Catl Overdrive, Plus More

Every year I escort my mother to the Kitchener Blues Festival. I love good music but I have a certain impatience with Michael Bolton and his descendants: easy cover songs, slick delivery, the session musicians who have "done it" so many times that they sound like Automated Soundtrack Mannequins Who Have Eaten Too Many Ribs. The Blues Festival can be a bit like that.

This year we had just escaped the off-key moaning of Miss Angel and were making our way down the line: from the "A" stage, to the "B" stage, past the people selling terrible confectionery and beads and patchouli....

...and then I heard the most wonderful noise, coming from a tent that had been placed in the Kitchener Blues Festival equivalent of Dead Man's Valley. An exuberant, distorted, joyous noise. It was...Catl.


(Picture by Patrick!)

My mother stoically endured Catl long enough for me to solidify my fandom: a guitarist, a drummer, and keyboard/percussionist, playing some form of music that I cannot really identify. Blues? Rockabilly? The darkest muck of the Mississippi river from a forgotten island that Huck Finn never visited...hell, Mark Twain could never have conceived the beautiful sound that was Catl, let alone invent a funny accent for it.

I bought the CD, I loved it, I joined their Facebook group, and I had NO EXCUSE for avoiding their surprise show at The Boathouse tonight.

It was an amazing show. Watch this YouTube clip...



...and then imagine yourself sitting there, watching them, a tight-knit trio just SLAMMING that music out, electrifying, sounding like the aural equivalent of knob and tube wiring. A real estate agent would run SCREAMING from a house designed by Catl, but I want to live in one despite the fire hazard. Throaty hollering. Overdriven organ keys. Soulful drums. A virtuoso guitarist who seems to always be on the verge of losing control for sheer passion. A drummer who really DOES wear sunglasses at night. Wow!

Is it obvious? Catl was great, and you should see them at your first opportunity...but the night wasn't over!

Ginger St. James was next, and she was a super-charged belter. I have immense respect for singers whose lungs are made of nitroglycerin and roses, who can produce a beautiful and powerful noise without ever breaking a sweat...perhaps slightly easier tonight because the stage looked pretty cold. She and her guitarist are apparently monthly features at The Boathouse and I look forward to seeing them again; the two of them had a sweetly personal stage presence reminiscent of a rehearsal in your parent's rumpus room, after a game of Spin The Bottle, except she can sing and DAMN can Mr. Slim play his guitar!

Finally: Von Crippon. Words fail me again. Super-tight surf rock with heart, soul, and funk. Two guys driving a non-stop steamroller of music; no pretensions, no illusions. And that was the fantastic thing about all three bands: there were no sly winks or ironic subtext, just a string of songs that they loved and delivered with verve and honesty.

Why can't we hear more of this sort of thing, everyday, in our heads?

PS: End of night, last few songs by Von Crippon, I decide to dance. I am still trying to find a "non-drag" presentation, and it's only when I'm slightly drunk that I can stop worrying about how I'm being perceived and just let loose. So I'm up there enjoying myself, slowly shedding the Muffy-husk and simply enjoying myself...

...when the nice guy walks up to me and asks "Have you ever seen Breakfast on Pluto?"

"No," I say. "Why?"

"It's about a gender-confused person, it's a great movie, you'd love it!" And I'm like, HOLY COW! Is this the legacy of fifteen years of drag? Even when my eyebrows have fully grown out will I still be perceived as "gender-confused?" I feel like a chubby girl who's always being asked when her baby's due, with the added bonus of not being either chubby OR a girl.

Don't get me wrong, the guy was being nice, and I have no illusions that I'm macho or anything. Heck, most guys dance like manic-depressive kangaroos anyway. But it was a bit disheartening that my simple expression -- and perhaps my whole demeanor during the night -- boiled down to a single comment about gender confusion. Like it's a massive punctuation point in my life. A tad alienating to say the least.

