A BUSY, BUSY WEEK (MAKE THAT TWO, oops, THREE WEEKS) III

Thursday, 10/27: Started with a conference call meeting of the Steering Committee of the NYS GENDA Coalition. We firmed up the plans for our first Regional Training/Education Session, which will be held at the Loft in White Plains on Nov. 19. Our liaison with our website developer promised that our website will be up by then (but I've been hearing such promises since last summer--or was it the spring?)

Then I went down to SOHO to a different Loft for Unveiling The Butterfly: An evening of entertainment by Asian American Women to benefit the feature-length film Tie a Yellow Ribbon. I really went to hear Wendy Ip, who has recently started to call herself Just Wendy. I used to hear her on Mondays at the Stonewall Bistro when I could make it, but she's not there any more. When I asked at the Bistro about her, they just said, "She hasn't been here for weeks." (More on this later.)

Despite my arrival a bit late, they weren't letting people in. I stood out on the sidewalk with a small but growing group, mostly young Asian women, about half in business attire, half in casual clothes. I was overdressed for the event, trying to straddle the line between this event and a more glam later one--a similar outfit to what I wore to the "Get Drag Racy" event, except this time my top was pink, and the fishnets were hot pink/black two-tones. At this point the top was invisible under my jacket, a fitted black leather one with silvery buttons and epaulettes, which someone has said makes me look like a dominatrix. But I softened it with a fuzzy pink scarf.

After a few minutes they let us in, and we crowded into the elevator. Upstairs there was a table where they took my $20, and a coat rack where I hung up my jacket and scarf. It was a big, high-ceilinged, mostly empty loft. There was a small bar, a couch and a few chairs. Bowls of snacks were scattered here and there. A small stage was set up in the corner. I recognized Wendy's keyboard (and its wheeled case lying on the floor behind the stage.) A projector put stills from the film on the wall. An opening in the wall behind a low bookcase led to another large room, which appeared to be the "backstage" (it wasn't). There was a long table with a dozen or so silent auction items--yoga sessions, a small silvery evening bag, a Leger art book, nothing I was terribly interested in. Since the way to win fixed-time auctions (including eBay) is to be the last bidder, not the first, I knew I had little chance, since I knew I'd be leaving well before the bidding ended.

I bought a drink from a disorganized amateur bartender, as the room filled up--several dozen people after a while. I knew nobody. Only two or three of the women besides me were dressed up.

At some point I realized that I was doing something unusual, at least for me. I was the only crossdresser at a non-LGBT event. I've been to many LGBT events where I was the only one, and occasionally I've been to non-LGBT events with other CDs. But this was different. No one seemed to take any particular notice of me. Did I just pass? I don't think so--I never believe I pass, despite what people tell me, and I certainly did not blend in that evening, with my overdressing. So I'm going to assume that everyone was comfortable with a CD in their midst. Which is good.

Eventually I found Wendy. She showed me a plate of egg rolls, which were actually quite good. We had a long conversation, with more drinks and egg rolls, waiting for the program to start. She also knew no one else there, except for the film's producer who had invited her, and he was quite busy running the event. So I pretty much had her undivided attention. (She did know some of the other musicians, but they hadn't arrived yet.)

I had seen Wendy only once since last June, performing at the Bistro, so there was quite a bit to get caught up with. First I asked her about her boyfriend status. She had been in this long, on and off relationship with a guy that ran very hot and cold--so cold that she had to call the police to get him out of her apartment, more than once I think. Even when I was seeing her perform regularly I never knew from week to week if they were together at the time. She told me that it was all over with him, and that she was going to marry her UK manager--"He's the one." He's going to move here. The engagement is not yet official (they have no money for a ring). Wendy also said that her old boyfriend was calling and text messaging her several times a day, asking her out, saying it couldn't be over, etc., etc. I wish her well, but I have a feeling her love life will not be sailing a smooth or straight course.

Then I asked her why she was no longer performing at the Bistro. She said it was due to a "three-way sexual harassment" problem, I think her words were. She said one of the bartenders was harassing her (and I thought they were all gay), so she sent a complaint to the manager. Another woman who worked there heard about it, and wanted to see Wendy's complaint, because she had already filed a similar complaint against the bartender--but he had filed a counter-complaint charging her with harassment! The management had rejected both of those complaints. At that point Wendy just decided to quit. The gig had never worked out the way it had been originally planned: a lesbian-oriented night, with a lesbian bartender.

I've never been overly fond of the Bistro. While most of the staff there are quite nice, I sometimes sense from a few an undercurrent that says crossdressers are not, shall we say, their favorite type of customer. When CDI has tried to arrange an event there, people aren't in, calls aren't returned. Nobody ever says no, but nothing ever happens. The Wednesday night entertainment--old show tunes and standards--is not particularly to my liking. I go there only because my friends want to. With this latest brouhaha, there's one more reason not to go. Two actually: the sexual harassment, and the absence of Wendy.

Eventually the producer of the film got up to the microphone, quieted the crowd (somewhat), and made a few remarks. He introduced the director, and then showed a brief clip of the movie. It could be interesting--three young Asian teenager/women in white America. They're still trying to find the money to finish it--hence the fundraiser.

Then the entertainment started. First was a Yellow Rage, a pair of young Asian-American "female spoken-word poets." Their "poetry" was so filled with vulgarity it lost any validity as criticism of the way Asian-American women are viewed, as far as I'm concerned. If I want to hear vulgarity, I'll ride the subway.

Next up was folksinger Annie Lin. She's got a nice voice, but the sound system didn't deliver it clearly enough over her guitar, so I really couldn't say how good her songs are.

Then it was Wendy's turn. After they hoisted her keyboard up on the little stage, she did about four songs, including "Just Wendy" and (I think I remember) "Take Me Away." I'm pretty sure I had heard all of them before. She was as good as she always is (I've never heard her sing badly). The people seemed to like her.

After she finished I went and congratulated her and said good-bye--I was already running late for my next event--Kevin's Birthday Party. I'm not really sure how Kevin knows me. He's worked at a couple of places I go to. He has worked at Lips on the weekend--but I've never been there on a weekend, and I don't remember him from there. He's also a bartender at the Townhouse, an upscale gay bar I've been to with friends a handful of times. (I think some of the clientele is none too happy to see crossdressers there, so it's not exactly at the top of my list of places to go to.) Maybe I met him there, but I really don't remember. Anyhow, the last two years he's invited me to his birthday party.

This year it was at the O.W. (for Oscar Wilde) Bar, across the street from the Townhouse. O.W. is a less fancy gay bar, with regular drag entertainment. The "Girls from Lips" were scheduled to perform, and I'd made arrangements to meet Ginger at Lips, and we'd go up to O.W. together. But I was running late, so I went to O.W. directly, and I actually arrived a few minutes ahead of her, and the rest of the "Girls." Most of them I see regularly, but some, like Paulina, I hardly ever see, since she only works at Lips on the weekends.

One of the people from the O.W. staff asked me if I was going to perform. No, thank you. I've done exactly one lipsync number in my life, and that is enough for the rest of my life. I did it at the Monster Bar as part of a birthday celebration for Jesse Volt (is there a pattern here?) a couple years ago. It was a lot of work to learn the song, which you still have to do even if you're not really singing it. Between that and the stage fright, it wasn't a whole lot of fun. Afterwards Jesse said that now that I had heard all the applause I'd get the bug and want to do it more, but I just said we'll see--while thinking thank goodness that's over.

Laid out in the back room there was some decent food (pasta, salad, veggies and dip) and someone gave me a couple of free drink tickets, and I stood and talked with some of the Girls. Kevin breezed through a couple of times, on his way to and from the smoking patio out back. Ariel Sinclair asked me how I did my cleavage--I was amazed (and flattered) that a professional drag performer like Ariel would want my advice.

Eventually it was show time, and I found a seat at the bar. Unfortunately there were a few people standing between me and the tiny stage, so my view was somewhat obscured. First up was P.J., a very diminutive performer I'd never seen before. He did Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach, I'm in Trouble," dressed in a home-made nun's costume. He pulled some sort of doll out of it--I couldn't really see, but those who could roared with laughter. There were three or four other numbers, interspersed with little "interviews" with members of Kevin's family. One of the numbers was a trio they do (or used to do) at the Sunday Brunch at Lips, which I had never seen. But my favorite was a lipsync duet by Rajene and P.J.: "I've Got You, Babe," by Sonny and Cher. Cher is a speciality of Rajene's that I've seen her do many times. P.J. came out in an excellent Sonny costume, with a furry vest, and an accurate wig and mustache. Now the real Sonny was a bit shorter than Cher, but Rajene is very tall, and P.J. barely came up to her chest--he was actually singing to her navel. It was hilarious. And somehow, by the end of the song, the mustache ended up on Rajene.

The show ended, and it was time for me to go home (or, more accurately, to go back to CDI and change so I could go home). I said goodnight to the Girls (most of whom were ready to party a lot more), and found a cab.

MY BROADBAND IS BACK. YAY!

