Voyageur!

Season seven of "The Daily Muffy" begins on Monday, July 7th with "Voyageur," a trip down Guelph's Speed River in search of fur and frolic! The adventure will commence here on Flickr.



These things are always a strange mix of anxiety and fun. Fortunately, when I did this on June 21st, I was gorgeously photographed by Shay and punted around by canoe-heroine Natasha. How could I NOT enjoy myself, especially on such a gorgeous day?

There are a few things to note about the shooting of this trip. The first is that I'm wearing the outfit which helped destroy my shoulder back in February...an outfit so terrifying that I call it "The Impossible Costume." Its odd back-centric doohickeys -- which I specifically remember having trouble with on that night -- left me in so much pain the next day that I can only assume it made my problem worse. By wearing it again for this photo shoot, I wanted to prove to myself that I CAN wear just about anything these days as long as I'm careful. I was, and it worked!

The second thing to note is that Natasha did not come with the intention to be photographed, so all the pictures feature only half of a canoe: the half with me in it. Rest assured that we WERE actually afloat, though I can't pretend that the Speed River is a particularly dangerous place to be.

There was, however, the danger of the canoe flipping over every time I hobbled into it. But Natasha is a pro and she kept me high and dry.

The third thing to note is that this was part of my "Shall I continue to do drag?" experiment. I needed to see how these pictures turned out, and to improve the experiment I even bought new eyelashes (the old ones were clunky, quirky, and more dry glue than lash). I'm thrilled that I can still burn up a dress and handle the harsh rays of the sun. Drag, we're still buddies, you and I.

Anyway, be sure to check out Flickr on Monday when the journey commences!

This is My Humerus

People are always showing ultrasounds of their babies to suitably impressed friends and family. Instead of showing you an image of my life and happiness, I present you with an image of pain and dysfunction...yes, this is what my shoulder looks like on the inside:


I'm no doctor so I can't tell you what it means. All I know is, if the inside of your shoulder looks like this, your shoulder is F*CKED.

Today I went to the Guelph General Hospital to pick up a disk of my MRI results, partly because I'll need to give them to a shoulder specialist but also because I'm really darn curious. What sort of awful thing did they see when they looked at my cartilage in three dimensions? Did they scream? Do they still have nightmares?

Probably not. All I know is that once you view your body "in slices" like this, you cease to recognize it and you realize just how meaty you are. The only landmarks I can find in the images are the bones; everything else is just so much generalized gristle.

I'll let the doctor figure it out.

In the meantime, you might be wondering how to look at the inside of your OWN body. First you need to get an MRI, and then you need to call the hospital and ask them to make a copy of the data. They won't mail it to you (or your doctor) so you need to drive back to the hospital in a pounding rainstorm in order to pick up the CD.

When you examine the CD itself, you'll discover that it contains quaint Microsoft DOS files with eight-letter all-caps filenames. The included viewer cannot be run on your Mac, so either you spend the rest of your life trying to interpret the hexadecimal data in your "DICOM image" files or you download OsiriX, a free DICOM viewer for the Mac.

When you use a layperson-monkey technique of hitting OsiriX buttons semi-intelligently until something appears...well, unless you have a railroad spike through the affected organ or something inside you has exploded, you'll see animated slices of incomprehensible things which look mostly like a Grateful Dead lightshow.

I'm not saying that it isn't worth it, but if I thought I could diagnose my own injury by looking at these pictures I was terribly terribly wrong.

PS: On second viewing I believe that the big white thing in the picture -- the one on the left, partly overlapping the ball of my humerus -- is the oft-cursed "labrum," which in my case is apparently torn. It shows up so well in the picture because they injected radioactive dye into it. If that's the case, it's sort of neat that you can see it right through the bone.

PPS: The picture above is not from the MRI, it is an X-Ray they took immediately after the dye was injected. I think the wormy-looking white line in the middle is the path of the needle with some dye backed up into it. Yuck.

Summer! Summer! Summer!

Today I had planned to take a canoe trip down Guelph's Speed River, as part of the triumphant (possible) return of the Daily Muffy. Unfortunately the forecast rather sketchily called for afternoon thundershowers, and my trip organizer -- who is a professional canoe coach -- said "Lightning + Canoe = Death." And she didn't want to die just for a bunch of goofy photographs. We had to cancel.

So on a beautiful day, with the Co-op car booked and a totally free itinerary ahead of me, I decided to drive to New Hamburg and take my mom out for a surprise lunch.

And it worked! She hadn't eaten! We sat on the empty E.J.'s patio and ate pulled-pork sandwiches and talked about her trip to England. Then we took a long stroll around Baden -- which neither of us have ever walked around -- and chatted with children and played with a small dog. Then we went on the "Castle Kilbride" tour, which was quite beautiful, though I was disappointed we didn't get to REALLY see the basement. And I think that when I accidentally touched the tour guide's hand she thought I was groping her.