Conclusion, after that last little thing: You should see Catl, Ginger St. James, and Von Crippon. And you should dance the way you like. And you should enjoy the wonderful things that are out there for you to enjoy. And try to put some money in their coffers.

Welcome Back!

Things have changed here!

For regular readers of the blog, the first thing you'll notice is that I'm posting under my real name; after years of humming and hawing I have decided to put Muffy St. Bernard to rest, at least temporarily. There are a lot of reasons for this (and I've discussed many of them before) but the upshot is that I can redirect my energies: instead of spending time, energy, and money (not to mention razors) on doing drag, I can focus more on making music instead.

Hence the new title of the blog: "Lemurian Congress." Ten years of "UPhold" were enough, and the name change signifies a somewhat more polished direction. I've been collaborating with other musicians recently and we're doing some great stuff...stay tuned for samples.

Third: less New Yorker articles. For whatever reason I don't find myself reading the back issues at the moment. Hopefully my own original writing will be a suitable replacement.

I hope you'll stick around and that you'll find the blog as interesting and diverse as it always was. So welcome back!

Ouch, Both Shoulders!

Regular readers of my more whiny and self-indulgent posts will know that I tore the labrum in my right shoulder last year.

Physiotherapists and sports doctors have assumed that this happened entirely as a fluke, because I'm not exactly the most active person in the world. It's a condition normally seen in baseball pitchers, except that MY restrictions -- inability to touch my back or chest around the middle of my torso, among other places -- are the exact OPPOSITE of the usual "pitcher's shoulder."

I've been on the waiting list for surgery and it will presumably take two more years before I even SEE the specialist, but maybe I can jump the line now, because it's happened to the OTHER shoulder too. The LEFT one. Being unable to do so many things with EITHER of my arms might place me in a new medical category.

There's no way this is simply a "fluke." How did I manage to tear the labrum in both shoulders in exactly the same unusual way?

Over the last few weeks I've formed a hypothesis that I think is a damn good one:

1. I have weak shoulders in general. Due to my instant ability to build up shoulder muscles, and my desire to look "less male" in slinky gowns, I deliberately AVOID doing anything that would build upper-body mass.
2. I localize stress by clenching my shoulders. They are constantly rigid while I'm at work, reducing blood flow through my shoulders and arms.
3. The most important part: for twenty years I have carried heavy things around in shoulder bags. For the past TEN years I have walked to and from work every single day, usually with a thick and heavy book in my bag. To keep the strap on my shoulder I unconsciously tense it. Day after day after day.

My left shoulder began deteriorating while I was reading William T. Vollmann's 1300-page "Imperial," coinciding with some of the most stressful work weeks I have ever had. I think I'm right in assuming that there's a connection, although I can't find any online correlation between "heavy shoulder bags" and "torn labrums."

This hypothesis occurred to me last week and I've thrown myself into corrective measures. I only carry small books to work, and always on my right shoulder (which is now, paradoxically, the STRONG one). Three times a day I take a break from whatever I'm doing, lie on my back, and do some arm-raising and shoulder-rotating exercises that were approved by my physiotherapist. Then, at my desk, I use six feet of rubber tubing to strengthen my shoulders: I lift, lift, lift, lift.

In addition I've found ways to minimize the little injuries that are caused each day by getting out of bed, putting on clothes, and lifting coffee mugs. On a good day my shoulders don't start aching until noon, and a simple exercise and an ice pack can get them soothed again.

This was going remarkably well until last night's "Pride Prom" show. Here I am just minutes before an endless evening of agony and fear.


Drag shows are not good for my shoulders because they involve quick-changes and lots of flailing around. Still, over the years, I've trained myself to use my left arm for broad gesticulations and to keep my right arm within the range of motion that it's capable.

But this was the first time I'd done a show with my damaged left arm. After packing myself into the dress in the above picture -- which is now uncomfortably tight because of all those exercises I mentioned -- I performed the extremely demonstrative "Love and Truth" by Mother Mother...and halfway through the number I felt my left shoulder actually TEAR.