The nice man from Time Warner Cable just finished restoring by broadband service. All it took was 2 new splitters. I just wish it had taken little less than 10 days to do it.

So now all I have to do is to hook up the router (Time Warner does NOT support routers, as they kept telling me) and restore both my and my wife's computers to pre-dial-up mode.

Oh, yes, I also have to restore the dining table leaves and the card tables to the closet where they were blocking the cable connection panel.

MARATHON CONFESSION

I live a block from the NYC Marathon route. I know when the leaders go by because I can hear the helicopters overhead. But I watch it on television. The finish of the men's race sure was exciting.

A BUSY, BUSY WEEK (MAKE THAT TWO WEEKS) II

Wednesday, 10/26: The Crossdressers International (CDI) Halloween Dinner, at the Lips Restaurant. I went as a cheerleader. I was going to go as Little Red Riding Hood, until I saw Alicia's Little Red Riding Hood costume. No way I could compete with that. My costume was almost a disaster--I had forgotten the skirt when I packed my suitcase to go to CDI (and I had worked so hard ironing it, too!). Fortunately someone had put a skort on the free shelf, and it fit. It wasn't the right color, but I made do.

At least I didn't forget my pom-pons.

We had 25 members and guests at the dinner, taking up a good third of the room. The prix fixe menu (which they called "prefix") had a small but fairly wide assortment. I had the salad, salmon and flourless chocolate cake--all quite nice. Our waitress was All Beef Patty, who somehow managed to serve all of us quite quickly. Of course at Lips the food is actually served by the bus boys (that doesn't sound politically correct), while the waitresses take the orders, deliver the drinks, and collect the money--which is still a lot, since they also do a show periodically.

Wednesday is "Bitchy Bingo" night at Lips. The patrons play Bingo while the "Show Hostess," Ginger, and the Lips owner, Yvonne Lamé, insult each other while calling out the numbers. They really went at it, a little too long actually--some of the people in our group got restless, if not also uncomfortable with some of the remarks.

After a couple of games of Bingo we had the CDI costume contest. Ginger introduced each of us, and the rest of the patrons applauded for their favorite. I made the finals (though I think Ginger, whom I know a little, was a bit generous in judging the amount of applause I got). The winner, to no one's surprise, was Alicia.

Some of us continued the evening with some dancing at the Monster Bar. A few even stayed long enough for Jesse Volt's drag show. Jesse called me up to the stage to show off my costume for another crowd.

A BUSY, BUSY WEEK (MAKE THAT TWO WEEKS) I

So busy I really didn't have time to blog. But I'll try to catch up--if I can remember anything. It's been so long.

TUESDAY, 10/25: I started with a panel discussion at the Association of the Bar of the City of New York (ABCNY) entitled Education Interrupted: Strategies for Confronting Discrimination, Harassment, and Bullying of LGBT Youth. It was co-sponsored by the New York County Lawyers Association LGBT Issues Committee, which I'm on. One of the more interesting facets of the panel was that two of the panelists are currently or recently LGBT youths themselves--one is a high school student, one a recent graduate, now in college. Two of the other panelists were Pauline Park, the head of the New York Association for Gender Rights Advocacy (NYAGRA), and David Mensah, Executive Director of the Hetrick Martin Institute.

There were a lot of interesting statistics that came out over the two hours. For instance, 6.5% of NYC high school students identify as LGBT (and 9% of the teachers). Also, between 40 and 50% of all of the homeless youth in NYC that go into foster care are LGBT.

Right now what is happening is that students are coming out before the community, including the schools, is ready. Gay and lesbian characters are portrayed sympathetically on television, there are out gay and lesbian entertainers, athletes, even politicians (more lesbian than gay), so young people come out of the closet much earlier than they used to.

I think the main message that expressed by the panel is that the best way to confront the discrimination, harassment and bullying of LGBT youth is to educate all of the teachers. It's not enough to send the principals to a brief session. There are a lot of teachers out there who want to stop these things, but are paralyzed: they don't even have the language to accurately report what they see.

One thing I found a bit curious: not one word was mentioned about the efforts of GenderPAC to combat bullying and gender stereotyping. Perhaps it's just because their efforts are aimed more at college students (with a growing program for parents). But I'm wondering if there might be a little inter-group jealousy going on--the moderator was a staffer from GLSEN.

I saw my friend Donna there, who is on the ABCNY LGBT Rights Committee, the other main co-sponsor of the panel. But she wanted to go straight home, so I decided to go to the Pill Awards at the Splash Bar. My friend Clover Honey was one of the judges, and was also doing a "Joan Rivers" type of Red Carpet fashion reporting for Under the Pink Carpet. I knew I would be too late for that, as the Awards overlapped the panel discussion by an hour, but I hoped to catch some of it.

I got a cab on Sixth Avenue, even though it was going in the wrong direction--it always seems to be easier there than on Fifth--and went down to W. 17th St.

I managed to find the coat check (I think it was in a different place the last time I needed to check something, though both are in the basement. I went back upstairs for the festivities. Actually the first thing on my agenda was to dive into an apple martini, which I made disappear in very short order.

After I got my second apple martini I tried to figure out what was going on.
Clover's e-mail said the Pill Awards were "Video Awards for the Best of Season 3 of cable's ADD-TV," but I had no idea what ADD-TV was. Attention Deficiency Disorder television? I still don't know, and I really don't care--you can Google it yourself if you're that interested. They showed the nominees for various awards up on three large video screens--almost none of them were the least bit familiar. The awards were interspersed with musical performances. A couple of women did a rap number (I'm not particularly fond of rap.) Later Kevin Aviance did his new song, unaccompanied, since his background music failed--that was good.

I looked around for Clover, or anyone else I knew. As frequently happens, some guy came up and greeted me, but I had no idea who he was--probably someone who had seen me in Jesse Volt's show at the Monster Bar. Eventually I saw Cashetta, way at the other end of the room. A bit later Milan and Peppermint arrived. They zipped by without noticing me. Peppermint disappeared, but I did catch up with Milan, who complimented me on my memory, for what I wrote about our visit to HMI.

At some point ABBAlicious won an award, and Cashetta was one of the acceptors. I do have that album, where a number of drag performers who can actually sing did their versions of various ABBA songs.

The final performer was Janice Robinson. Someone said she was a legend. I'd never heard of her.

By the end of the show I'd had three apple martinis (each one a dollar more than the previous one) and a handful of pretzels. Clover just wanted to go home, so I went up to East of Eighth to have a little dinner. They have a new menu (I hadn't been there since June). They call their appetizers "small plates" now. I had the duck liver paté small plate. It was excellent. For $8 you get two large slices of paté, with the usual accompaniments--perfect for a light meal.

KERMIT IN THE AARP?

Kermit the Frog has turned 50 years old! I had no idea he was so old. He's aged very gracefully.

Actually, he has only been a frog for 36 years, having been a sort of lizard in his early days. I'm not sure how that fact would affect the evolution vs. intelligent design debate.

Kermit has been a favorite of mine for a long time. I frequently quote him, saying: "Time's fun when you're having flies." I can still see him shuddering when someone mentioned eating frogs' legs.

So, Happy Birthday, Kermit! I guess I have to make that Happy Belated Birthday. Apparently he was born on May 9, 1955.

WEB SEARCH OF THE DAY (WELL, SATURDAY)

list of america male rock stars soloists from the 70's and 80's put this blog at the top of the list! This is rather amazing, since I haven't written anything about male rock stars that I can remember.

Of course, that was just a Microsoft search. Google doesn't find me at all with these terms. Is it any wonder I prefer Google searches?

I'M STILL ALIVE (BUT MY BROADBAND ISN'T)

I haven't been able to post much recently, due to my being very busy, and my losing my broadband internet connection intermittently. Time Warner Cable was supposed to come and fix it yesterday afternoon, but they did not show up. I won't bore you with the argument I had with their customer service representative, but I now have another appointment for next Wednesday. I'm not happy.

And now, the outage is continual. So I'm on dial-up. Even at 49.2Kbps, it's a real pain.

UP AND DOWN, UP AND DOWN

For the last three days my broadband connection through Time Warner Cable has been failing intermittently. Yesterday, after my third call to them in two days (I really hate that voice-recognition, talk-to-a-computer system) they scheduled an appointment--for Friday afternoon. I am not looking forward to another 4 days of this. And that assumes they're actually able to fix it on Friday.

CLEMENTINES ARE BACK!

Fresh Direct has started carrying clementines again--the first of the season (the first reasonably-priced ones, that is. The Food Emporium has had them at $15/box for a while. No, thank you.) Though they warn that at this time they may not be as sweet and juicy as in mid-November, the ones I got are plenty juicy, and fairly sweet. Yum!

Oops! I see they're already out-of-stock. I guess I'm not the only one who likes them.

SPAM OF THE DAY

"If you think your penis is good only for visiting the bathroom, Maxaman guarantees that you can use it for more pleasant purposes."

BEAUTIFUL MOSAICS

An artist friend of mine has opened a business to sell custom-made mosaics. They are just beautiful. If you are looking for some art to decorate your home or business please check this out: DKM mosaics.

