this picture. LOOK! How could you dismiss her? You cruel, CRUEL drag queen! I will never trust you again.

(She wants to be careful with those acrylics mind, she'll have somebody's eye out.)

I think my favourite challenge was this week when the queens were matched up with fighty butch lezzas, who they had to attempt to make feminine and turn into replica models of themselves. I loved that Nina Flowers was dwarfed by the six-foot Amazonian she was paired with, and I loved seeing the most butch of the girls curl up in horror at the thought of wearing make up!

Ongina was this week’s loser, which upset my fellow Drag Race addicts Toblarina and Joe Pop, but I wasn’t too bothered. She was a bit too perky for me.

So now we’re down to the last four and I have gone and spoiled it for myself by accidentally finding out who the winner is. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell you, but you must promise to offer me grief counselling when it's over.

When does series two start?