I've described this sensation before, but it wasn't the PAIN that made me fearful, it was the realization that -- in a few brief seconds -- I'd potentially caused irreversible damage to my shoulder cartilage. I'd taken another step towards serious physical disability. I don't live with anybody, so there is nobody around to do the things that are difficult for me: what happens if I can no longer change a lightbulb? Sweep the stairs? Dress myself?

The beginning of a drag show is not the time to elicit sympathy and understanding from those around you (though I did try). And now I can tell that the damage wasn't as catastrophic as it seemed: ice packs and a good sleep have reduced the pain and I can still do everything I could do before* (except lower a dress zip, for which I now use a length of fishing line).

There is one thing I DO know: I can't perform in any more drag shows until this problem is fixed, which might be never. They have always taken their toll but this toll is excessive. This isn't much of an issue because I don't do them much these days anyway, but it still makes me sad because there are events I love performing at...the Pride Prom is one of them.

* EDIT: Unfortunately that isn't true...my left shoulder is just restricted in a different way, I think. My right shoulder can't twist inwards in a horizontal way, whereas I think my left won't twist upwards. So much for learning semaphore!

Coming Up!

I'm not just sitting hunkered over the computer with my torn cartilage, rheumatic toes, and carpal tunnel syndrome...no, I'm totally active! And here are two events you can catch me at:

May 8th: "A Night Out with the Queens Part 2" at the Royal Canadian Galt Legion (4 Veterans Way, Galt)

I love a good legion, and I love a good hand-picked drag show with Victoria. Come out and see us perform! Doors at seven, show at eight, fun instantaneous.

May 12th: "A Truck Load of Poets" at DeSotos (1079 St. Clair Avenue West, Toronto)

I'll be there as part of the release party for Jacknife Express #8, and I'll be -- gulp -- reading my fiction out loud for the first time in about fifteen years. Show from 8pm - 11pm.

"Why Helen?"

Hey! If you read more than just this blog (gasp!) you might be interested to know that I'm in the latest issue of India's first (and only) queer periodical, Bombay Dost.


It's a three-page spread with pictures, featuring an article I wrote about Bollywood film idol Helen...or at least the mythical version of Helen that I adore. If you're interested in getting a copy, you can order the issue (number two) online.

It looks great and the article is lots of fun, even if you wouldn't know Helen of Burma from Helen of Troy.

Miss Scratching Post, February 2010?

There's a contest goin' on...and I'm in it!

Steve "Kitten Do'Claw" is holding a series of YouTube competitions to find Your Favourite Queens. I am honoured and privileged to be one of the three contestants for this month.



What do you need to do? Go to the video and post a comment listing the two queens you want to vote for (Loraguy, Josh Sorce, or me). Votes are taken until February 20th, and the queen with the most votes wins. It's easy if you've got a YouTube account! And if you don't have one...well, think of all the terrible comments you can leave in OTHER videos! And all of the one-star ratings! And the obscenities you can spout! Voting for me in this contest is just the first step to an all new type of social life.

And while you're hanging around, check out Kitten's channel (LiveFromTheCatHouse) to see the only other "domestic drag shows" I've found online. Kitten is a pro, and a sweetie also.

Get your voting gloves on! But please, for the sake of decorum and karma, do not vote with multiple aliases. Seriously. I hate it when other people do it.

"Seals in the Workforce"

Here's an excerpt from a documentary that Schnapps and I were in many years ago!



Behind the Scenes Featurette

I usually take a short nap before going out to a club, because I'm old. Sometimes I'll wake up early because my blood sugar is low, and the combination of pseudo dream-state and nutrient-starved brain is the usual inspiration for a Schnapps video.

On Saturday it was the "seal song" idea (including the complete lyrics, which I woke up with), and as I stumbled around eating raw sugar I came up with a few scenes in a potential Schnapps documentary.*

As usual, these things must be simple and easy to film. I shot everything that night except for the "They don't hire seals" thing, which I realized was necessary when I began editing the footage. You can tell I wasn't drunk when I shot that scene because the Schnapps voice is all wrong.