SPAM OF THE DAY

"Impress your woman with your animal instincts!"

C'MON CLAYELLE!

I listen a lot to WQXR, New York City's classical radio station. Their announcers (classical stations don't have disk jockeys, they have announcers) introduce musical works with titles, composers and performers in a number of different languages. They all seem to have very good Italian and French accents, and Spanish also, I think. Some do pretty well in German, also. But whatever the language, they handle it.

So I was rather surprised yesterday to hear weekend announcer Clayelle Dalferes say, "Alternate side parking regulations will be suspended Tuesday and Wednesday this week for religious holidays that I can't pronounce." I thought she was referring to the holidays marking the end of the Islamic Ramadan, but that's not until next week. This week it's the Jewish holidays Shemini Atzereth and Simchas Torah.

I understand that Clayelle might not have had to learn their pronunciation growing up in Lafayette, Louisiana ("The Capital of Cajun Country"). But she's been working as a radio announcer in New York City for well over a decade. It's really time she learned to pronounce the religious holidays.

Clayelle, your homework assignment for this week (you wlll be quizzed this weekend): "Idul-Fitr."

Another very busy weekend (w/whirling dervishes)

This week the festivities started off Friday evening with dinner with another couple at Chennai Garden, a vegetarian, kosher, South Indian restaurant--not that the kosher part mattered, it being Friday evening. We had to wait a while for a table, and just as long to have our orders taken, but it was worth it. Though none of us had their signature-dish dosas, the curries and such we did have were excellent. Who needs meat?

Saturday evening commenced with a 5:45 repeat viewing of "Good Night, and Good Luck." The friends we were seeing that night hadn't seen it, and we wanted to go again because we had missed too much of the dialogue at the New York Film Festival screening. The movie was just as good the second time--better in fact. Not only could we hear the dialogue better, we could have popcorn.

Among the trailers preceding the film was one for Transamerica, starring Felicity Huffman as a pre-operative male-to-female transsexual escorting her son on a road trip across the country--he being unaware of whom she is. I missed this when it was at the Tribeca Film Festival earlier this year. The trailer looked great. I'm looking forward to the opening in December with much anticipation.

Exiting the theater we braved the rain and walked the few blocks to the Park Avenue Cafe. It really is on Park Avenue, though the entrance is around the corner on 63rd. I was a little surprised at the location--I didn't think there were any restaurants on Park Avenue that far uptown.

The decor is hard to describe. It is clearly an upscale restaurant, but not at all formal. A rack of champagne bottles filled a niche, but there were shelves of cookie jars and children's blocks on one wall. A humongous but beautiful arrangement of dried fall plants dominated the room we were in.

The clientele was very Park Avenue. Most of the people were expensively yet conservatively dressed. Most of the men wore jackets, but few wore ties. My blazer fit right in, I thought. And I think as 50-somethings we were definitely below the median age.

On the tables were little cards explaining a special deal they were promoting. After 8:30 pm, seven nights a week, you can get a three course meal just by paying your age. Everything on the menu, including the specials, is included. Now the entrées alone go above $30. Add in an appetizer (up to $18.50 for the foie gras) and a dessert (they're all $11.50), and you've got a real bargain if you're much below 60. There is a $25 minimum, and of course it doesn't include drinks or coffee, which can really run up the bill--even a soft drink is $4. And don't forget the tax and tip.

Unfortunately for us, it wasn't after 8:30. Also, I had had plenty of popcorn, and didn't want an appetizer. (And we aren't that much under 60, alas.) On the recommendation of the waitperson I chose the jumbo prawns with grilled asparagus, prepared with tomato confit, fennel seed sausage and lemon-lime salt, which was excellent. The pineapple and berries I had for dessert was first rate, as were the fancy vodka cocktail and even the bread bucket.

Outside of the fact that they lost our reservation (but had no problem seating us), and the slightly befuddled coatchecker, it was a thoroughly lovely experience. If you want an upscale dinner I recommend it--especially if you're young enough to really take advantage of the "pay your age" deal.

Sunday was a matinee Lincoln Center Great Performers concert--except that it wasn't at Lincoln Center. It was at the Church of St. Ignatius Loyola at Park Avenue and 84th St. It was a very appropriate location for Music of the Spirit: Sacred Bridges, a concert of psalms. We were fortunate to have seats in the third row.

It was performed by the combined forces of the King's Singers and Sarband--the latter making its New York debut. The King's Singers are another male a capella group, the third such I've heard in the last four months. This one is only half the size of Chanticleer or the Russian Patriarchic Choir, but six voices is all they need. They are British, and sing in the English cathedral choir style, with two counter-tenors keeping things very high.

Sarband is, well, strange. It includes four instrumentalists and one singer, all in the Arabic tradition. Their goal, according to the program, is "to show all possible connections between European music and Islamic and Jewish musical culture." At this concert, at least, they did this by frequently using their Arab instruments to play Western style, with a Western scale, only full- and semi-tones. But sometimes they played in the Arabic style, with its quarter-tones.

Preceding the concert was a lecture by Richard W. Corney, a retired Episcopal priest and seminary professor of Old Testament and Hebrew. He outlined the history of the psalms, how they came to be translated, retranslated, and set to music. Actually that should be reset to music, because they were sung in the original Hebrew--but the music was lost long ago. I stayed awake through quite a bit of his talk.

The concert itself consisted of a series of psalms, or verses of psalms. Some were in Hebrew, with music composed by Salmone Rossi (1750-1630), except for one that used traditional Sefardi music. These were sung by the Kings' Singers. In between them were psalms either all in French, or French and Turkish. When they did the latter, the Kings' Singers would do a verse in French, then the Sarband singer would do the same verse in Turkish. The French parts were composed by Claude Goudimel (c. 1515-1572), or Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck (1562-1621), both based on the Genevan Psalter of 1562. The Turkish ones were composed by Ali Ufki (né Wojciech Bobowski) (1610-1675?).

Sometimes Sarband would accompany the Kings' Singers, sometimes they sang alone. A couple times the Sarband singer joined with the Kings' Singers. There were all kinds of combinations.

The whole thing worked very well. The Kings' Singers are excellent, and Sarband seemed quite fine, though I really have almost no experience with Arabic music with which to judge them.


Oh yes, the whirling dervishes. For a few minutes early and late in the concert the musicians were joined by a pair of Mevlevi whirling dervishes. They spun to the music in their religious ecstasy, their white skirts flaring out. I don't think I have ever seen even a film of dervishes before. Somehow I expected them to spin much faster, but it was at a moderate, graceful pace.

The only thing marring the afternoon were the hard, narrow pews we had to sit on. The next time I go to something there I'll try to remember to bring a cushion.

A REAL DRAG RACE

On Thursday I went to "Get Drag Racy," a little benefit the Imperial Court ran for God's Love We Deliver (GLWD). This was the "kickoff event" for the Race to Deliver, the November 20 New York Road Runners fundraising event for GLWD.

Before I went though, I had a problem--what to wear. I knew that there was no way I could come close to what the queens of the Court would be wearing, so I settled for classy--well, sexy classy, with a hint fabulosity: a cleavage-highlighting top and a leather skirt, both black, with a wide silver belt made up of those big studded segments they're wearing these days--except my segments were hearts, not the usual circles. But the real fabulosity was my pantyhose--rainbow fishnets.

The event was supposed to be at Home, but for some reason they moved it across the street to Crobar. So now I can say I've been to Crobar--which seemed to be a pretty nice place. I'm not to sure how easy it would be to get served at the bar if the place were really crowded, but at $13 for an apple martini, I'm not sure I'd want to be served all that quickly. (That was before I discovered that Absolut was a sponsor of the event, and drinks with their vodka were free.)

The Crobar decor is nothing special. (Someone told me the VIP room is very nice, but I'm not a VIP, so I can't really say.) The three story height makes the place seem more spacious than it actually is. The music volume was kept at a reasonable level, though I suspect on a regular night it is a lot louder--sitting at the edge of the dancefloor is the largest subwoofer I've ever seen indoors.

I knew no one there (outside of the drag performers participating, which I'll get to.) I recognized some of the Imperial Court big wigs (figuratively and literally). None of the few people on the Court that I know personally showed up. I did have a nice conversation with one guy though, who did know all of my friends on the Court.

But basically I just walked around, drinking the free drinks, one after another (Absolut Apeach and tonic is great!), waiting for the real festivities to begin. I saw one guy in a skirt. It was a little like a "utilikilt," but he said it was custom-made. It was completely pleated, and featured an external pocket of the same red tartan material in the center at the front.

Eventually things did get going. The e-mail invitation I received described the event as "celebrity drag queens race the clock - and good taste - to turn brawn into beauty." The idea was to assign one drag queen to each of the "brawns" and dress them as drag queens. They started with the make-up, at a table supplied by MAC cosmetics (curiously, all of the make-up artists they had to assist the queens were men). Then a table for bras, and bra stuffing. Then dresses, then wigs, then accessories.

