Did you catch the Golden Globes?  I watched with lively friends, and of course we had choice comments for some of the showbiz attire.

But being well-mannered gentlepeople, none of us opted to post or tweet or carrier-pigeon our hilarious put-downs.  If there’s anything the world doesn’t need is more “fashion commentators” insulting famous women.

It’s become a very lowbrow sport that often reeks of misogyny.

Writer Judy Berman really hit the nail on the head in Bitch Magazine (“The Feminist Response to Pop Culture”) with a short article, “Web Spite.”  Published in 2006, it’s still very relevant.  ( I can’t find it online, but luckily I saved the print version in my “Interesting Articles” file!)

Berman focuses on the plethora of websites that mercilessly “reduce female stars’ worth to their physical appearance and fashion choices.”

Her summary:  “Offering rigid daily scrutiny of celebrities’ fashion choices—as well as their weight, acne, or bad weaves—can be good, schadenfreudelicious fun, but in the end it only serves to reinforce what fashion magazines have been telling us for decades: A country full of size-2 women in little black dresses is preferable to a world where ladies of all sizes can feel comfortable wearing whatever they damn well like.”

Hear that, fashion bullies?  Back off!  And if you really wanna see a tacky outfit, look in the mirror!  Oh, burn!

Thank you to the public school system of St. Paul, Minnesota for giving me my first chance to daily interact with people of other races.

Thank you to New York City, melting pot of the world, for providing a never-ending opportunity to meet all sorts of homo sapiens.

Thank you to all the people of different races and ethnicities who have come into my life and helped to expand and enrich my view of the world.

And thank you Martin Luther King Jr. and other crusading leaders for your brave efforts to create a more understanding and colorful society.

Happy MLK Day!

Is Angela Di Carlo, one of the shining stars of Bitches in the Sky (the photo novella written and produced by moi), actually a wisecracking fag disguised as a woman?

I say yes.  Although only her husband, Cooby, knows for sure.

Happy Birthday, Angela!

She was a lioness!

Ellen Stewart, founder of NYC’s legendary La MaMa Theater (in 1962) and champion of the offbeat and avant-garde, has died at age 91.

By the time I made my playwright debut at La Mama in 2008 with The Bad Hostess, she wasn’t around on a daily basis.  But her presence was strongly felt.  For one thing, she insisted that the color green (unlucky!) be devoid from her stage.  (And my play was set at Christmas!)

But I did see her frequently at La MaMa throughout the years.  It was a tradition for her to introduce shows, and her commanding presence made it clear that she was queen of her domain.

Scores of performers, including myself, bow down to her in honor.   Thank you, Ms. Stewart, for allowing us to do our own thing!

As Sylvia London and I left my apartment building last night a few snowflakes were falling.  How sweet.

We were on our way to a party for Olympic skater Johnny Weir‘s new book, Welcome to My World. (Thanks for the invite, Spin Cycle!)

I think Johnny is fantastic.  He exemplifies the flamboyant self-confidence of a new queer generation!  I was determined to get a photo with him.

Mission accomplished!

As the bash wound down, someone told Sylvia and I about the debut of new gay party, just a hop and a skip away.

So we might as well walk, right?  Even though the snow was piling up by this time.

At first, our little jaunt was a playful adventure.

Look, we're snow hookers!

But being outside soon lost its appeal.

Soggy Linda.

Unfortunately, the party did not meet our high standards of fun.  So we did what any smart drag queen would do—We hailed a cab!

Our destination was G Lounge‘s Boybox party, which features an accomplished ensemble of striptease artists.

Sylvia found her favorite.

As an extra bonus, the hostess was flawless sexpot Amanda Lepore, who told me she was recently a guest judge on Austria’s version of “Top Model.”  She’s such a celebrity.

Amanda speaks!

Then Sylvia and I trudged through the snow in our high heels one last time to catch taxis home.

Today my calves are killing me!  Johnny Weir, I know your pain!


(Huffingtonpost posted a photo of me, Sylvia and one of the gay blades from The A-List.)

(See more pix from the night on my Facebook page.)