Anyway, a combination of voiceover and footage filmed in various rooms -- including an unexpected refrigerator hum in the kitchen -- meant that I had to apply all sorts of denoisers, noise gates, and selective EQ to everything. What's the best way to disguise imperfect audio? Other than music -- which seemed inappropriate for such a stark subject -- the best solution is to make the audio sound even MORE imperfect!

So I added a wonderful "crackle" loop courtesy of the Soundtrack Pro library, as well as intermittent "pops" (a click sample pitched downward) and an occasional rustling noise similar to a dirty audio track on a piece of old film, produced by gently rubbing a sock over a microphone.

As usual, I'm amazed at the difference between raw footage and finished material. Each clip viewed in isolation is total crap -- leading to a lot of discouragement yesterday when I began pulling everything together -- but when I trimmed it and assembled it in the right order, it began to be funny...even WITHOUT the voiceover.

The lesson, as though you didn't know: editing is half the final product.

* This is not the first Schnapps documentary ever, but it's the first one that didn't turn out so bad that it was thrown away.

Merry Christmas 2009!

Drive safe! Don't trip over your tripods!

"Homophobia"

Last week a Grade 12 student asked me to write a mini-essay about "homophobia," so she could read it to her class as part of a project. Here's what I came up with:

I'm wary about telling homophobia-related anecdotes because I don't want to become negative and sensationalistic; my days of sulky victimization are over! We all know that terrible things can happen, but over the years I've become more interested in solutions than retelling my rare moments of drag-related misery.

But even though I feel more at peace with the world than I used to, I don't think it's easy for other people to understand WHY I feel that way. And you can't tackle the roots of homophobia -- let alone discover the ways of combating it -- without looking at specific incidents and coming to some basic conclusions.

So I'll tell you two of my more interesting horror stories, and then I'll share the lessons that those situations taught me.

One way that homophobia manifests itself is a simple "group versus outsider" dynamic. There is something about humanity that feels most confident and secure when it's part of a group, and the simplest way to assert "groupness" is to exclude everybody else. This doesn't always come down to violence -- you can see it happen everywhere, in workplaces or book clubs or patriotic speeches -- but when it involves violence it becomes much more noticeable.

Usually I only have "outsider" dealings with three or four drunk men at a time, but in 2003 I actually faced a mob. It was during the midnight show of the Waterloo Busker Festival. I was wearing a flashy showgirl outfit and watching the buskers with some friends, and about fifteen people in the crowd started to toss pennies at us. When they realized that nobody was going to defend us they got increasingly bold, throwing the coins with full force and finally starting to chant: "Get the fag!" No kidding.

This happened at the edge of a huge crowd of able-bodied, reasonable, and intelligent people. It should never have reached the level that it did, but the reason that we had to run away from a handful of chanting, violent strangers in uptown Waterloo was because NOBODY IN THE CROWD HELPED US. They SAW us and they understood what was happening, but they all looked away, probably frightened.

Here's the first lesson I've learned about homophobia: it only happens if bystanders allow it to. I have been in many other situations where a small group of people have started to get violent with me, but it always stops when a single stranger steps up to defend me. This reverses the "us versus them" belief that is the root of this form of homophobia; when the aggressors suddenly realize that THEY are the outsiders and not ME, it's like popping a big ugly balloon. They retreat and go home and complain to each other and then they throw up.

But if the balloon doesn't pop in the face of public disapproval then something more complicated is at work. I'm talking about the men who hate homosexuality but are simultaneously attracted to me, even though they know I'm a man.

This happens in bars near the end of the night. I suppose that these people can deny their attraction to men in most situations, but they can't deny their attraction to a man in a dress, and this gives them a glimpse of themselves that they don't like at all.