The drag queens I knew: Candis Cayne, Flotilla DeBarge, Ariel Sinclair (whom I had talked to briefly at Lips on Monday), Sweetie, Sherry Vine and Gusty Winds. I had never actually seen Candis before. She is as beautiful as her pictures--only thinner. But I've seen all the rest of them performing, and all but Sweetie know me at least by sight.

The "brawn," though, was another matter. I think most were DJs. There was one woman, a "personal trainer to the stars" named Kacy Duke. A couple of them had beards, which didn't help their chances of winning.

They started off two at a time, and in 10 minutes or so, it was all over. They handed out some prizes, but I have no idea who won what. Did I mention there were free drinks? By the time the race started I was smashed.

I didn't linger afterwards. I managed to reclaim my jacket from the coatcheck, go out and jump in a cab, and go up to Lips, as the alcohol continued to do its thing. I had a grilled asparagus appetizer, and a diet coke, and said something very stupid to Frankie Cocktail, the bartender. Did I mention I was smashed? Ariel Sinclair arrived from Crobar, and we sat at a table for the show. I must have slept though it--I have almost no recollection, other than that Jason did something as Liza Minelli, and Jesse Volt came to our table after it was over, to show off her new Cher outfit, which did look great. I presume Ginger and Frankie performed also, but I really have no memory.

I hung out for a while, as they started to close up. By then I was sober enough to find another cab to go back to CDI to change back to male mode ("de-Caprice," as I call it).

I'm really going to have to watch those Absolut Apeach and tonics.

SPAM OF THE DAY

"You shall appear even more hotter with a dazzling chronometer!"

MERCI BEAUCOUP

I have just returned from a cocktail party at the French Consulate. I'd like to thank the taxpayers of France for the excellent champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

BUSY WEEKEND II

Sunday afternoon I was back at Lincoln Center, this time for a performance of Ariane et Barbe-bleue (Bluebeard) at the New York City Opera. The City Opera is the "other" opera company at Lincoln Center, number two to the great Metropolitan Opera. It often does operas, such as this, that would fail to find a large enough audience at the Met--which needs 3800 backsides to fill all the seats in its hall. The tickets are half the price of the Met's. Usually, though, you only get what you pay for--if you're that lucky.

The music was by Paul Dukas, the French composer of the most famous piece of cartoon music not associated with Bugs Bunny: The Sorcerer's Apprentice. Walt Disney cast Mickey Mouse as the apprentice in Fantasia, and Dukas' music will live therefore forever. It probably would have lived on anyway, at least at pops concerts, because it is a cute little piece.

But, the 1907 Ariane et Barbe-bleue is not. Richard Wagner was a great enough composer to write operas where there really aren't any melodies, but Dukas was not. It also helped Wagner to have characters whose motivations were clear. Ariane's was not. I've read all kinds of things about her--it was curiosity and/or greed that moved her to disobey her husband and use the forbidden key, or that she wanted to liberate his earlier wives whom she thought (correctly) were still alive. As far as I can tell in this opera it's all of the above. (The libretto was written by Maurice Maeterlinck, the winner of the 1911 Nobel Prize for Literature. I am not surprised that this work was not listed on his official Nobel biography.)

Instead of fleeing after Ariane frees them, the earlier wives stay. They've been locked up in a dungeon, but they do not run at the earliest opportunity. They even tend to the wounds of Bluebeard, the man who imprisoned them.

So it boils down to one of your stupider opera plots. People do things for a bunch of conflicting reasons, or for no good reason. Even the scenery started acting for no good reason--a rotating wall, used to shift from scene to scene, started turning continuously at the end. Stupid plot plus tuneless music does not equal a good time at the opera for me.

It wasn't helped by the performances. The key role, of course, is Ariane, who is on stage singing for almost the entire opera. (Despite being a title character, Bluebeard is a minor role.) The Austrian Renate Behle belted out Ariane, as someone put it, as if she were Brunhilde. Perhaps Carol Vaness would have done better--this was to be her role before she got in a car accident last summer. But she would still have had to contend with the conducting of Leon Botstein, the music director of the American Symphony. More than one person said his interpretation was Wagnerian, when it should have been French.

But I survived. There was some time left before dinner, so we braved the wind and walked over to the New-York Historical Society, to see the new "Slavery in New York" exhibition. It was the last day they would be showing an original manuscript of the Emancipation Proclamation--not that it really had anything to do with slavery in New York. Slavery had been abolished here nearly 40 years previously, and the Proclamation only covered the slaves in states that had seceded anyhow.

But the manuscript was there, on loan for a few days from the New York State Library in Albany. Protected by thick glass and a pistol-toting woman state trooper (Nobody looks good in one of those Smokey-the-Bear hats), Abraham Lincoln's clear handwriting, with Secretary of State William Seward 's penciled modifications, could be seen for half a minute or so by each of the many people lined up. It was interesting that Lincoln used the cut-and-paste method. There were two sections of previous laws dealing with the freeing of slaves, that he had cut out from somewhere and pasted into his manuscript.

There wasn't much time left to see the real exhibition. I barely finished the first two rooms. Fortunately it will be there until March, because I do want to go back to finish it. It is filled with a lot of multi-media works, and seemed to be very well done, from what I saw.

Eventually it was time to go, as we had dinner reservations at Nice Matin. We were lucky enough to get a table at the far end, because it can get very noisy near the bar. I had about the best sweetbread appetizer I've ever eaten. It came with a very spicy sausage, which complemented the bland meat. The whole thing was served over a bed of lentils. My grilled halibut was good, but nothing out of the ordinary. The berries and cream, as well as the coffee, were excellent. And instead of wine, I had a bottle of Lindeman's Lambic Pêche beer. This was the first time I ever had the peach-flavored one, and I found it even better than the raspberry flavor.

Then it was home to watch the second episode of "The Murder Room," the detective Adam Dalgliesh story by P.D. James, part of the PBS Mystery! series on Channel 13. I'll never be able to watch Siân Phillips in any role without seeing Livia from "I, Claudius," though.

BUSY WEEKEND I

A busy weekend it was. It started Saturday evening with a concert of the New York Philharmonic, led by Marin Alsop. She is the controversial "first woman music director of a major American orchestra," as I keep reading. I'm not sure what qualifies the Baltimore Symphony as a major orchestra (possibly that it employs its musicians year-round). It's certainly not one of the "Big 5"--New York, Cleveland, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and I've never heard it included even among the second tier, like Los Angeles, Detroit, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Atlanta.

But she was appointed music director there a few weeks ago, and the musicians immediately put out a statement saying they didn't want her, she wasn't qualified, etc., etc. I think they were miffed at least as much about not being consulted as by any real concerns. She held a meeting with them before accepting the appointment, worked things out.

Her program here started with James MacMillan's The Confession of Isobel Gowdie, a 1990 work that is based on story of the torture, confession and execution of a woman accused of witchcraft in 1662 Scotland. Alsop is known for bringing a lot of new music to audiences, not always what the more traditional listeners are happy with--and I'm one of them.

She preceded the performance with a brief explanation the work. It's rather unusual, but not unheard of, for a conductor to do this (Leonard Slatkin does it quite a bit). But what I've never heard of was having the orchestra play excerpts to illustrate the conductor's comments at any concert aimed at adults.

Alsop's comments did help me understand the piece. It combines both the old (early church hymns) with modern dissonance--simultaneously, as she illustrated beforehand. The dissonance almost totally obscures the hymns. As a whole, the work does effectively convey the horrors of religious intolerance and persecution. But it's not something I'd care to hear again. It's not a pretty piece of music. Once is enough.

Next on the program was Prokofiev's First Violin Concerto, with Midori as soloist. I may have heard the concerto before, but I don't particularly remember it--and Prokofiev is one of my favorite composers. It wasn't one of his better pieces, and Midori's playing didn't help it any--it almost seems like she was just going though the motions.

She wore a muted sleeveless print dress that neither added nor detracted. But at least she seems to have found something really adult--she stayed in girlish dresses far too long after she left her teens. On the subject of clothes, Alsop wore a black pantsuit. The only color was the red of her blouse, extending beyond the jacket sleeves--the neckline of the jacket was so high the blouse was otherwise completely covered. It seemed a bit informal, but not jarring. The only problem was when she leaned forward when conducting--the outline of her bra was clearly visible through the thin material, which was distracting.

After intermission (they've installed additional stands to sell just wine and champagne, which speeded things up for everyone. They also have a nice new chime recording to summon the audience back into the auditorium.) they did Brahms' First Symphony. It's a popular work I've heard a number of times. Brahms wrote it as a tribute to Beethoven--one of the themes is quite similar to one in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Some people have even called it Beethoven's Tenth, but it's not that similar. For one thing, I don't get the feeling of tension that I do from Beethoven's work. Beethoven's music seems to be pushing the envelope of something most of the time. It frequently seems about to be going out of control (though it never does). Brahms' seems to be content to stay within the envelope--usually with great beauty to be sure, but nevertheless always well in control.

