I really shouldn't complain. I had a fairly alternative glamour night yesterday (beware: name dropping to follow). I went to a huge art opening of the beloved and famous dyke photographer, Catherine Opie, where John Waters roamed looking at photos of Diana Nyad, the designing Mulleavy sisters, and my friends Julie Tolentino and Pig Pen. Among other well know faces were directors Kimberly Pierce and Jamie Babbitt; friend and producer Steak House, Valerie Stadler;my production designer boy wonder, Michael Fitzgerald, and my sidekick in troublemaking, the writer Michelle Meyers (Immaculate Complexion). It was crowded with interesting looking people who most likely did interesting type things. Then off to a small party in honor of an old friend, Holly Hughes, in town to perform and teach at USC. The performance artist/actor John Fleck as well as the lesbian folksinger (who opened for the Smiths in the early 80's)Phranc, were among the guests. So no, it wasn't the Independent Spirit award, and never would be the Oscars (that would mean a time machine, plastic surgery and talent), but it was something! And so it should come as no surprise that I blew my wad last night and today I am sitting at my computer, in a torn sweatshirt (formal gown at the cleaners), filling in my home ballot, before moving into the living room to watch the Oscar telecast with the Ol' guy. May the team with the most money for publicity war, win!
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