By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
Another '70s survivor, DIANA ROSS, wrote a follow-up memoir, Upside Down: Wrong Turns, Right Turns, and the Road Ahead, which was announced four whole years ago for an '04 release. But it was wait-listed by JUDITH REGAN (official reason: Miss Ross keeps adding to it) and it's now sitting on Amazon soliciting pre-orders. Might it just be too hot to handle? I hear that compared to Di's last memoir, Secrets of a Sparrow, this one is more like Shriekings of a Hawk. She vehemently trashes GENE SIMMONS, RYAN O'NEAL, an ex-husband, and a whole bunch of other people who aren't going to want to reach out and touch her ever again. Maybe Vanessa Redgrave can do the audio book.
The '90s came back when Roxy promoter JOHN BLAIRlaunched his Saturday gay night at Avalon, the church-turned-dance temple that I seem to recall used to have a John Blair Sunday gay night. After 10 or so cavity searches, I got in and found that the club seems the same but different, with promoter MICHAEL FORMIKA JONES aiming to make the chapel area sexy again. ("Remember when they made the place look like an upscale restaurant?" he told me, horrified. "I said, 'I want it dirty! I want it to look like a church!' ") Upstairs, in a very clean white room out of A Clockwork Orange, a guy sidled up to me and stirringly announced, "I'm a Mormon and I'm having a lot of trouble drinking this cocktail." Three minutes later, I had to pick him off the floor. In a good way.
At the Cuckoo Club at the Maritime's Hiro ballroom on Sunday, there was a drag queen who looked like AMY WINEHOUSE, or maybe it was Amy Winehouse looking like a drag queen. At Kino 41, Thursdays at Arena, a guy dressed as an s&m rabbi danced with his boyfrienda German porn star with his butt exposedwith female drag queen LADYFAGin the middle, getting some faux-munching action on her rare night off from the Cock.
While we're in private places, I've noticed that in clubland, guys with long locks are no longer burned at the stake, and a hint of body hair has actually become unpunishable toowelcome to the '70s, but with condoms this time! (And without Clifford Irving.) Most shockingly of all, the Ugly Betty look has actually caught on with clubbies of both genders, whether wittingly or not. Guys and gals with ratty hair, clunky glasses, and nervous facial expressions stud the dance floor, but one doesn't dare run up to them and shriek, "I love your Ugly Betty look" or they might respond, "What? I was doing ANGELINA JOLIE."
And now I'm off to rehearse Grease's most illustrious roleDoody. You put me on, America!