A side benefit of this wonderful day -- besides the joyful sponteneity of just making it up as we went along -- was the driving practice I got in. I'm becoming more comfortable with the car and am no longer white-knuckled when I drive it, and with each trip I become more thankful to the Grand River Car Share: they are professional, sensible, and they suit my lifestyle perfectly.

Sigh! Here's to a wonderful summer day! I don't have a "Daily Muffy" to show for it, but I think I ultimately got something better.

My MRI

Yesterday was the long-awaited day for my MRI.

I'm not going to tell you about the more unpleasant parts because I don't think such stories are helpful. I heard all sorts of MRI-stories during the last few months and none of them did a lick of good; they were either single anecdotes of things gone wrong or alarmist stories about extremely rare complications, neither of which improved my mindset at all.

The only pre-MRI lessons that WERE useful were the ones that said that getting dye injected into a joint is not a pleasant experience. They were right, and I'm glad I knew this so I could mentally prepare myself; if I'd gone in expecting a painless procedure I would have been terribly shocked.

As for the MRI itself, I imagine that everybody has a different experience. It was an absolute nightmare for me, but that's because my arm needed to be positioned in exactly the way it CAN'T go: twisted around with its palm facing upward. They even put a sandbag on my elbow to keep it that way. Thirty minutes later, staring up at the ceiling just two inches above my nose, every second that passed was another second to seriously consider pressing the emergency "stop" button; it felt like somebody had stuck a fork into my shoulder and was twisting it out of sheer vindictiveness. I'm still paying for the forcible relocation of my joints that was necessary for the procedure.

One thing that kept me going through both the injection and the scanning was the realization that as bad and endless as all this was, it probably wasn't HALF as painful or interminable as childbirth...and what's more, the end result of childbirth is the ultimate punishment of actually being PRESENTED with a child. At least I'd get something GOOD out of the procedure. My mother confirmed this but still meted out some much-appreciated sympathy on the way home.

I feel sorry for the doctors, nurses, technicians, and volunteers. During these procedures their jobs are to put you through varying degrees of unpleasantness. I felt like a dog going to the veterinarian, the unthinking dog part of me screaming "No, no, just stop it!" and the owner part of me saying "It's necessary and it will be over soon."

Again, everybody's experience is different. Mine was so bad because of the nature of my injury, apparently.

I did in fact wear a blue hospital gown that was open in the back. I spent some time chatting with a wonderful volunteer whose primary role is to calm people down; volunteers, you are golden. The old man ahead of me whose hip was being evaluated was a particularly good sport: he referred to his walker as his "Cadillac," and when the pretty nurse told him to take his trousers off, he said "You've got a wonderful technique, haven't you?"

As an aside: Why is it charming when feeble old men say sexual things to young ladies? I think it's because there is absolutely no hint of threat in their comments -- if this guy had tried to actually cop a feel the nurse could have simply pushed him over -- and also because we assume these men are impotent, and that -- therefore -- their comments are largely self-deprecating. When an old man says such a thing he is REALLY saying "Ahhh, I'm beyond all that now." And somehow that's cute, and we feel sorry for them.

Anyway, my MRI is done and I hope it shows something useful. In the meantime, if YOU are going to get an MRI which involves a dye injection, simply be aware that it WILL hurt a lot, and that it WILL end, and that going through a couple days of pain is better than a lifetime of reduced mobility.

Guelph-Squared

Now that my shoulder pain has momentarily ebbed to a dull throb (more on that in a bit), here's an overview of "Ten Days of Fear," also known as "Two Days In Guelph."

March 20th was the Guelph Queer Equality Drag Show. Performing at this event meant driving to the University of Guelph Campus Centre, in the dark, in the co-op car which I have only previously driven in once. Besides being a well-attended and well-promoted show during which I dare not screw up, it was also an experiment in car operation AND my first drag show since my shoulder injury...a "test" of my recovery so far.

There are so many wonderful -- WONDERFUL! -- things about the car co-op, but you do pay a small price. Besides the money you expend for actually taking the car out, you also need to go through a "ritual" before and after using it, which involves a complex series of key-and-passcode stuff, and a bit of paperwork, and then figuring out the state that the LAST person left the car in.

Whoever used the car before me had left the parking brake on, and I was delayed for ten minutes pulling various levers trying to find it, until realizing it was exactly where it was when I used to drive in the early '90s: between the front seats. By the time I'd disengaged it and closed all the hatches that had opened during my exploration, I then needed to back the car out onto busy Park Street, and I've never been particularly good at backing up.

So needless to say I was already frazzled by the time I left the city...and then I realized that, contrary to co-op protocol, the car DIDN'T have at least half a tank of gas in it, so I'd need to stop at a gas station on the way home.

