NY Mirror

You want a good script? Well, there are plenty of them at the Fringe Festival, and it's a hoot to see unamplified actors scream them out over air conditioning as they chase after the "follow spots." Tech problems or not, all the Fringe entries are trying to be the new Urinetown, but only For the Love of Tiffany has the old Urinetown's prized Nancy Opel. And the show is a fun, loopy sendup of Lifetime TV movies, the kind where your husband's a fake cripple who's trying to kill you—again.

Don't kill me again if I tell you that soul diva Roberta Flack was recently overheard at a gym, bemoaning the fact that Justin Timberlake got such a big push to solo stardom and a Boyz II Men member who she feels is immensely talented didn't. "That's how they treat us," griped Roberta.

But don't tell me about bad treatment, people. The TV-land ascendance of gays as the new Latinos has me yelling "hooray" very wanly. Having appeared on networks that hired consultants to make sure I didn't do any more gay items, and other ones where they begged me to "tone it down," it's a wild situation, especially since they're all on the bandwagon now too, as my career accessorizes itself with trash bags. What's more, a company that years ago rejected me from their ad campaign for being too gay is now the main sponsor for Queer Eye! (Though I'm probably still not the right kind of gay for them.) As the Jon Secada of the queer movement, my response to all this progress is a combination of joy, bitterness, and relief that I might finally get thrown a few crumbs. If so, I hope they won't clash with my sundried tomato aioli.


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