Usually they try to take this anger and confusion out on me in an over-the-top, ironically sexual way, trying to "mock molest" me in front of their friends. This is meant to prove that they're "straight," but their obsessive and bizarre behaviour makes them look even gayer than they're pretending NOT to be.

One extreme incident incident sticks in my mind, though; it was a whole new level. I was sitting on a stool and minding my own business when a huge, hulking guy sat down next to me. He leaned close and said quietly and calmly into my ear: "Watching you looking so good and turning me on like that makes me want to pick up a hammer and kill you."

Then he got right up and left the bar. He was so sober and matter-of-fact that I totally believed what he'd said...and I realized the deep, burning, loathing and hatred that a person can feel for themselves, and how often that loathing can be directed at something or somebody else.

It's a common tactic to enrage homophobes by saying they are secretly homosexual themselves, but in some cases I know this is true, especially when their derision is sexualized. Their feelings are composed of some terrible combination of self-loathing, panic, public shame, and thwarted affection. Society and the sick people in it must work REALLY HARD to instill those sorts of feelings in a child...it doesn't "just happen." Fortunately I think it happens less and less, and that can only be a good thing for everybody.

One final point I'd like to make is that there is a difference between "homophobia" and "confusion." The vast majority of encounters that I have are with people who simply don't "get it," not because they HATE me, but because they've never MET somebody like me...they want to know "why," and they ask blunt questions, and they giggle a bit. If I were to label their attitude as "homophobia" then I would approach them differently, but as it is I try to be friendly and honest. I never JUSTIFY what I do, but I'll still EXPLAIN it.

Granted, the way people confront crossdressers is different from the way they confront lesbians or gay men who aren't in drag, but by learning to tell the difference between confusion and homophobia, between curiosity and cruelty, I have made friends and allies instead of enemies. Maybe I can do this now because I'm comfortable enough about myself that I can make other people comfortable too, as long as their intentions are even remotely good.

That's why I'm wary of sharing sensationalistic anecdotes: because even though it's important to know how bad things can be out there, it is equally important for me to remember that the vast majority of people really DON'T want to hurt me. Most of them are simply INTERESTED in me. That says something good about people, and I try to always keep it in mind when I'm out in the world.

Dance Heads Make Me Slightly Ill

I just stumbled across something called "Dance Heads."

Maybe everybody's already been exposed to this gimmick...it's a booth which superimposes your head over a dancing body. It ends up looking like somebody just vomited on an early-'90s computer-generated cartoon. With heads.



This amazes me for several reasons. First, it's the most gaudy disposable kitsch imaginable, resulting in a hideous patchwork of colours and concepts. I can only assume that it's SUPPOSED to be that ugly, in the same way that bobbleheads and car commercials are deliberately annoying: if they had any class, people wouldn't notice them.

Second, it's expensive.

Third, the people who do them -- and there are a lot of them on YouTube -- invariably look embarassed and way too sober, maybe because they realize that it isn't nearly as fun as the obnoxiously chipper avatar says it's going to be. And also because they don't know all the words.

What's interesting -- but not surprising -- is that most of the men in the YouTube clips have chosen GIRL BODIES. So at least Dance Heads has cathartic potential.

The Jewel Thief Returns!

This past weekend I did a photo shoot for an upcoming issue of Bombay Dost. They wanted shots of me wearing my "Jewel Thief" outfit, preferably in front of a white background, in the highest quality possible.

I welcomed this opportunity because I don't really HAVE any good pictures of that outfit; you can't just roll out of bed and slip it on, you've got to WORK it. For that reason I enlisted the help of Melissa Baumunk of Brown Salon to give me a grand hairstyle -- at 9:00 in the morning! -- and the wonderful Jenn Wilson (here's her site for all your photographic needs) rolled out the white backdrop in her garage and took to the pictures for a really spectacular set.



This was an odd shoot because the roll of paper is quite narrow, so all gestures needed to be slightly contracted and the tailfeathers always kept under control. I was afraid that would make for boring pictures, but actually it gave us a good framework to work within. And thanks to some post-production adjustments (not to mention Jenn's skillful removal of the run in my fishnets) it looks like I'm floating in Bollywood happy-space. Joy!