All this was on my mind when I arrived -- mostly uneventfully -- in freezing cold Guelph. Fortunately the hospitality was top-notch and there was even a paid bar, so I got through my numbers quite well, thank-you-very-much. Here's a picture from "They Don't Know," taken by M.S.:


The show in general was AMAZING. Somehow, whenever Guelph organizers put together a show, they always manage to find top-notch performers in a wide variety of idioms. So we saw a fantastic (and spunky) drag juggler, and a full-on performance by Green Go, and Alberta folk singer Amy Bronson -- who you should DEFINITELY see next time she performs -- and...

The Nigel Gough dance troupe. Just about every time a do a drag show in Guelph, Gough has prepared a hilarious routine that sends the crowd absolutely wild. I have managed through the years to avoid needing to follow him -- NOBODY wants to go on after Nigel -- but more on that soon.

Anyway, the GQE drag show was a huge success, and I even got a little mention in the campus newspaper:

Popular drag queen Muffy St. Bernard graced the audience with her presence, travelling from Kitchener to perform at the show. Muffy put on a fun and sexy performance, teasing the crowd with her playful yet classically conservative antics.

"Classically conservative?" I'm still wondering what that means -- it sounds euphemistic -- but it may mean that my "antics" aren't of the over-the-top-sexy type, but they still have a playful "coyness" that evokes '40s musicals. Or maybe that's just what I WANT it to mean.

Anyway, as much fun as I was having, I was unable to forget that I needed to drive back to Kitchener...and I was absolutely white-knuckled all the way. Besides pumping gas in a crinoline at 1am -- YOU try to make sure the gasoline doesn't drip on you in such a situation -- I spent the whole time thinking "I'm a terrible driver, I'm going to get in an accident, I suck." By the time I'd reached Kitchener I was a nervous wreck, and actually pulled into TWO DIFFERENT DRIVEWAYS before discovering the one I was supposed to use.

In short, my show was good but my driving was awful.

So I spent all week flirting with driving schools, and grilling co-workers about their driving techniques. Workmate Dave -- who put up with the worst of my whining -- walked me through the typical back-up steps, and in doing so he put his arm across the imaginary passenger seat and turned his head around.

"Why are you doing that?" I asked.

"Because that's the only way to back up," he said...and it was a REVELATION. I don't think I was ever taught to actually LOOK BEHIND ME while backing up...I've always just looked in the rearview mirrors. Dave revealed that if he was driving behind me he'd probably want to shoot me in the head.

In the meantime I was getting ready for the NEXT show: the Gender Martini on March 25th, ALSO in Guelph. I would be ending both sets...and in the second set I was FOLLOWING NIGEL GOUGH.

First off, you can't end a set with a whimper; the song must bring people to some sort of closure. It cannot communicate that somebody is coming up next, it must say "That's it, you're satisfied, now go get a drink!"

What's more, if you're following a fantastic slam-bang performance like Nigel Gough and his troupe, you should not try to "one-up" them by doing anything even remotely like they did. If you don't think you can BEAT the previous performer, your best bet is to do a complete 180 and subvert their expectations.

I was still mulling over these things when the night finally arrived, warm but rainy. I got into the co-op car and did the paperwork without feeling any stress whatsoever. I immediately located the parking brake and disengaged it. I put my arm across the back of the passenger seat, shifted into Reverse...

...and backed effortlessly out onto Park Street! It was perfect! Now that I had discovered the secret of backing up, nothing could stop me!

To further allay my driving fears I was also taking drag stand-up artist D. to the show (I'm not protecting her identity, that's actually "D.," as in "D. Licious"), and she served as my navigator and company. We arrived at the eBar and were once again enveloped in sweet hospitality, and I found myself back in the same "green room" that I'd been in the last time I perfromed at the eBar.

This was me at the eBar in 2004:


...and me in exactly the same place five years later:


In other words, if you've got a good joke, keep using it.

The show was PACKED. We actually needed to be escorted onto the stage to get around the clustered crowd of event-hungry people. Again, Amy Bronson was amazing, and so were the other performers I managed to see (but whose names I've forgotten): the hula-hooping burlesque queen, the trio of dancers from Toronto, Mr. Gough and his dancers on a significantly smaller stage, Victoria Park triumphant as always.

Since it was a "Gender Martini" I decided to end the first set with "Love is the Darndest Thing," a bizarre reflection of love and resentment by Betty Hutton ("...what every young girl wants is wedded bliss.") This number requires Schnapps the Seal, and it always either succeeds brilliantly or flops terribly.

Thanks to a professional puppeteer who coached me after the last time I did this song (at Zelda's), I tried holding Schnapps as though he were a real animal -- as opposed to "a thing on the end of my arm" -- and I took her advice to let him behave independently of my own actions...and it worked! It was gratifying to hear the crowd laugh not just at the absurd lyrics, but also at the upstaging antics of Schnapps.