Alsop has a recording contract (which might explain part of the reason the Baltimore board wanted her), and is doing all four of the Brahms symphonies (with the London Philharmonic), so she is quite familiar with the music. I thought she did a pretty standard interpretation, except a couple of times a wind solo seemed significantly louder than necessary.

Alsop was the student of Leonard Bernstein, though she does not exhibit any of his excessive movement on the podium. Her feet never leave the ground. Her conducting style is clear and precise. No musicians should ever have cause to complain that they couldn't figure out what she wanted from them.

It was an OK concert, all-in-all. Then it was off home, because we'd be back at Lincoln Center for the next installment of the weekend's activities a mere 15 hours later.

WEB SEARCH OF THE DAY

"disposable choir robe costumes"

This blog was the top of the list!

Runner-up: "doubled sided tape for evening dress"

HEADLINE OF THE DAY

"Stallone to Star in Sixth 'Rocky' Movie"

(Oy. He's 59 years old.)

SPAM OF THE DAY

Every man must have a sex! MUST!!!

AN INSPIRING HOUR AT HMI

Tuesday afternoon I had an inspiring hour speaking to, and listening to, some LGBTQ teenagers trying to find their way to adulthood. I took part in a panel discussion at the Hetrick-Martin Institute (HMI), part of its "Trans* in the City" program. HMI is a Greenwich Village organization dedicated to helping LGBTQ youth.

I had been invited by Veronica Vera, the head of Miss Vera's Finishing School For Boys Who Want To Be Girls. Veronica had been asked to put together the panel. She decided to ask a variety of transgender people who have been involved with her academy. With me on the panel were Patti Harrington and Dwayne/Milan. Patti is a woman of transsexual experience. "Milan" is the drag persona of the actor, singer, dancer, choreographer, songwriter, show producer, etc., etc., Dwayne, who has been playing in high heels since he was a child. And I am a male-bodied person of mixed gender--a straight crossdresser. Accompanying us was Mariette Pathy Allen, the photographer/author of The Gender Frontier.

We were asked to arrive a half-hour early, so we could hang out in the lounge area, being a living advertisement for the panel. The "youths," as they're called by the HMI staff, were talking, playing, snacking, acting their age. A boombox was blasting, and sometimes one would do a solo dance for a few seconds. The four of us (Patti was late) tried as best we could to talk to the kids (as I'm going to call them) around us. Well, the other three did. It wasn't just that I'm shy around strangers. Despite the fact that I'm basically old enough to be their grandparent, I was totally intimidated, because in my eyes these were the cool kids--the same kind of kids that I could never approach when I was a teenager. Some things never change.

We were ushered into the room where our talk was to be held, and we rearranged the chairs into a circle. Several kids, along with some adult HMI staffers, drifted in--though even the staffers looked pretty young to me. Patti finally arrived. I thought the turnout was rather small, but it was explained that a lot of the kids have paid internships after school. Later we were told this was the biggest turnout they had had for any of these.

Veronica gave a brief introduction and shared some of her personal history. I was the next to speak. I told them a little about myself for a few minutes. One of the older kids asked a great question about something I had neglected to mention: was my wife a man or a woman? Veronica had asked us to think of three turning points in our lives to talk about, and I listed these: my realization that my crossdressing was motivated by gender identity as well as by sexuality; my presentation as a woman outside of my home for the first time; and my decision that there was nobody in the world from whom I absolutely had to keep my crossdressing a secret. The last was necessary for me to appear in a TV documentary about Miss Vera's school that we did in 2000.

Milan (as he is more familiar to me) spoke next, talking about his origins in South Carolina, walking around in his mother's shoes and wigs when she went off to work. He then went on to detail his college experience (MFA, minor in African-American studies), and his career in show business. Among many other things, he's played Thad in a touring company of Hairspray. He explained how he started doing drag on stage, and passed around a small portfolio of his pictures in various personae, including his one as a member of DaLipstyxx.

Lastly Patti told a bit about her journey to womanhood, and surprised me by saying that she now also wants to change her career--she wants to go to law school and become a lawyer! This is just the opposite of my journey, from the law to computers.

Then the floor was opened up for the kids to talk. There really wasn't time for more than a couple of them, and both were looking for career advice. One very sweet young woman said she wanted to be a photographer, but was worried that being trans would hold her back. Mariette was right there to give her advice--she told the young hopeful that she knows a number of photographers who are trans, and being trans will not keep her from success, if she has the skills.

A young man then told how he wanted to do modeling, but a photographer rejected him, saying he was too feminine. Milan, who had had a little experience in the area, told him that male models of all types were being used, not just the super-masculine ones. He also advised him to get a friend to photograph him with a more masculine image, to show that he could do this when required.

I said before it was inspiring, and it really was. These kids were trying to integrate the trans-ness, or at least their questioning gender identity and/or sexual orientation, into their lives. When I was their age I suppressed all such ideas. I had to--such things were unheard of back in the 60's. There was nobody to talk to, no internet to provide information, and certainly nothing like HMI. I walked out feeling very happy for these kids. The road ahead for them won't be easy (and we told them that), but at least they do have a road.

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY

When is it going to stop raining??? (Obligatory Noah's Ark joke:) I think I saw pairs of animals going into Central Park, lining up to get into this big boat thing.

BLOND, JAMES BLOND

The producers of the James Bond films have announced the next actor to play the super-suave British Secret Service spy--coincidentally(?) with the introduction of the real Secret Services's website.


He is Daniel Craig, an English actor whom I have seen in only one film (Road to Perdition)--but I don't really remember him.

I've gotten used to the succession of actors taking on this role, though it's always difficult for them to get close to Sean Connery's original portrayal. Lately Pierce Brosnan has done a pretty good job of bringing the character back to the one in author Ian Fleming's books, which were a big feature of my teen years.

What I'm excited about with this announcement is that Craig's first Bond film will be Casino Royale. This was Fleming's first book in the series, and second in quality only to "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" in my view. Fleming, then an unknown author, let the film rights go, and what eventually came out was the 1967 spoof, starring Peter Sellers. It was done to capitalize on the tremendous James Bond craze of the time, and bore almost no resemblance to the novel. It was a big budget mess (with 5 directors!), though at times it was quite funny--particularly Woody Allen's portrayal of Bond's nephew, Little Jimmy Bond. It also had fantastic music by Burt Bacharach, including "The Look of Love." But it wasn't a real James Bond movie.

Fleming's novel deserves a serious film treatment, which is what the producers say they are going to do this time. I hope so. I've been hoping for this for a very long time.

WEB SEARCH OF THE DAY

Somebody found this blog searching for "caprice prunes."

It seems that Caprice Bourret is said to eat 10 prunes a day. I guess that means that a supermodel can also be a regular woman.

ONE PROJECT COMPLETED!

I finally have finished setting up my wife's new computer. Her old one was underpowered and overwhelmed, terribly slow, frequently giving "out of memory" messages, when it wasn't completely crashing. She took it to a PC expert guy in the neighborhood, but he wanted nearly $500 to unclog it and add a little memory--and it still would be underpowered. So we decided to buy her a new one.

I had two main problems setting up the new one. The first was connecting it to the internet. Both the old and the new computers are notebooks, and the way I connected up the old one originally was to use a NetBlaster and Cable Free PC card from Sohoware, which I connected to a router from the same company.

When we moved to our new apartment I had the electrician run a Cat5 cable between our offices, but I never got around to actually using it. That would have meant getting a NIC PC card for her computer. Since my wife never complained about the connection speed (probably because the whole computer was so slow), it never got very high on my priority list.

Her new computer has a built-in NIC, so all I needed to do was to connect the router to the wall socket in my office, and the computer to the wall socket in her office. But when I did this it didn't work. I had already tested the NIC in my office and it's fine. I tested both cables. They're fine. Something in the wall isn't right, apparently. Maybe I'll call in our new electrician to look at it, one of these days.

So I went back to using the wireless connection. First I had to find the driver software for the PC card--which, to my amazement, I actually could. I installed it, but got an error message. Fortunately I could take the computer into my office and connect it directly to the router. I went to the Sohoware website, where I found there was a new driver for Windows XP--with all kinds of warnings that they didn't guarantee it would work. Wonderful. I downloaded and installed it. No go. Then I guessed there might be a conflict between the old and the new drivers, so I uninstalled both of them, and reinstalled the new one. Success!

The other main problem was transferring all of the old files to the new computer. The last time I got a new computer I used the PC Replicator software from Alohabob. But I couldn't use it this time, because the new computer does not have a parallel port or a serial port. I had a null modem serial cable, so I tried using it with a USB-serial adaptor, but that didn't work. Finally I went out and bought a new version of the Replicator (Ultra Control), which comes with a USB bridge cable.

I still wasn't out of the woods, though. I installed the software on both machines, checked to see if there were any updates (there weren't), and plugged in the cable. I followed the instructions, shutting down all the other programs running. Then I started the Replicator's scan of the old PC, and got the blue screen of death. Great. I restarted the machine and tried it again (this is not as crazy as it sounds--there might have been something clogging things up from when I installed the program). This time it did start to scan, but after a few minutes it crashed again.