The happiest thing about all of this is that the outfit -- built by Lydia Bellenie of Delirium Clothing back in 2002 -- fits me perfectly. For a while it was too big and I put it in the back of the closet, but either it has shrunk or I have inflated. Now it's perfect! This is nice not just because I can finally wear it again, but also because it's a simply amazing piece of work, right down to the springy "pocket feathers" in the back and the faux zebra sequins of the bodice.

Where did Lydia find a sequinned zebra to skin? Only she knows...

New Video: "Depressed Benny Hill"

Yesterday I started thinking that although Benny Hill is fun to watch when you're in a great mood, I bet his show would simply infuriate a depressed person. And since Schnapps the Seal is always depressed this was a shoe-in for a short video, which I shot last night and edited today:



Backstage Expose

As usual the music was mostly built up from Apple Loops -- including some sound effects that came with Soundtrack Pro -- but this time I tried something entirely new: foley recording.

If you've ever seen Benny Hill (!) then you know that much of the comedy (!) depended on over-the-top foley work...one of his trademarks was sped-up film with overdubbed sound effects. I was hoping to be able to avoid all that hassle, but as I was putting this video together it became obvious how essential that stuff is to slapstick.

So I did some brainstorming, and these were the techniques I came up with.

* Footsteps: I turned a pair of high heels upside down and hit the heel-tips with a pair of hairbrushes. Totally unnatural, but Benny Hill's footsteps never DID sound natural.

* Brushing: The aforementioned hairbrush rubbed across fabric. I enhanced the lower frequencies to make it sound richer.

* Slapping Schnapps' Head: The hairbrush again, slapped against my palm.

* Whip Effect: A thick hair elastic stretched between my fingers, then snapped on my leg. Ouch.

* Dominatrix Hissing: "Hiss! Hiss! Rah! Hiss!"

* Weightlifting Noise: This was the hardest one. I wanted something that sounded like a ratcheting wrench -- or maybe a jack -- but I'm not exactly swimming in tools. So I took three strings of cheap mardi-gras beads, wrapped them around the back of a wooden chair, and pulled them back and forth. It really worked!

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!

New UPhold Song: "Think"

My Canada Day song contribution is one just finished from 2005 called "Think." It really IS sort of appropriate to the day, as it was inspired by a man who screamed insults at me from a balcony during a long-ago holiday...he was one of the men who explode.

You can listen to "Think" in its short, minimalistic, ambient glory here.

It sounds the way it does because of the technology I was using back then. I wanted to write a conventional song, but since I couldn't sing I decided to use a Vocoder plugin.

Unfortunately the only plugin I had was the one from Cycling 74's "Pluggo" bundle. While I grew fond of many of the "Pluggo" plugins (and many of their "Mode" plugins as well), they were terribly flaky and would sometimes refuse to work altogether. Their Vocoder usually only half-worked for me...you had to route it through their virtual "PluggoBus," and in the case of this song the bus would just randomly fade in and out.

I got so frustrated with the vocoder that I gave up on "Think" after only one segment of one verse. But this year, when I went back to listen to it, I realized that the vocoder fade was sort of nice, and though it completely ruined an attempt at "conventional" music it was a nice "experimental" touch.

So I stripped out the rhythm and the original keyboards and rewrote the track around the vocoder glitch. It probably turned out better than if I'd written some lame song about depressed persecution.

The lesson: keep all of your mistakes, even if you think you'll never use them!

The Changeable Changeness of Change

The last three weeks have been bizarre. Nothing in particular has happened, nothing too shocking or surprising, but I can't help feeling that my world is moving pretty rapidly into a new place. What's surprising about this is that I'm pretty comfortable with the idea.