In order to shift gears and try to "blow out" after Nigel Gough in the second set, I resurrected Dalbello's "Gonna Get Close To You," which I think worked passably well as a way of closing things down.

Unfortunately both of these numbers require shoulder-destroying outfits. I was lucky to have lots of help in the back room getting them on and off, but by the time it came to drive home my shoulder was already aching in a "now you've done it" sort of way. When D. and I found ourselves totally lost on the way home -- due to an attempt to be clever about our route -- I learned what workmate Dave has subsequently said so wisely: "You cannot fight Guelph."

So for the last few days my shoulder has been in agony, keeping me awake all night and requiring constant icing; getting in and out of those outfits, plus waving my arms around on stage, plus driving 60km, have set my rehabilitation back a bit. Fortunately my MRI has finally been scheduled for May, and guess where I have to go to get it? GUELPH.

But there's fun stuff to look forward to. The entire Gender Martini show was recorded and eventually I'll be able to relive it...the best way to evaluate and improve your performance is to watch yourself on stage (so said Miss Drew eight years ago, and it's true). I was also mysteriously interviewed outside the eBar's theatre by a man who promises to post it to YouTube...one of the benefits of driving a car is the inability to drink more than a token amount, so I expect my conduct was better than usual (perhaps "classically conservative" even)?

In summary, the shows in Guelph were even better than expected -- and the bar is really high for these shows to begin with -- and I had a wonderful time, and I met wonderful people. But judging by my shoulder's outrage I don't think I'll be doing any drag shows at Club Renaissance any time soon...

GQE Drag Show!

Also coming up, also in Guelph, also in March, another wonderful event from Guelph Queer Equality! Here's their promo material:

Guelph Queer Equality is throwing its annual drag show! There will be drag performances and other musical acts, including:

-The all-too-fabulous Muffy St. Bernard, drag queen extraordinaire! She's performed with us before, and now she's back again! Don't miss a chance to see her in action.

-The equally all-too-fabulous Nigel Gough, who wowed the crowd with a scandalously spiritual interpretation of Katy Perry's I Kissed A Girl at last semester's Queer Antics.

-You can also catch the musical stylings of Amy Bronson, folky Lethbridge-native and current temporary Guelphite.
http://www.myspace.com/amybronson

-And you can be witness to the musical stylishness (and also stylings) of the charming Kay Pettigrew, who can lately be found being awesome at venues all over.
http://www.myspace.com/kaypettigrew

Aaaaaand more! Check back here often as the facebook event will be updated with more performers!

If you yourself are a performer who would like to participate or know of one, feel free to contact us at gqe@uoguelph.ca!

Five dollars or pay what you can. Proceeds from the show will be going to support Out on the Shelf and Our Place

Coming Up: Gender Martini Party!

One of the upcoming spate of Guelph shows I'll be performing at, come to the "Gender Martini Party" at Guelph's eBar on Wednesday, March 25. From their advert:

PINCH THIS PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS

GENDER MARTINI
A thrilling performance night celebrating a variety of gender expressions

Join us for an evening of dancing, observing and interacting.

Performances include:

DRAG
We'll make you lick your lips for the gender bending stylings of our local artists, including the delicious Muffy St. Bernard

SPOKEN WORD
Prepare to have your appetite whetted with controversial topics accompanied by hip popping beats

LOCAL DANCERS
You will have your taste buds tantalized with choreographed routines by some KW boys that will leave you shaken AND stirred

BURLESQUE
Finally, quench your thirst with Violet Wand and her sinful troop who will add that twist to your night that you've been craving. You know you love it.

DOORS OPEN AT 9, DJS AND DANCING TIL CLOSE
Including the tasty beats of Junglecat

Proceeds to Out on The Shelf

I performed at the eBar many years ago and it's a WONDERFUL space, though one of us managed to lock the keys in the dressingroom. This time they'll probably make us change behind a table in the corner.

I was asked to provide and name a representative martini, so I gave them the recipe for "The Hopped-Up Dustymuff," basically a dry light vodka martini with a live seal in it.

Scattered Impressions of Injury and Recovery

I'm not an athlete and I don't take physical risks, but I've always had a disregard for the positioning and protection of my body. I might whine about painful shoes or a sore throat, but that only happens when I'm feeling self-absorbed or when the pain has become excruciating.

So it's galling -- but unsurprising -- that I've buggered up my right shoulder with a series of small injuries, boundary-testing, half-baked corrective techniques and general lack of concern. Over two months I progressed from an aching joint to acute tendon inflammation, atrophied muscles, and a possible cartilage tear. By gradually restricting the usage of my right arm to the half-dozen movements which don't cause me pain, I've managed to forget -- both mentally and physically -- how a healthy arm actually moves.

When I try to do certain everyday things with my right arm -- rotate my palm, put my hand over my stomach, reach to the right, or even THINK about putting it ANYWHERE behind my back -- I am met with either shooting pains or total weakness. The pain is bad but the weakness is just plain disconcerting...the muscles simple stop working. I begin to feel like I'm pushing my arm through a concrete wall, even though there's nothing visible in the way. I have, quite literally, withered my shoulder muscles.