Well, it was some progress, but I decided to try something a little different. This time after I rebooted I did not shut down the other programs running. I just launched the Replicator, and it worked! It completed its scan. It found 10,431 files (1.68 GB) to transfer. I went through the list (it was well organized, I didn't have to look at every single file name), and eliminated a few I knew shouldn't go.

But there was another problem. There was incompatibility of user names. On the old machine, running Windows 98, no user name was ever specified, so it was "Default." But on the new PC, running XP, a user name was required. It said that it wasn't necessary to have the same user names, but that some things wouldn't work right on the new computer because of it. So I went back to old PC, and after all this time, created a user, with the same name as the one on the new PC. Then I transferred all of the "Default" things to the new user name.

Then I had to rerun the scan of the old computer. This time no incompatibilities were found. It estimated an hour and 13 minutes would be needed.

It actually took a little less than that. Everything transferred. Suddenly the wallpaper from the old machine appeared on the new one. I checked everything I could. The only problem I could find was that the e-mail was put under a different identity from what had come in during the last few days. I figured out how to merge them.

So unless my wife finds anything else wrong, I think I'm done there (well I do have to take the empty carton down to the basement). Now on to the next project: updating the Crossdressers International website.

CAPRICE NAKED?

I can see what search terms people use to find this blog. One of the most frequent ones is "caprice naked"--presumably people looking for nude pictures of the supermodel Caprice Bourret, whom I, unfortunately, do not resemble in the least. (Aside: what is the dividing line between model and supermodel?) I'm sure those people are quite disappointed--though I'm sure they'd be even more disappointed if I actually had nude pictures of myself here.

Of course, I also get a lot of searches from people looking for Chevrolet parts.

I'm still trying to figure out what the person who did a search for "house carpet caprice" was looking for.

THE CONSTANT BORER

Last night we braved the rain and finally saw The Constant Gardener. I usually find John le Carré's characters to be cold and uninviting, and this film was no different. Ralph Fiennes' Justin Quayle, the amateur horticulturalist-British diplomat protagonist here is as boring as hell. Yet Rachel Weisz's Tessa, a rich social activist, jumps right into bed with him, right into marriage with him, right into Africa with him. She's not cold, just unbelievably impulsive.

What I usually look for with le Carré is the story. His Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy was a great one, as the (boring) George Smiley searches for the mole embedded in the British Secret Service. But the Cold War is over, and le Carré has had to move on from espionage for his plots. So now the enemy is an evil pharmaceutical company. Yawn.

There is not much of a plot, because it's clear almost from the beginning who the bad guys are. So, with no interesting characters, little plot, why bother? If you've got nothing better to do, go see it for the cinematography. César Charlone's depiction of Africa is stunning. He should easily get another Oscar nomination, to follow up the one for his City of God. But I don't think director Fernando Meirelles, who also was nominated for that movie, will fare as well with this one.

LEAVING THE LEAVES ALONE

We're cancelling our leaf-peeping trip to Vermont that we had planned for this weekend. The forecast is for rain almost the entire time, and the leaf season is late this year, so we'd have to drive at least a hundred miles further north to see the really good stuff. Maybe next year.

EVEN LATER

Yesterday I noted that the Nobel Prize for Medicine went for work done more than 20 years ago. Apparently this is a competition among the various Nobel areas, because they just awarded a share of the 2005 Nobel Prize for Physics for work published in 1963.

Maybe they should just call them the Nobel Lifetime Achievement Prizes.

A LOVESICK SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR?

After exiting the Breakfast on Pluto Q&A on Sunday afternoon, we headed up Broadway. It was a little strange being there in the middle of the day, with the stores all open--usually I'm only in the Lincoln Center neighborhood for evening performances. We stopped at a coffee shop, where I had a nice bison burger for lunch.

There was still over an hour until our next event, so we strolled into Central Park, enjoying the beautiful early fall weather. We skirted Sheep Meadow, where there were lots of people, but no sheep, unlike at Falstaff the night before. Eventually we got to the Central Park Zoo, or whatever they're calling it these days. We did manage to catch the end of the 4 o'clock performance of the Delacorte Clock, and then proceeded to the Children's Zoo. We saw turtles and ducks and goats and (yes) sheep--and lots of kids watching the turtles and ducks and goats and sheep. We watched some of the kids feeding the goats and the sheep, and we read the sign about the spitting alpaca (if it spits on you, contact any zoo employee). Then we went back to the main zoo area. There we saw sea lions sunning and swimming, viewed penguins mostly just standing, and traversed an obstacle course of empty strollers parked in front of the puffin exhibit, the view of which was obscured by the former occupants of said strollers.

Time was running out, so we left the park and went to Florence Gould Hall of the French Institute/Alliance Française (FIAF) on E. 59th St. We settled into our seats for Liaison Transatlantique: Letters of Simone de Beauvoir to Nelson Algren. This is a one-woman show based on Fabrice Rozié's play Transatlantic Liaison.

I can't say I was really looking forward to this. It is a reading of French philosopher Simone de Beauvoir's love letters to American author Nelson Algren, whom she met while on a trip to America in 1947. She was having a long-distance affair with Algren, who wrote The Man With the Golden Arm. This affair was concurrent with her life-long relationship with Jean-Paul Sartre. De Beauvoir would not marry Algren out of respect to her relationship with Sartre. She ended up being buried next to Sartre--wearing Algren's ring.

In and of themselves, the letters are not particularly interesting, at least to me. De Beauvoir wrote them in English, and this was clearly not her mother tongue. What is interesting, though, is that at the same time she was pouring her heart out in these love letters, she was also writing The Second Sex, the book that basically founded modern feminism. The contrast of the conventional love letters with the revolutionary book is jarring.

Nevertheless, the reading of the letters by themselves quickly put me to sleep. I awoke just in time to hear the one line in particular that I remember. De Beauvoir explained that she was calling her book "The Second Sex" because "pansies" were called "the third sex" in France, but no one ever referred to the second (or to the first, I presume).

The performance was by Marie-France Pisier (left), who seemed very under-rehearsed. I can't believe she's 61 years old, though. I'd sure like to know the name of her plastic surgeon.

The Q&A afterwards was not terribly illuminating, other than Pisier saying that she knew de Beauvoir. We left in the middle, and went and had a nice dinner at Fig & Olive.

It was the end of a very busy week. I was out 7 days in a row. I need a rest.

NYFF: BREAKFAST ON PLUTO

Sunday, less than 13 hours after I got out of Falstaff, it was back to Lincoln Center for my last film at the New York Film Festival, its "centerpiece," Breakfast on Pluto. The schedule said it started at noon, but the ticket said 11:59 a.m. Maybe it was Brunch on Pluto.

Director Neil Jordan adapted Patrick McCabe's 1998 novel for this film (the film's website has an incorrect date). It's the story of Patrick "Kitten" Braden, a crossdressing orphan in Ireland in the 60's, who grows up to search for his mother in London in the 70's. I haven't read it, though I don't know how much it would have added. In the Q&A after the screening Jordan said that when he does use a book as his source his first allegience is to the film, not the book. He specifically said he entirely made up the ending of the film, having thought the novel didn't really have much of one.

Jordan had previously made The Crying Game, which he said McCabe was influenced by in writing Breakfast on Pluto. Both share the themes of transgenderism and Ireland's political violence. He was unsure whether he wanted to do so similar a film. While exploring the possibilities, he had Cillian Murphy do a screen test as Kitten, using the peep show scene. He was amazed at how much Murphy was able to get out of the character, he said--much more than he actually had envisioned.

Still, he was undecided. This went on for a while, until one night when he was having dinner with Murphy. Murphy wanted to do the film very badly, later calling Kitten "a once in a lifetime role for me." He told Jordan that if they were going to make the film that they had better get started, before he got too old to play the part. Indeed, he was into his late 20's when it was shot, and the early scenes of Kitten's teenage years are a stretch.

But the film did get made, and it is a lot of fun. (My only quibble is that the Irish accented dialogue was difficult to understand sometimes, especially in the early scenes.) Jordan said he had Candide in the back of his mind, and Kitten certainly was a youth who naively flits from one peril to the next, as did Voltaire's character. Breakfast on Pluto is not nearly as serious a film as The Crying Game. If you can't believe Kitten, or some of the things she gets into (and out of), it doesn't really matter. It's just a fun movie--the whole tone is set by a couple of wise-cracking computer-generated birds that open the film. Jordan said he was worried that audiences wouldn't get the humor. They did no audience testing, they just threw it into the film festivals, first Telluride, then Toronto, then here. He worried for nothing.

Murphy was gorgeous. The Q&A moderator, Lisa Schwarzbaum, was really taken by his cheekbones. I was taken by his eyes. His performance was great. I've heard mention of an Oscar nomination, but I doubt it. Crossdressing actors aren't favored: Philip Seymour Hoffman didn't get a nomination for his drag role. In fact, the entire cast was wonderful. And this time Stephen Rea got to play a character that can recognize a tranny.

