Alrighty people, DQ – Lucky Lady opens this week and it’s your duty to go see this musical extravaganza at the Hart House theatre, U of T. It’s for an amazing cause, Casey House Hospice, and you can expect Toronto’s best drag performers (and others – including my Sharkboy in bell bottoms and butchered wig) giving 100% on that stage.

I caught a few minutes of it last Saturday as the cast was polishing up the technical cues. This year was suppose to be a “smaller” show (next year is their 20 year anniversary – expect a surprise announcement at the end of the show) and it was anything but “small”. I guess drag doesn’t “do” subtle. If you liked last year’s formula of remixed camp movie/musical productions, then you will not be dissapointed. Who can resist a drag queen bitchslap fight set to the Dynasty theme?

Sharkboy and I push open our front door and are face to snout with a slim man standing in our alcove, his miniature Daschund sniffing round the inside of our front door suspiciously.

You must know that in our neighbourhood, our front door alcove is right at a streetcar stop which people use to get out of the rain or wind while waiting for their ride. No problem. However, some use the alcove as a smoking room which stinks up into our apartment. Some use it as a washroom. Nice.

When Sharkboy said “I hope he doesn’t pee here!” he might have been a bit pushy but he was just voicing a valid concern that our doorway refugee might not had realized about our predicament. We walk on. About 10 seconds and a few metres away, we get “YES! Yes he’s going to pee!” tossed at our backs.

Whatever.

As we’re walking along Carlton, we’re passed by a streetcar and the slim man’s face is stuck out the window. Remember kids, its dangerous to stick things out the window of a moving streetcar, but this dolt had a mission. Sharkboy and I are in disagreement as to what he actually yelled, but the highly feminine slur was the same: Sharkboy thought he yelled “(something something)…You two girls!” and I thought I heard “You two Queens!” We both agreed we heard the sibilant long sssssss after.

Why he thought that attacking our sexuality was important because we suspected his dog of urinating on our doorstep is beyond me. People like this just tire me.

Now we’re walking up into Gaytown, Church and Alexander. Where we’re all equal and free and able to live our lives equally with pride and bla bla bla. And you guessed it, there he is, his precious fucking mutt in his arms because he really needed to look like Paris Hilton, sashaying right passed us, his face twisted in hope we don’t recognize him.

Here’s where Sharkboy and I agree on what happened next. Simultaneously we verbally lash out at Dogface:

Sharkboy: “Well, well. It’s HER again.”

Dead Robot: (slow, deliberate, loud) “Sssssssssssssss!!”

And all Dogface could say was “Yeah. Well!”

We laugh as she sticks her haughty nose into the air and continues on with Fluffy tucked in her arms.

Obviously this fucktard didn’t realize that attacking our sexuality was probably not the brightest thing to do, especially if he was so blatantly gay himself. And before you start flooding my comments with “Well how did you know he was gay?” just ask yourself how many times you’ve seen a low slung, buttcrack-showing jeans wearing manboy with Kate and Ashley sized sunglasses pushed up on their “Stupid Girl” face, wandering Church street and said to yourself “Jeepers. That person’s sexuality certainly is in question”. Human brains are pattern recognition machines. We are designed to judge. What we do with our judgment separates the intelligent from the animals.

And just like Andy Warhol, I brought my camera.

UPDATE: Last night’s drinkfest and my subsequent murdering of human communication via alcohol-blurred Words is documented in a subfolder here.

Update: Sorry people, space restraints has forced me to remove the galleries. If you need to see them, contact me and we’ll work something out!