Being Stanley Kubrick

Plus new Oscar bait, and the attack of the right-wing lesbian polemicist

"She seems also to be jealous of the traumas I suffered and to wish she could have suffered a few of them herself in order to be able to explain her obvious anger. And she goes out of her way to ridicule my mentioning that I have a big dick. I mention that I did for a sixth-grader in one paragraph in a book of 305 pages! She obviously doesn't like people with dicks of any size!" I'll stop this right there. I don't want violence!

I tucked my giant cheesesteak and sought refuge in the brotherly love of Philadelphia, where the illustrious Strikes bowling alley beckoned with some chicken wings and ice cream as ROSIE O'DONNELL and her wife KELLI hosted an event for their R Family Vacations. Rosie and I long ago buried the hatchet—in DONALD TRUMP. In fact, when I told her I was really in town to judge Mr. Gay Philadelphia and I felt bad because I'd defended her in the war against pageant meister Trump and felt hypocritical objectifying men in Philly, she assured me, "It's OK with gay guys. It's not OK with Donald, with his awful hair, torturing pretty young girls!" Besides, we weren't going to chastise the Mr. Gay Philly guys if they partied or kissed members of the same sex!

And the pageant brought so much more than mere triumphs of the flesh. Contestants had to sport evening wear, show off fancy lingerie, and even answer challenging questions in between zingy performances by local drag stars BRITTANY LYNN and AREYANNA VON MOI. Dimpled co-host REICHEN LEHMKUHL supposedly was paid $2,500, which basically nabbed him standing there and looking good, though he defiantly refused to take off any clothes except for his hanging sweater. When a contestant was asked my penetrating question—Was Anna Nicole the new Marilyn, Di, or SUZANNE SOMERS?—righteous Reichen seemed a little offended (he probably wasn't the only one) and told the crowd, "I got to confront DREW BARRYMORE about playing Anna Nicole Smith on Saturday Night Live. She felt really bad about it!" On an even less feel-good note, Reichen ended by begging the audience to think about how out gays aren't welcome to die in Iraq. No, but at least we're allowed to cheat on boy-band members!

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Gay Philadelphia
C. Sembrot for GPTMC
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Gay Philadelphia


The rest of the time in fab Philly was spent catching the sprawling flower show, where I was far from the only pansy on display. Sadly, we didn't get to take in the "Scoop on Poop" exhibit at the natural history museum, but I've been crawling into people's rears ever since to make up for it.

Web extra: The long running club the Roxy just closed, even though I once wrote, "After the apocalypse, there will be only CHER, cockroaches, and the Roxy." The place where I spent every single Saturday night in the '90s—I became such a regular that my face was literally on the drink tickets—was a pulsing playground for big chested Chelsea guys and even larger titted drag queens—all cartoon creatures with fake bosoms and a burning need to party. As time went on, the drag queens became less welcome, and the room became filled only with the shirtless studs sweating to alienating techno with the help of various narcotics du jour. I went anyway, but was more excited when Madonna and Cher dropped by to give special "surprise" performances that had been announced months in advance. Well, Cher is still around and so are those cockroaches, but Roxy passed on—and I know that must be true because the Times just noticed the place and ran an article.

Dancing to her own beat, Screamin' Rachael is a music biz presence who leaps forward whenever there's some crazed scandal seizing the headlines. She generally knows something. This time, she's telling me she knows about documents that will surface that will grant JAMES BROWN's ex, TOMIE RAE HYNIE, 17% of the estate. God, I just can't seem to get my mind off happy Hynies.

Speaking of holes, did last week's column (in the actual paper) seem to have one? That's because the new, writer-unfriendly layout allows for fewer words, so a sentence was zanily plucked out of the middle because it had “gone over.” I'd explain further but I . . .

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