I've never really understood before the Tarot idea where the "Death" card actually means "change." I figured it was just a conceit to keep suburban housewives from screaming when they get their cards read. But when things are changing -- both your environment and you -- it really DOES feel a bit like death: a little bit scary and exciting and a whole lot of wondering.

Some things are going on that I'm not going to talk about here, and they're all interrelated so I can't give a full sense of what's happening on this end, but one of the cruxes involved is: how long am I going to continue doing drag? I've always known that there'd be a time when I'd want to stop, and I figured I'd just wake up one morning and say "No more!", but instead it's been a series of gradual waves of thought during the last few years. Every year I give the idea of quitting more serious consideration, and this year I'm really on the cusp of saying "Yeah, that's it."

Why? One reason is vanity. Each year it gets harder and harder to look good, and the failures are more and more apparent. The pictures of me which look attractive are taken from increasing distances. I keep thinking about the song that goes: "Nice legs, shame about the face," and all it takes is one terrible batch of photos to make me go "Ugh! No more!"

Another reason is reward versus effort, and the rewards are getting smaller. It's not that the WORLD has stopped rewarding me, it's just that those rewards mean less and less to me, and as the effort increases, doing drag starts to lose its point.

A third reason is the sheer pain of doing it. My shoulder isn't getting better and there's a possibility that it never actually will (I'm going to a shoulder specialist soon and will probably be scheduled for surgery). The ability to "look good" in drag involves having access to all those parts of your body that you need to modify, and I don't have access to some of those parts anymore. It's depressing and causes me a lot of anguish.

And finally, I've realized over the years that I'm GOOD at a large number of things, but I'm not GREAT at any of them (except for my job), and the reason is because I haven't focused all my money and energy on a single activity. "Doing drag" competes with all the other interests I have in my life.

But the thing is, drag is such a part of my identity that I've always been TERRIFIED of losing it. Who would I BE? This year, however, I can actually see myself doing without it, and I realize that my life would be a hell of a lot simpler and easier without it.

I'm not going to be one of those people who throws out all their drag stuff on a whim. If I do decide to stop doing drag, it'll be a gradual process, a "letting go." I'm still performing at next week's "OK2BME" Pride Prom, and today we were going to do a Daily Muffy (but it was canceled). What happens will depend entirely on where my life goes from here.

In any case, all this stuff is the major reason why I haven't been blogging lately. When my life becomes unsettled I tend to withdraw from creative pursuits (such as this one) and just do a lot of reading and game-playing (yes, The Sims 2).

"A Big Gay Storm" Gets Some Big Gay Attention

I just noticed that a whole bunch of people were suddenly subscribing to my YouTube channel. That "Big Gay Storm" video I made last week was ratching up the hits, and by following the links I discovered -- wow! -- that I topped a Queerty "Top 10 Gathering Storm Parodies" list!

And our winner for the best NOM parody goes to Ms. Muffy St. Bernard. Leave it to the drag queens to come up with a wholly original take on the ad. This is everything that a good parody ad should be: It's a delightful send-up that is not only wildly entertaining, but also drives home its message by utilizing the comic power of leopard print and tiny, dirty pillows.

I mean holy cow, that's pretty cool, though maybe I should clean my pillows next time. Thanks, Queerty!

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...

Na'ir-Do-Well

It's been a long time since I've offered a drag-queenery tip. This one is for queens, girls, and unhappily hirsute men who occasionally use Nair.

I used to just goop it on my hands, then rub it on the area I wanted to depilitate. This wasn't so bad but it quickly got messy, especially when the bottle itself got covered in Nair and would start slipping around.

Now that my shoulder has a limited range of motion I've had to be inventive, and tonight -- for the first time -- I tried using an "extender," namely, a wooden spoon. I put the Nair on the back (convex) side of the spoon, then extended it to the area I wanted to depilitate, and besides being an easy way to reach out-of-the-way places it also proved to be more clean and accurate than my hands ever were.

So give it a try!

PS: If you're getting a chemical burn from the strong stuff, maybe try the mild next time, it might be all you need. Ouch!

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.