It's opening in November. See it.

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

I see they awarded the 2005 Nobel Prize for Medicine to the two Australians who discovered that most stomach ulcers are caused by bacteria, not stress. They made this discovery in 1982! I guess it takes a long time for news to get all the way from Australia to Stockholm.

SUPREME HAIRSTYLES?

President Bush has nominated White House counsel Harriet Miers to replace Sandra Day O'Connor on the Supreme Court. I don't know anything about her judicial philosophy (she's never been a judge), but judging from her pictures she's definitely a swing vote on hairstyles.

MORE VERDI

Following up Wednesday evening's hearing of the Verdi Requiem, Saturday we went next door to see the Metropolitan Opera's production of Verdi's last opera, Falstaff, which I had never seen before. It featured my favorite current baritone, Bryn Terfel, in the title role. I heard him in an excellent recital at Tanglewood last year and I was looking to seeing him on stage. I was not disappointed.

Falstaff was Giuseppe Verdi's last opera, and his first comedy in 52 years! His librettist, Arrigo Boito, managed to extract a fairly reasonable story from Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor and King Henry IV--reasonable by opera standards, which isn't saying all that much. The aging and enormously fat Sir John Falstaff finds himself nearly broke. He decides to replenish his purse through the use of his romantic power over women--a power long gone, if it ever existed. He decides to woo Alice Ford, the wife of a rich man. Just to make sure, he decides to woo a second such woman, and that is his undoing.

He sends both of them love letters, but the two women happen to be friends, and compare notes--literally. They find Falstaff's missives to be identical, except for their names. Together with another friend, Mrs. Quickly, and Ford's daughter, they plot their revenge. It's not quite that simple. The daughter is in love with with a young man, but Mr. Ford wants to marry her off to an old doctor. And he suspects his wife of being unfaithful, so he disguises himself and sets a trap to catch her--paying Falstaff to woo her!

It takes half the opera to set all this up, and it would have been just a series of static scenes of people singing, except for the slapstick of Falstaff and his henchmen. Terfel, with Jean-Paul Fouchécourt and Mikhail Petrenko, play it for all it's worth, and manage to keep the audience laughing. Fouchécourt and Petrenko are a great comedy team--the former is at least a foot shorter than the latter.

Eventually Falstaff goes off to visit Mrs. Ford, and after a bit they are interrupted. She has him hide in a hamper of dirty laundry, which she has thrown into the Thames River, ending the second act.

The third act starts with Falstaff dragging himslf out of the water--Terfel climbs a ladder out of the orchestra pit onto the stage. The plot gets a little incredulous here, because he then falls for another trap set by the women. Briefly, he is lured out to a park, where half the town comes out in costume to torment him. It is this scene that makes the whole 3+ hour opera worth it. Verdi was a master of choral music, even greater than his small ensemble composition, if that is possible. The scene gives the Met chorus a chance to show off, not to mention its costume department. There's a big bunch of kids in the scene, who get to have a great time on stage, way past their bedtime. Oh yes, there was a horse. There are plenty of operas there where they bring a live horse out onto the stage, but I don't remember ever having seen one disguised as a unicorn. And I've certainly never seen live sheep on the stage before.

Anyhow, Falstaff learns his lesson, Ford learns his lesson (his wife is faithful), and even his daughter gets to marry her beloved. All is forgiven, and the opera ends with everyone singing that the world is but a jest.

Terfel is a very good comic, besides being a great singer. He obviously relishes being the clown--he even stayed in character a little when taking his bows. The other standout of the evening, at least vocally, was Stephanie Blythe as Mrs. Quickly. And for once a very large opera singer had a role where her size seemed appropriate. Franco Zeffirelli's 1964 sets, while certainly not his most spectacular, have been well-refurbished--and he did manage to include a couple of his signature staircases. It took a while to get going, but Falstaff was an enjoyable evening.

NYFF: MANDERLAY

My third film at the New York Film Festival was Manderlay. This ia a film, not a movie, if you get the distinction. Even before it began the producer warned us that we would not "enjoy" it. At the end, a couple of people actually booed. A lot more walked out in the middle.

It certainly is weird. But I should not have been surprised, given that is a Danish/Swedish/French exploration of race relations set on an Alabama cotton plantation worked by slaves who were freed by a passing gangster's daughter in 1934.

It is the second film of a trilogy by the Danish director-screenwriter Lars von Trier. The first film was Dogville, which I hadn't heard of, let alone seen. But I had seen von Trier's strange Breaking the Waves, which should have been warning enough.

Is it good? Is it bad? There's quite a bit of both, though for a 139 minute film it did hold my attention pretty well. The performances were excellent, especially Bryce Dallas Howard as Grace, the gangster's daughter, and Danny Glover as the house slave/butler. But the plot does take a leap in logic now and then--for instance, why didn't someone tell Grace what would happen if they cut down the trees?

My advice, though: unless you are really interested in this kind of film, don't bother.

GenderPAC RECEPTION

Last night I went to the 10th Anniversary Reception of GenderPAC down at the Jeht Foundation offices in SoHo.

The evening actually started out with a conference call meeting of the New York State GENDA Coalition Steering Committee. I would put in a link to the Coalition's website, but it isn't up yet. My job today is to contact the person on charge of it and see what's going on--it was supposed to be running months ago. The Coalition is dedicated to the adoption of the Gender Non-Discrimination Act by New York State, which would extend to the entire state the protections achieved here in New York City in 2002.

Getting back to the reception, GenderPAC, the Gender Public Advocacy Coalition, "works to end discrimination and violence caused by gender stereotypes by changing public attitudes, educating elected officials and expanding human rights," or so it says on its website. That's its current goal, but it wasn't always. Originally it was dedicated to transgender rights. But five or six years ago it abruptly changed direction. It was very controversial, and most of its transgender board members quit.

I still support GenderPAC, if for no other reason than it helps foster good relations between the transgender community and the straights and gays that are the current major supporters. They have sharpened up the focus of their activities in the last couple years, and I think their efforts at providing parents with materials to help combat gender stereotyping will prove most useful.

But I think that too often they shoot themselves in the foot with little things like the invitation to this reception. It said the "Suggested Minimum Donation" was $75, but if you went to the webpage to get a ticket, the $75 minimum was not suggested, it was required. After I sent an e-mail to complain about this, they said they had a few "slots" for people who couldn't afford $75, and offered me one. I told them to save the slot for someone who really needed it.

Back to the reception itself, there were about 50 people there. Even before I arrived I spotted Mariette Pathy Allen, the Lammy-winning photographer of transgender people. My cab passed her as she was getting out of a car, and I waited at the street entrance to say hello. State Sen. Tom Duane, the Senate's first openly-gay and first openly HIV-positive member, showed up for a little while. But the guest of honor was Doug Wright, the Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize winning playwright of I Am My Own Wife. (Wright was a much better choice than Brini Maxwell, whom GenderPAC presented at one of its earlier fundraisers. Maxwell's portrayal of the typical 50's housewife is at least a borderline gender stereotype--another shot in the foot.)

Anyhow, when I arrived I was immediately ushered into a photo with Wright. I guess the photographer liked me.

After a bit of mingling, wine and hors d'oeuvres, a short program began. There were a couple of speeches by the president of the host Jeht Foundation, and GenderPAC Executive Riki Wilchens. Then it was Doug Wright's turn. He made a nice speech, trying to relate the work of GenderPAC to an "outtake" of his conversations with Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, the subject of his play. She was a German transvestite who survived the Nazi regime and its replacement in East Germany, the Soviet-dominated Communist dictatorship. I'm not sure the two things had much in common, but the story was interesting.

They also showed a short film, GenderPAC at 10: A New Vision for Human Rights. It was very well done, though it was hardly as it was described on the little printed program they handed out: "A documentary film chronicling GenderPAC's first 10 years of work and growth." While it did an excellent job of showing its current efforts, not much of the past was covered. There was certainly no mention of GenderPAC'a naissance as a transgender rights group. (I don't think it's found anywhere on their website either.) I'm not sure, but I think there may have been one small error. It went by very fast, but I thought I saw a picture of Gwen Araujo captioned as Amanda somebody. I'm going to e-mail them to ask them to double check that.

The program ended with a solicitation for more donations. They had already gotten $9100 from the evening, and wanted to reach $15,000, half the cost of an additional staff-person that they wanted. They said that the person who donated the most would get a trip to Starbucks with Doug Wright following the reception. They did achieve their goal.

There was some more mingling afterwards. I had a nice talk with Michelle Miles, an old friend from Crossdressers International, who is now the treasurer of GenderPAC. Then I went off to Lips for the rest of my dinner and to see Jesse Volt's "Dining With the Divas" show. She portrayed Nancy Sinatra this week, while Ginger did Britney Spears (Who told Britney Spears that "I Love Rock & Roll" needed her interpretation?), and Spanky did a make-up-smeared Courtney Love. Bartender Frankie Cocktail did her usual Dolly Parton.