An interesting thing about this injury is what it does to your sleep. I've gotten to the point where I finally CAN fall asleep without too much pain, but during the night my tendons strain and tense and bunch up, and by 3am I wake up in agony and have to do my exercises again. Then I sleep on the couch, whose shape keeps me in a position which doesn't hurt my arm too much.

The good news is that my ailment is relatively common and it is possible to fix it, but it takes a lot of time and work. I am amazed at the skill of my physiotherapist as she twists, shakes, and wobbles my skeleton and says "Aha, this is the exercise we'll do next." And after a week of exercising, that invisible concrete wall moves another few inches and I can bend my arm just a bit more.

Often I'm left standing at a machine with two handles at the sides, like an exercise bike for the arms. I have to pump away at it for ten minutes or so while staring at the single framed newspaper article hung on the wall, a story about a local boxer who benefited from physiotherapy. Each time I use this machine I pick one word from the article at random, and I read the article slowly until I find a word which starts with the same letter. Then I continue reading until I find another word which starts with the letter that the previous word ENDED with. I can do this three times before I'm ordered to use another machine, something more stimulating with pulleys and weights.

Sometimes a co-op student puts lubricant on my shoulder and rubs a small metal object over it, an ultrasound device which is incredibly painful when it somehow resonates the bone in my forearm. Once the physiotherapist wrapped a belt around her waist, then put my arm through the belt and rocked it back and forth as though she was comforting it. Unfortunately that caused my arm to freeze up in excruciating agony for several minutes -- a sensation I've previously described after slipping on ice or falling down while drunk -- so I don't think we'll do the belt thing again. When this "freeze up" happens it is followed by two days of dull ache in my bicep.

Usually, however, I leave physiotherapy with an extraordinary feeling of relaxed well-being. We always end with fifteen minutes of electroshock...well, they hook electrodes up to my shoulder and I gradually turn it up until my arm is jumping around like a fish in a bucket.

Today I made overtures to the Guelph hospital in order to get an MRI, since the therapist (and by extension me) is concerned that the cartilage in there is torn. Apparently it can take up to five months to secure an MRI so I have plenty of time to prepare myself for the giant needle they'll be sticking INTO my shoulder, though the figure-skating worker at the medical supply store told me that "there are ways to get in faster." She didn't tell me more...she just sold me six feet of rubber tubing for my daily exercises.

I also got an X-ray in a tiny, deserted, run-down clinic that appears to be run by a husband and wife comedy duo. I got undressed in a closet and then stood in a dark room in front of hundreds of pounds of equipment. The man put a rubber girdle on me and ran back and forth taking pictures, occasionally slipping them into a cupboard marked "Exposed." Terrible scrabbling sounds came out of this cupboard even though nobody was around. I turned to the left and came face-to-face with an enormous poster of a muskrat, the only decoration in the entire place.

The prognosis so far? Months of exercising, expensive physiotherapy appointments, and drinking WITHOUT falling down. In the meantime, frenetic drag shows at Club Renaissance are strictly verboten: quick-changes involving zippers between my shoulder blades and slipping dresses over my head are simply not going to happen. But I'll still be doing shows in Guelph near the end of March, since they're relatively sedate and I'm sure I can wrangle a dresser from the chilled-out organizers.

More Pictures from Guelph Pride 2008

The MC at the Guelph Pride dance was the always wonderful Emily Szabo, and she put some pictures of the event on the Magic 106.1 website. I won't steal them because they're available for all to see!

Pictures from Guelph Pride

I try not to steal photos -- unless they're worth millions of dollars -- but here are some that non-Facebook blog-readers will otherwise not see. And since I don't generally get pictures of myself "on stage," these ones reveal the Muffyshow in action.

Plus I think they're especially good. I'm not sure if Tamarra Vivian was selective in what she put online, or if she simply avoided those moments when I was gurning like a drowning fish.

First picture: taking advantage of one of the many instrumental breaks in Bow Wow Wow's "I Want Candy."



Second picture: interacting with the crowd without -- you know -- REALLY interacting with them, which would be scary.

I learned this sort of interaction from dogs and cats.

Guelph Pride 2008!

Guelph Pride was, as always, a huge amount of friendly fun. I do miss the sunny atmosphere of the old "Pride Picnics," but it's nice to be able to drink and dance, and to not have to get up at 8am.

I put up some pictures on Flickr but -- as usual -- they're mostly of the dressing room:



Look at this gorgeous place! There were only three of us performing...and they gave us FOUR MIRRORS! Not to mention the treats and the smiles and the great DJ and the enormous amount of respect for everybody, and a truly stellar bartender.

