Going through photos from an old external hard drive, apparently on July 26, 2006, at 2:59PM, I saw fit to photoshop Conor Oberst’s face onto a box of puppies.
Friday: Burlesqueer at The Black Cat
So this ended up disturbing the fuck out of me. Possibly because our previous Burlesqueer performance was such a life-affirming, mind-boggling experience, a regular, non-Rocky Horror Picture Show themed, sans-Sparkle Bois performance was doomed to mediocrity. The inconceivably adorable Dutch Oven MC’d again, and I would definitely pay to see her co-host Betty O’Hellno again (I just started watching the lastest season of Ru Paul’s Drag Race and she reminds me a lot, in a good way, of BenDeLaCreme) but nothing could really erase the horror of Pussy Noir dump a candle on herself. Adriana suggested it was maybe some sort of bad intersection of drag and burlesque that just didn’t work out so well, but I don’t think she had the same reaction that I did. I felt like I was in a k-hole. I usually like genderfuck-y performances, and my favorite performance of the night was actually a bearded man that gave me a vaguely vaudevillian / German musical villain vibe that stripped from lederhosen, but dear God. It felt exploitative. I felt like I was watching the victim of human trafficking. It was so uncomfortable.