Arts & Entertainment
4 min

Queen on the Scene

Dishing on Drag Idol to Bitch Salad

HEAVY THE HEAD. Drag Idol champ Heroine Marks.

Spring is here and if you can allow yourself to believe it, that means all is fresh, blooming and wonderful. That is of course until a sudden blizzard knocks you on your ass and you run home in your hot pants for leggings and ChapStick. I’ve always suspected the schizophrenic weather is the result of those queens in the ’80s who used all that hairspray to coif their locks for Pat Benatar concerts. Embarrassing photos and environmental disasters — nice!

Gorgeous, zany host Andrew Johnston tossed his delicious Bitch Salad: Bad Girls Club at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre (12 Alexander St), the comedy night that showcases Canada’s foremost foul-mouthed funny girls that would leave even Queen of Mean Lisa Lampanelli blushing. I’m given a stamp on my hand before entry that says “pervert” and I’m delighted to see it fits nicely next to the one that says “slut” I received earlier from the St Marc Spa.

The Bad Girls Club forked over hilarious snatch talk that doubled as a crash course in gynecology and beyond. The evening featured a video parodying the infamous 2 Girls 1 Cup scat porno. Masked tag team super heroes Nikki Payne and Deborah Robinson had the audience shitting themselves laughing. Suddenly there was something more than just spring in the air. Clubber Christina Walkinshaw noted the all-female lineup was so bitchin’ that a spin-off night may be in the offing called Cunt Soup. You know you’d eat it up.

The next edition (Fri, Jun 19 at 8:30pm; $10 cover) features an all-new lineup of crazy comic sluts in Buddies mainspace including my faves The Cheeto Girls and the legendary Jackie Burroughs. I saw Jackie in David Cronenberg’s The Dead Zone and immediately related as I use the same term in reference to my dateless mangina.

Every time the temperature rises a degree an article of clothing comes off, or so those with “slut” written on them will tell you. Hot boys look good in their underwear, especially when they’re designer Andrew Christian, one of the hottest dreamboats from the elite Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency who sails into Woody’s (465-467 Church St) on Sat, Apr 25 at 9pm; no cover. I will be publicly drooling and lord knows what else when Andrew and an assortment of hot studs bare their trunks for a spring underwear and swimsuit fashion show. Hosts Miss Canada Continental Plus Farra N Hyte and Dusty Balfour, whose last name suggests she tucks away four nuts and not the just the usual two, will have to do their best to conceal their lady-wood when the boys hit the stage.

Time to hit Zelda’s (542 Church St) and see who’s handed over ridiculous amounts of money for being a hard-working homosexual at Drag Idol 2009. This year’s winner Heroine Marks stole the show leaving the others to sashay away with frowns and no crowns. The eight-week competition of swan dresses, Mad TV skits, Village People and roller skating did surprisingly well considering none of the contestants were established performers like in the years before. So much like Susan Boyle, you had to look past the face.

Tara Hole tore through an amazing Bollywood number that featured a high-energy dance routine decked out in a multi-armed Hindu goddess Shiva outfit that slapped people’s faces as she walked away with runner-up. She’s not a Slum Dog Millionaire but a grand in the bank is better than no fairytale ending at all. My horoscope says it’s my playfulness that loves seeing the finalists moods go darker than that baby Madonna couldn’t get her hands on when they announce the winner and it isn’t them.

Drag Idol 2008 Daytona Bitch gladly handed over her gigantic jewelled crown, needing a new one that wasn’t yellowing from chain smoking anyways. The wacky charity event that has raised funds for Toronto PWA and Casey House returns early next year to seek out a new queen. People are already anticipating.

Faster than you can say Twitter, I followed five-foot-four author Lorette C Luzajic to her annual art show held at Ten Feet Tall Bistro (1381 Danforth Ave) and got the lowdown on her upcoming second book Weird Monologues for a Rainy Life: Irreverent Rambling from the End of the World (available soon at Amazon.ca and Indigo.ca; $30). I became a fan of her first book The Astronaut’s Wife: Poems of Eros and Thanatos when I finally admitted to myself that I’m a space alien drag queen who likes to read.

An admitted fag hag, or as some prefer, fruit fly, Luzajic knows all so well that “reading” can mean a whole other thing in the gay village. Some of her stories and experiences are based on gay urban life and are represented with glittering, humorous, heart-tugging panache that makes her a standout in Canadian independent literature. Snap-snap, girl, I read you.

The Danforth doesn’t seem to be gay as I look around. But I make it a point to take in its beautiful scenic views anyways — lush trees, bushes and multimembered Greek families hunting the streets for souvlaki. If they had their slut stamp like I do they’d have absolutely no problem scoring souvlaki. The bushes on our street aren’t that bad either and both pubic and outdoor are trimmed and feathered regularly.

Where there are chickens, there are feathers and where there is a fiesta there are feather headdresses. El Convento Rico (750 College St; $8 cover, Fridays and Saturdays), the big momma of Latina clubs had the señoras and macarenas celebrating its 17th anniversary hosted by the spicy Miss Rico’s Alisha with flavoursome performances and dancefloor favourites all night long. The girls and boys go mad when former Mr Rico Renzo Garcia shakes his bonbon and I get mad when I miss the piñata and fall on my drunk face. Or at least I hope it was a piñata. Those feather headdresses can be quite elaborate. As far as convents go, holy macaroni, it’s fun minus the cheese, with themed music, friendly staff and a big party vibe that would have Meryl Streep wallowing in Doubt. The dancefloor is dark so make sure you look closely to see who’s feelin you up. Unless of course your slut stamp hasn’t worn off by then.