aGLIFF honors little old us, and we dance like hypnotized chickens
BOUNCIN' NOLA OMG That dandy GaybiGayGay fundraiser (www.myspace.com/gaybigaygay) and sneak preview at the Independent this past weekend was a rump-bumping melee. The entire scene was insane, especially the Martha Graham-informed body part manipulations by Christeene and Vocka Redu (that's one seriously cut business right there). Plus, I have a crazy man-crush on DJ Rusty Lazer, and hope I didn't hurt him when I manhandled him off the edge of the stage and carried him around like a duffel bag stuffed with sweaty laundry. But, really, it's about the bounce, sissies. Srsly: My ass lost an inch at last measure, my plumber's crack is back (as in: My drawers are that much droopier), and I have not danced that intensely and joyously and with the total abandon of an X-soaked hyena since that time balancing shots on the small of Katie's back at Sidekicks. (Shout-out to the too kind and very lithe L from LSM!) At one point, I even had to take off my waffle shirt, à la the days when Cindy K.W., Kerthy Fix, Lisa Davis, and other assorted hooch-meisters used to strip down and switch clothes (size discrepancies be damned!) midboogie at Chances. Speaking of Kerthy: You do know that she is coming home to roost, or at least show her new doc, Strange Powers: Stephin Merritt and the Magnetic Fields, at some big conference next week, right? Oh! And Fausto Fernós is coming home, too (see "Geeking Out," Screens). Hosannah to the highest. SXSW 2010, I dub thee Oh So Very Ghey.
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