But I couldn't drink too much because...I drove! My first extended late-night excursion, following Mapquest directions and discovering that my highbeams don't work. And driving in heels. A necessary experience!

Thanks, Guelph, for another wonderful Pride...I'm already looking forward to next year!

Cosmetic Breakthroughs for Sweaty People with Wrinkles

At its very center my life is a never-ending attempt to look as good as possible for as long a time as possible, meanwhile fighting to hold the effects of aging at bay.

Actually that's not my life at all, I'm only kidding, but it's a substantial part of my WEEKENDS. So here's what I've learned recently.

As I've said before I have really greasy skin, and this is a problem because I wear CoverFX cream-based makeup with a heavy coating of powder. Oils are constantly seeping through the foundation around my T-zone, spreading and puddling to such an extent that migrating waterfowl occasionally get trapped on my nose and die. A tragedy for everybody.

One method of controlling this "puddling" is to constantly apply powder to the affected areas. In the past I have used a large foundation brush, but this causes the now-oily cream foundation to smear off as well, resulting in gradually-worsening Picasso-face.

After getting equally bad results from a thin, stiff eyeshadow brush -- which smeared off the cream AND didn't blend the powder -- I tried out a Quo "All Over Shadow" brush. This is an extremely soft, puffy, rounded brush about the size of the nail on your middle finger, and it applies foundation with enough strength to make it stick, but not so much to scrape off the cream foundation or keep the powder from blending. Wonderful!

But none of this stops my second problem. After a few hours "in face," the jolly "smile lines" around my eyes become engraved into the cream foundation, giving me a decidedly un-jolly "Kabuki" look. Re-powdering makes the problem worse, and putting additional cream over the creases does nothing useful whatsoever.

Victoria Parks to the rescue! During our Paris adventure she recommended using a damp sponge to smooth out those lines. I finally tried it after coming home from the Guelph Pride party and...wow! Creases-be-gone! Get a wedge-shaped cosmetic sponge, put a bit of water on it, squeeze it out so it's almost dry, and then lightly wipe the creases away.

This might take some fine-tuning, since applying powder afterwards brings the creases back immediately. Back to the lab, Frankenmuffy...there must be a solution.

Coming Up!

I haven't just been sitting at home playing "Dwarf Fortress." No indeed, I've been planning all sorts of special events.

First off, hopefully I'll see some of you at "La Cage" tonight (Friday) at the Walper Hotel, starting at 6pm. I won't be performing, just playing the music for the performers themselves, but it's always a fun and professional event in support of Tri-Pride...come see!

On this coming Thursday (the 8th) come to Club Renaissance for the next installment of "Glamourspunk!" It's an extension of the regular Ren Glitter Nights, coordinated and hosted by Victoria Parks with some help from me. So far these shows have had some of the best local talent (and the best crowds I've ever seen) so you're probably missing out if you don't show up.

Then, on Saturday May 31st I'll be performing at Guelph's Pride Party and Dance. Last year they gave me my own hotel room...maybe this year they'll give me the entire hotel?

Other than that there are some SECRET plans: operations "Ooh-la-la" and "Maid of the Mist." I can't tell you more, but let's just say that the "Daily Muffy" will be back soon...maybe as early as next week! Stay tuned.

A Vehicle: Edging into Adulthood

I've done without a car for thirteen years. I live in a city with lots of cabs, good bus service, and plenty of sidewalks to walk on. I have friends and family which will transport heavy goods in a pinch, and if I need to get out of the city there is always the Greyhound.

But jeez, I think it's time to get a car. I hate sponging off of friends. I hate being unable to visit people in other cities. When I'm invited to do a show in Guelph, I hate forcing them to pick me up and drive me home. I hate taking the bus to Toronto.

Most importantly -- and positively -- I would love to be able to drive during the summer. I want to drive to little towns and explore without worrying that other people will be bored. I want to visit the Bruce Penninsula again. I want to see Lake Huron.

To do all of these things I need a car.

So I've started the ball rolling. My father works at a car dealership and he knows his cars, so he's scouting out a practical used vehicle. I've called an insurance company to find out how much I'll need to pay for the privilege of driving...I'll get the bad news tomorrow. I've decided that -- for the first time in my life -- I need to go into temporary debt to achieve a useful and substantial goal: geographic independence.

Hopefully this will all happen.

I need to balance this with two other desires. First off, I want to go to the 2008 Pennsylvania STC Summit in June, and though I'll be reimbursed for everything it always involves my paying upfront, out of my own pocket.

Also, while editing a new "Domestic Drag Show" in iMovie, I finally decided it would be worth it to get better (that is, ADEQUATE) video editing software. But that would require upgrading my operating system, which would ultimately require just getting a new computer. As nice as it would be to enjoy all the perks of a spiffy new iMac (not to mention the ability to make better videos, and to make them faster), I have to admit that this is hardly essential.

So the car wins.