WEDNESDAY EVENING: RECEPTION AND REQUIEM

This week I departed from my usual Wednesday Crossdressers International open house for a couple of other events. First was the Public Service Awards Reception of the New York County Lawyers' Association. The Committee on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Issues, of which I have been a member three or four years (the first TG one), received the award for the best committee report of the past year. It was for Making Progress: How New York’s Top Twenty-Five Law Firms Address Issues of Concern to the LGBT Community. I worked on the Report subcommittee, concentrating on the TG areas, of course. I suggested most of the questions concerning TG's, and wrote most of that part of the summary.

The award was accepted by the current and immediate past Committee chairs, the immediate past one also being the head of the Report subcommittee. The current chair was surprised to hear that the award was actually $500. The Committee has always operated on a zero budget, so now we have to figure out how to spend it.

I would have liked to go to the reception as Caprice--I always like to show the TG flag at events like this--but I was meeting my wife afterwards, and I respected her desire that I present as a man.

After the ceremony there was a very nice refreshment spread, and I had just enough time for a light dinner. Then I hopped on the subway uptown, for Verdi's Requiem Mass, the opening night concert of Lincoln Center's Great Performers series.

It was performed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, under the baton of Sir Colin Davis, with soloists soprano Anne Schwanewilms, mezzo-soprano Ildiko Komlosi, tenor Stuart Neill, and bass Orlin Anastassov (in his New York debut).

It was my second opening night event at Avery Fisher Hall in the last week, with another gala dinner occupying most of the upstairs lobby, but unlike last time there was no red carpet. And while there were a fair amount of nicely dressed people, it wasn't black tie. Since there wasn't an intermission, I really didn't get a good chance to see exactly what people were wearing, but my business suit fit right in.

As luck would have it I was sitting next to a couple of musicians of some sort. If I overheard correctly, the man two seats away was an orchestra conductor, though I certainly didn't recognize him. One or two others in the audience did, though, and came over to talk.
The concert was very good. Verdi was primarily an opera composer, and this Requiem was certainly on the "operatic" end of the scale. The orchestra was there to accompany the vocalists--and except for the work's signature phrase (repeated three times at various points), you really don't notice it. Sir Colin, three days past his 78th birthday, was in total control. He had performed the Verdi Requiem with the LSO in July, as a memorial to the victims of the London bombings, in St. Paul's Cathedral. Everyone was well prepared.

The chorus was superb--large enough to easily sing over the full orchestra, but nimble enough to sing quietly when required. The sopranos were not at all shrill even at their highest notes, a frequent problem with large choruses. The lower voices balanced the higher ones completely--there seemed to be an equal number of men and women, often not the case, at least with U.S. choruses.

Three of the four soloists were excellent--though tenor Stuart Neill could easily drop a hundred pounds and still not look thin. Bass Orlin Anastassov looked scrawny standing next to him, and it was a bit disconcerting hearing the high notes from the bigger man and the lower ones from the smaller.

As for the women, mezzo Ildiko Komlosi sang with a strong, rich tone at even her lowest notes, yet never wavered at the high end. Only soprano Anne Schwanewilms disappointed. Everything seemed to be a little bit off. A couple of times the pitch of her high notes was a tiny bit off for just a fraction of a second--eliciting groans from the musician sitting next to me. She just didn't have a pretty sound to my ears, unlike the other three soloists.

At least everyone was properly dressed. The men, including Sir Colin, were in white tie and tails, and the women wore nice, appropriate gowns that did not distract. No Viet Cong outfits or busboy jackets here.

NYFF: CAPOTE

The second film of the New York Film Festival for me was Capote, which has been getting almost as much hype as Good Night, and Good Luck. This time the screening was in Alice Tully Hall, a much better venue for films than the larger Avery Fisher.

I don't know if there was actually a red carpet on this gauntlet of paparazzi that the celebrities had to survive, because this time there was a separate entrance for us common folks. Even being in the third row wasn't a deterrent--after a couple minutes I had completely forgotten about my proximity to the screen.

I was really looking forward to this one, because I think there is no finer actor than Philip Seymour Hoffman these days. I knew that if anyone could pull off the portrayal of Truman Capote, both in the physical/voice and the psychological spheres, it would be Hoffman. Beyond being a pivotal figure in American literary history, Capote was a well-known celebrity, with repeated appearances on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. Everyone knew what he looked like, and what he sounded like.

I wasn't disappointed. The Oscars can print up Hoffman's nomination for best actor right now. I'm sure there are plenty of impressionists who could have done a little closer rendition of Capote's signature high-pitched lisp, but Hoffman's was more than sufficient. As he explained in the Q&A following the showing of the film, his aim was to show Capote as a "fish out of water"--a gay New Yorker plopped down in a small western Kansas town to write on the murders of a farm family. The film is the story of the creation of Capote's resulting book, "In Cold Blood," the "non-fiction novel" that suddenly made it OK for serious writers to do non-fiction. The film concentrates on the conflicted relationship of a journalist and his murderer subject.

Only towards the end did the film drag even slightly, as we wait, as did Capote, for the murderers to exhaust their appeals. Hoffman was great, as was Clifton Collins, Jr., who portrayed the murderer Perry Smith. In fact, they can probably print up his nomination for best supporting actor right now also.

It's opening this weekend. See it.

SPAM, A LOT III

Final count for yesterday, 69 spam messages, 1 of which made it to my inbox.

SPAM, A LOT II

The spammers have started working overtime. I got 73 of them at my main e-mail address yesterday, mostly touting penny stocks that are part of the homeland security boom. But none of them made it to my inbox. My home-made filters caught every single one of them.

So far today I'm 35 of 35. Oops, another one just arrived. Make that 36 of 36.

MOVIE QUICKIE

Last night we watched Mar adentro (The Sea Inside), which won the 2005 Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. It's the true story of Ramón Sampedro, the Spanish quadiplegic who fought for 30 years for the right to die. It's strangely uplifting, more about his effect on those around him than Sampedro himself.

Javier Bardem's portrayal of Sampedro was amazing, as he could use nothing but his head and his voice to evoke the character. So too was the make-up job they did on him, as he was only 35 at the time. The flashback to his accident showed his true age. In fact the make-up garnered an Oscar nomination also.

Highly recommended.

NYFF: GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK

Friday we went to the opening night of the New York Film Festival, to see the much-touted Good Night, and Good Luck. This is the story of CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow's 1953 challenge of the U.S. Air Force's dismissal of an officer who refused to denounce his allegedly communist father and sister--without any sort of trial, merely on the basis of a sealed envelope of "evidence." This quickly escalates into a challenge to the previously untouchable Sen. Joseph McCarthy's tactics in his witchhunt of alleged communists and communist sympathizers in the government.

The film uses actual footage of McCarthy, and is highly evocative of the time. It is shot in black and white, just like television of the day. Actual 1953 commercials are seen. Everyone smokes, office attire is rather formal (particularly for the women), and unthinking sexism is ubiquitous even among the most thoughtful.

The whole thing is riveting, even though we know exactly how it comes out. The performances are superb. David Strathairn is Murrow--the voice is perfect. George Clooney, who also directed and co-wrote the 93-minute film, portrays Fred Friendly, Murrow's co-producer (and later president of CBS News). Frank Langella plays William Paley, chairman of the board of CBS. They, and the rest of the cast, are excellent--helped by the fact that a few of the people actually involved were still around to advise them. Clooney and Grant Heslov, who plays Don Hewitt, (later the executive producer of 60 Minutes) as well as being co-writer, both spoke before the screening. The rest trooped across the stage, and everyone took a bow from a first-tier box at the conclusion.

The cinematography and filmscore were first rate. The only things I can really complain about are the opening and closing scenes, which were a 1958 tribute dinner for Murrow, making the real action all a flashback. The 1953 story was enough.

As I said at the beginning, this was the opening film of the festival (not counting a 6-minute short that preceded it). We hadn't gone to opening night before, so we were not prepared for what awaited us at Avery Fisher Hall--a red carpet, complete with photographers and screaming fans. When we got out of the cab I looked for another way in, but when I showed our tickets we were immediately directed down the carpet by security. Meanwhile the photographers were concentrating on the formally attired celebrities, as we marched by in our sports clothes. It was a bit surreal.

We were early, and the lobby was full of people in tuxedos and beautiful dresses. We waited by the ticket-takers with a few others of the hoi polloi. The red carpet was directly outside, though the celebrities turned away from us to pose for the photographers. I think I saw Edie Falco's back. Eventually they started admitting people, and we climbed to our seats. They were in the rear of the third tier. In 31 years of going to Avery Fisher Hall I don't think I've ever been in the third tier before.

It's not that bad for a movie, though, at least visually. The apparent size of the screen is still sufficient, even at that distance. But the sound was another matter. We had trouble hearing some of the dialogue, and someone in the row in front of us said the same thing: we'll have to see it again to get everything. Fortunately that's the only film in the festival being shown in Avery Fisher Hall.

The next film for us will be Tuesday: Capote, with the wonderful Philip Seymour Hoffman in the title role.