3 min

Breaking New Year’s resolutions

My one and only New Year’s resolution is about to be broken. I pledged no more gossiping after watching a particularly vicious public meltdown at Woody’s on Christmas Eve.

Mind you, I wasn’t involved, except as an innocent bystander.

Watching as a rumour travelled from the table next to me along the bar, through the crowd salivating over Sofonda’s best ass contestants, and back to the table, where it erupted into yelling, shoving and the most half-assed drink toss ever (it missed the target and ended up on a pile of coats) was delicious fun, but I wondered afterward how much nicer our nights would be if we collectively decided not to indulge.

Gossiping seems so high school, and frankly, I’m far too mature to get caught up in trash talk. Seeing the effect the Woody’s gossip had on its subject was kind of a downer, so I swore to stop in 2012.

So much for that.

Which venue created bad blood with performers by cancelling an annual New Year’s Eve booking? Hint: it wasn’t anywhere on Church St.

Speaking of Church St, which drag queen is so seriously spooked by recent random violence in the Village that she’s started carrying a blade? Her otherwise gentle nature belies her skill with knives.

Which venerable queer institution made it painfully clear there was to be no guest list on New Year’s Eve?

Better yet, which painfully drunk scenester showed up, proclaiming “Of course I’m on the list!” was denied admittance, and rang in the new year out on the street whilst tweeting his friends about the fab time he was having inside?

Which power dyke secretly believes that waxing down there is akin to Samson shearing his locks?

Who recently made a splash at Steamworks, slipping on an unknown substance and falling face first into the hot tub? (Hint, he writes Toronto at Night for Xtra.)

He’s behind the decks most nights and people love his DJ skills, but were New Year’s Eve partiers aware it wasn’t the CD skipping — he had a trick under the table?

Where is Chris Edwards and why doesn’t she have a regular night somewhere?

Who in the American Idiot cast is actually an American bottom (and advertised as such on Craigslist with his headshot)?

How on earth does _______ get work? The raw nasty attitude, the sticky fingers in dressing rooms, the repetitive act; must be born with it, because it certainly isn’t Maybelline!

Which north-of-College club has been in trouble with the law a few times this year but is doing a successful-ish job of keeping it quiet?

Who “bravely” weathered a nude pics scandal, only to be busted for passing them around himself?

Why on earth would I risk life, limb and social exclusion by doing blind items, and what am I keeping under my hat for now?

You see, the thing is I love gossip. I’m addicted, can’t get enough and believe a certain amount of it is healthy.

I don’t trade in rumour, though. Any gossip I deem share-worthy is 100 percent confirmed and factual, and that’s where most people trip up.

Send me real news, not hearsay and innuendo, and that’s what I will pass on. Used properly, it can create a bond between people. Taking someone into confidence and whispering sotto voce implies delicious intimacy; more often than not, reveals happen.

Used incorrectly, however, it stings.

Drama begets more drama, and that’s when gossip switches to rumour. Especially as we all tweet and text and tag and check in, our words can often travel faster than our brains, so take a second to examine your motives. Are you passing along words maliciously? Lashing out or trying to make yourself feel or look better by denigrating others? Or are you passing along simple secrets that aren’t quite common knowledge yet?

Half the fun in the blind items I listed above is the guessing game. Yours truly heard ’em and confirmed ’em, but the fact is, all the situations above are being talked about somewhere. I just made them a bit more fun!

It makes me think of that old adage about how it’s better to be talked about than ignored entirely. I agree.

For the record, if you ever hear anything about me, don’t pass it on — unless it’s true, honey. In exchange, I promise to at least try to make an effort to use my wagging tongue and texting fingers for some kind of good, instead of letting my friends know who recently disappeared into the darkroom at The Barn with my ex.