Daily Muffy: "Drag Your Ass Out Two"

We'll be doing some repeats over at The Daily Muffy for a bit, so if you want to see some historical shots from ye olde Muffye archives, go over and have a look. The current episode is a brief "behind the scenes" look at shenanigans after 2004's "Drag Your Ass Out" event.

The On Stage Void

So yes, last night's "Kink" event was lots of fun, I think. The organizers deserve a round of applause for bringing together such distinct activities, AND for putting together their own performances for the night! The chaos in the dressing room did not extend to the stage, and spirits were high even after the campus police came in to shut down the "porn room."

I found the crowd to be more confusing than most, because I couldn't figure out how to "type" the majority -- they sat in chairs and could not be mingled with. Beforehand I was undecided about the demographic I'd be dealing with...hardcore BDSM community members? Politicized University of Guelph students? Sex-crazed chimps? The same type of number is not going to appeal to all those groups, and unfortunately I decided to play to "the chimps," who ended up being completely absent. I did manage to better tailor the second performance, however, and promise myself -- yet again -- that I will never cater to the chimps again. Doing so doesn't make me happy, so I'll simply stop doing it. I say to myself. Again. Again.

Skin Tight Outta Sight were plenty of fun, just the right degree of sexy and camp. Never having seen a modern burlesque show before (any time I've been on the same bill I've been too busy getting changed to be able to watch), my conflicted thoughts about burlesque have been well summed-up by Andy Prieboy in The Psycho Ex Game:

I'd never had a negative reaction to her burlesque dancing. I'd always seen it as a naughty, glamorous lark. I took it for granted that the Drag Hags were some nebulous form of Performance Art, in which enlightened women could don high heels and push-up bras and still consider themselves staunch feminists. But as I watched Winnie in Stu Lovesya's living room, it struck me that in the presence of his ratty couch, his fish tank, and his family photos, her brand of Performance Art was suddenly crossing the line into Bachelor Party. If it was art, it sure looked like a titty show...

I wondered, Was I supposed to be aroused? If I was, then she was failing as a Performance Artist... On the other hand, if I didn't find this sexy, then her Performance Art was succeeding, but her titty show was a flop. Oh! I was so confused!

I don't have the answers. I have similar thoughts about drag shows as well. But even if I didn't feel comfortable hooting and hollering for the slow reveals of Skin Tight Outta Sight -- even if I still don't know what THEY feel about hoots and hollers -- they certainly get kudos for a fun show. Especially Sauci Calla Horra, who was exceptionally creative AND sweet off stage.

Oh right, I was going to mention "The On Stage Void," that feeling I get during a number when I suddenly don't know what to do. Sometimes I just stand around like a dummy, or turn my back and walk slowly away from the audience as though I'm ABOUT to do something, or I make an ill-thought-out snap decision that I always end up regretting later (like kicking a stuffed cat into the crowd, which I think I intended to mean "giving a souvenir to the audience while also killing time" but probably came across as "crazy person abuses potentially misogynistic symbol").

I chalk up these "voids" to being unprofessional, overly-analytical, and ill-prepared, but I was perversely delighted to see that the "Skin Tight" performers suffered these "voids" as well, because that means that you don't have to be an amateur to get momentarily lost on a stage.

How do you recognize an "on stage void?" It's a crack in the facial expression, a rift in the pose, a stumbling of the self-confident bearing. It's a quick look of anxiety, an unpracticed darting eye, a turn in one direction followed by a sudden turn in the other. It's a repeated movement for no reason. I suppose that any fresh, somewhat spontaneous routine will invariably suffer voids, and I prefer those routines to the comparative dryness of the "done it a million times" performance any day.

What High Blood Sugar Feels Like

I should have learned by now: NEVER skip dinner before doing a drag show. For some reason, even though by skipping dinner I'm actually NOT eating food, my blood sugar invariably goes sky-high and simply refuses to come down afterwards.

I blame my liver ("Parker") for this, because chronically high blood sugar during a night is usually due to my liver secreting glucose, or whatever it secrets when it's upset (why can't it synthesize alcohol, or vitamin C?)

Since I am coming down off tonight's sugar high at this moment, now seems like a good time to describe what it actually feels like to have high blood sugar. It's a much more consistent feeling than a sugar low.

• A difficulty with small-talk. This also happens with low blood sugar. I say things that are either obnoxious (see "short temper" below) or I open my mouth and...nothing comes out.
  
• Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty! The first mouthful of liquid tastes great, but subsequent gulps feel funny, because of...
• ...an upset stomach. Actually, it's more like a stomach that's terminally clenched up.
• Always having to pee because of all that liquid I'm drinking.
• High body temperature accompanied by sweating, which makes your makeup slide off and defeats your deodorant.
• A short temper. Grrr!
• A tendency to complain and over-analyze, probably related to whatever makes my temper so short (and my makeup slough off).
• Anhedonia; an inability to really feel emotionally good about anything. Hence the complaining. For instance, right now I want to burst into tears about the stuffed cat that I mistreated and then gave away tonight, but if my blood sugar were normal I'd be able to at least acknowledge the GOOD stuff.
  

