Post-Weimar New York … in Los Angeles … pre-Austin, Texas ….

Exhausted, I finally ducked into L.A.’s overweaningly hot club THE GREEN DOOR (as in the Marilyn Chambers porn classic we were all supposed to go behind) to catch my friend PENNY ARCADE, touring with WEIMAR NEW YORK. Think a much-more-decadent version of the movie CABARET shot through with extreme genderfuck, camp, politics and panic. I had a range of emotional reactions, but it managed to pretty great, and the overdesigned, dripping-with-money decor may have raised the perversity level a notch (really, you’d comfortably expect to see this in an abandoned building somewhere).

I found myself thinking how, for gender-variant folk, maybe New York still serves a purpose – I’m not sure about this, but there was no denying that JUSTIN BOND and NOVICE THEORY and TAYLOR MAC wouldn’t have come together and made a popular event anywhere but New York, even today. Is this true, or does it just seem that way? God knows we heard enough comments like that from the performers. Kinda made me jealous: my gender never varied that much, and I can end a night like this feeling like the big hairy guy at a feminist symposium: vaguely clod-like, especially standing next to Justin’s scary-elegant swanning around. Like my maleness is a sign of having no imagination. Hmmm.

Ran into MIKE ALBO afterwards (the redoubtable, hilarious author-cum-performer (read that last any way you like and you’ll be right)). We tried to decide if we’d ever actually met, or only been in so many conversations about each other that we assumed we had. He emailed me this morning to say he thought we had met, but years and years before. That sounds mysterious enough to be fun, or at least the start of a bad indie film. (He somehow managed to channel Britney Spears onstage, even re-enacting the famous panty-less exit from the limo, except this time flashing his pretty hefty package instead. The paparazzi somehow missed it.)

Christ, how did I get off on this tangent. I had some grand point to make, and I’ve completely forgotten it. Well, if you’re reading this blog, you might as well get used to it. I’ll make a better point later.

Meanwhile, I’m off to listen to the Australian, female Jeff Buckley named Carla Werner. We just became mutual fans, and I’m hoping we’ll sing something together soon. Take a listen to her and tell me if you agree: Carla Werner

© Dudley Saunders