NY Mirror

In an early reprieve from my Josh watch, I saw Penny Arcade's New York Values at P.S.122, partly because Sylvia Miles told me, "Penny and I were the hits of the Edinburgh Festival. It was the 'Crazy Ladies' series." How pierrot la lune. The show—about how "New York has been invaded by America"—dabbles in too familiar ravings about Prada-philes drinking lattes and yakking on cells, but I loved Penny bitching about folks who whine that their parents hated them because they're gay. "My family hated me for no reason!" she says, furiously.

The Grammy Awards weren't hateable, my favorite moment being Patti LaBelle emerging to sing the finale of "Lady Marmalade," then popping up in a commercial for hormone replacement therapy. ("Now my hot flashes are gone. I feel great!") The most depressing moment was India.Arie looking ready to shoot herself as she, Grammyless, had to sing her ditty about not being a sellout. The Billy Joel-Tony Bennett thing also bordered on painful, and the Alan Jackson song really made me sad for America, though I'm glad there's a new kitsch classic to cherish through these hard times. But like I said, the show was likable, though Alicia Keys is such a goddess for the ages that they shouldn't make her do Vegas-y dance numbers like the cheesier kids have to do (even if hers was a step above). But what do I know? I'm still getting hot flashes.

With no Hartnett in my harness, it was party-circuit time, but that didn't nab anyone any trophies. At the "Men of La Mancha" loft party, the gay homies understandably looked at me like I was the whitest woman since Michael Jackson. And at gay college night at Heaven, pretending to have been left back (a lot) doesn't work; you still come off like one of those uncremated bodies piled up in Georgia. But it's important just to have the young character, the young feeling, no? And you know what really puts a sparkle in your step as you dance to Pierre Cardin? Listerine PocketPaks! Those titillating strips melt on your tongue like communion wafers, providing an effect that's so soul- (and germ-) cleansing they should have hawked it at the Limelight sale. Try throwing one in your morning coffee—that'll get you out of your hideous chair.

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