Before you say "Muffy, why don't you just give yourself some insulin and bring your blood sugar down?" well, making a judgement about how much insulin I need is very much hit-or-miss in an unpredictable situation (like a drag show or a night at a bar), especially when Parker is involved. You can inject and inject all night long without any effect, and then suddenly all that insulin kicks in at once...and the only thing worse than having HIGH blood sugar in a public place is having insulin-related LOW blood sugar.

Am I complaining? Yes. Blame Parker.

Should I have eaten dinner? Yes. Blame me.

Kink!

For a self-proclaimed asexual blog, there's been a whole lot of sex-talk here for the past month. I say this now because, tomorrow night, I'll be performing at Guelph's "Kink Event."

I always find it worrisome that people tend to equate drag with sex. Sure, I may dress in a sexualized way, but that does not mean that I am either FEELING particularly sexy or that I am SOLICITING sex. In fact, I am so aware of the fragility of my drag-illusion that I try to stay as far away as I can from graspy or damp things: I am there to be (if anything) visually interesting, and nothing much more.

That's not to say people SHOULDN'T find drag sexy -- either to perform in or to be attracted to -- only that it shouldn't always be assumed to be sexual (or rather, "carnal"), which in many cases (including mine) it just isn't. At least not in a fetishy way.

So the fact that I'm performing at "Kink" -- whose playbill promises the exploration "pleasure and excitement" -- is a bit strange, since my idea of an ideal drag number is either a cutesy '50s-style song of chaste silliness or a totally misanthropic rant about emotional dysfunction. How can I compete with the "porn screening room" and the "erotic art?"

In this case I need to bite the bullet (or perhaps the pony-girl bit) and dig out the more explicit numbers that I do for particularly horny crowds (when anything less would be cause for mass audience evacuation). But as I'm searching through the archives I think...

...hey, if *I* resent my method of expression being characterized as sexual, does the "kink" crowd feel the same way? Is it condescending for me to assume that a kink audience WANTS sexy songs?

Well, it doesn't take much perusal of the handbill to see that the show IS about fetishy sex, so I think I'm justified in assuming that sexy numbers will be appreciated. But this still makes me wonder if "kink" -- outside of this particular event -- is always sexual. Are there non-sexual expressions of BDSM?

In any case I'm sure it will be a fun time, but I absolutely NEED to find a stuffed cat in order to defuse the over-the-top nature of "Pussy" by Lords of Acid. The only one I could find today was a "nursing mother cat," which would add a particularly perverse level to the song that I don't think I can deal with. I told the saleslady that I was looking for something more "traditional," and after I walked away I thought...God, that sounded REALLY conservative.

Vintage Muffy Part Two: Guelph Pride 2005

Aha, before I forget about this, here's something totally bizarre that I stumbled upon a few months ago:


Click here to see the entire set, which I like to call "Muffy with Child." During my first number, this little girl decided she simply HAD to dance with me, and she emulated my silly choreography from beginning to end (right down to the rocket-powered hands and -- as you can see -- my pigeon-toes). She was the unselfconscious star!

And check out the other photos by Vaneramos...he has quite an eye.

Performing "They Don't Know" at Guelph's "Drag Race" Event

As I continue to pursue the St. Bernard Internet Footprint I keep finding bizarre things about myself that I never knew existed. Here's a sneaky video clip of me performing Tracy Ullmann's "They Don't Know" at a show a few months ago in Guelph (which I think was called "The Drag Race").


When I first started doing drag shows, Miss Drew said it would be a good idea to watch videos of myself, and since this clip was filmed (and posted) without my knowledge it's an even better "critical study" for me than it would be otherwise.

My first comment is "jeez, I have rocket-powered hands," thanks partly to long-ago advice from Morgan James ("When in doubt, raise your arms!") But the frantic hands have more to do with the fact that I don't know what to do with my FEET. I'm not much into audience interaction so I prefer to stay on the stage, but I can't just stand in one spot...that worked for '40s torch singers but they actually SANG.

It's hard, in a song, to avoid International Drag Sign Language (love, you, they, etc.) so you either have to be innovative or deliberately silly.

Which leads me to another good piece of advice, this one from Rasha, who told me early on to drop any pretence of being serious and "just be silly." Since there are only a few other established drag personas available -- experimental, glamorous, sexy, jaded, impersonator, and dancey-pants -- "silly" is the only one I'm really comfortable with.

Regarding this song: I started doing it during the lead up to the same-sex marriage vote here in Canada, so I dedicated it (in my head at least) to Stephen Harper, and to all the people who know more about "hate" and "fear" than they do about "love." This clip's for you!