Monday Monday Monday...
Hi there. Welcome back. How was your weekend? Mine was... well... a weekend.
It was pretty uneventful, actually. Friday night I went out to celebrate the birthday of the one, the only Andrea Caswell (depicted below as lovable loser Kathy) ---
--- and I got uproariously drunk, for some reason. And then proceeded to stay up until close to 6 AM doing absolutely nothing. Do you ever find yourself up in the wee hours of the morning asking yourself "what the fuck am I doing right now?! Where the fuck did the past four hours go and what occupied them?! I know something did... but can't, for the life of me, pinpoint what that is"... yeah... it was like that...
So I just stayed in most of Saturday being the sizzlingliest hot tranny mess that I could be.
Saturday night saw us 'try something new'. Read: go to a gay bar that's not Buddies. So we ventured to the first time to a joint called El Convento Rico. Apparently it started out as this renowned safe-haven for Latin members of the gay community, and boasts quite an arsenal of Latin drag queens, many of whom have autographed portraits hanging on the wall a-la Sardi's.
We arrived at around 12:30 in the midst of something... I gathered it was a drag show, but couldn't really see anything until we found a suitable point of view... once we found one, I saw what could have been either a particularly ornately attired woman or a typical tranny lip-syncing along to the Spanglish version of Kat Deluna's "Whine Up".
Intermittently, zaftig party girls who were part of a bridal shower would come up and drop it like it was hot, regardless of whether it was hot or not.
Okay, this seems like a drag show. Huzzah's all around.
Then, once that particular drag queen was done, some sprightly Gino dude came up, danced around and lip-synced to Ricky Martin's "Maria". Ummm... okay... so this isn't so much a drag show as much as it is a good old-fashioned AIR BAND CONTEST... hmmm...
Anyway - it was like waltzing into another mothafuckin' world, let me tell ya. One I have little desire to revisit...
In other news that's entirely questionable as to whether or not you'll care about:
Ask anyone who knows me to describe my behavior in general on a Sunday, and they'll say "feline". In that all that I ever do on Sundays is eat and sleep - I truly am the picture of languid.
It's also the only day of the week that I'll watch whatever the fuck is on TV... like whatever the fuck is on TV... like the other week, I actually watched Heartbreakers starring Susan "Sigourney" Weaver and Jennifer Loathe Hewitt... yeah... I really fucking watch anything...
Last Sunday happened to mark what would have been the 100th birthday of screen Goddess Joan Crawford.
Joan Crawford, of course, is Old Hollywood royalty. Having appeared in more than 400 films (or whatever), she started out as a good-old-fashioned hoofer in the chorus line under her birth name, Lucille LeSeur.
Some years later, she was hired as a contract player at MGM Studios, playing bit parts in the silent films of the era. When the talkies arrived - AND BOY, DID THEY EVER! - MGM honcho Louis B. Mayer insisted that she change her name, as he felt LeSeur sounded too much like Sewer. A contest was held to find a new name for the starlet - which kind of seems weird, huh? Like, she was already sort-of established... it'd be like Dreamworks currently having a contest to rename Amy Adams or something... - and the first choice was "Joan Arden". To the chagrin of everyone in the world with the exception of plump Canadian chanteuse Jann Arden, that name was already taken at the time. So plan B was taken instead: Joan Crawford.
I've always kind of been obsessed with Joan Crawford. I remember it randomly started in second year University... I just love the bitches' face more than I can possibly say.
I collected all these pictures of her online and actually had one on my desktop, insisting that she looked like me - a fact that, with the right photoshopped makeup applied, is still stunningly true.
Anyway - imagine my delight when flipping channels discovered that Turner Classic Movie Channel was airing a special entitled "Joan Crawford: The Ultimate Movie Star", which, to my greater delight, is all on the y'tube:
It links to the other 10 parts and it's all just entirely fascinating. It features interviews with countless co-stars, former directors, former paramours, biographers and most notably, her adopted daughter Christina whom she put through years of abuse that were documented in a memoir-turned-film, "Mommie Dearest".
BITCH I LOVED THIS WEEK
Who: I know it would have been the sort of obvious choice for me to put Joan Crawford, but she's just so far above being ranked by the lowly likes of the blogosphere, that I refuse! Anita Page, if you watched that clip, is that cranky old broad dressed to the nines who recalls working with Crawford on several pictures. Further research discloses that she's one of the last (I think, of three) stars who worked in silent films still alive and even more ass-rockingly of note is that she's the ONLY PERSON STILL ALIVE who was at the first Academy Awards.
Why I Loved Her: Anita Page doesn't fuck around. She's older than water but that's not gonna stop her from putting on her Sunday best and talkin' shit about people she's outlived. LOVE IT.
BITCH I HATED THIS WEEK
Who: Self-proclaimed "Cash Man", anyone in the Toronto area can tell you that this man rules the airwaves as far as local advertising time goes. He runs Oliver Jewellery, a shop that purportedly buys used jewellery for big bucks. Apparently - that's bullshit. He offers meagre amounts and then tells people to get out of his face. His amateur-ish commercials run round the clock and make absolutely no sense.
Why I Hated Him: He's basically Scrooge McDuck in human form and just so ridiculous he makes me want to vomit. I mainly hate him because that Euro-dance video he made with backup dancers get stuck in my head quite often, though.
I've gotta split...
But before I do...
Let the aggressive inundation begin...
In just over two weeks!!! This one is going to be GOOD.