By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
Meanwhile, I'm the one who sucks for having implied that the clubs are all dead. The gay lounges of Hell's Kitchen happen to have lines around the block—there's obviously no end to the HK twink parade. And Van Dam, the Sunday bash at Greenhouse thrown by the otherworldly Susanne Bartsch and Kenny Kenny, is still poppin' fresh and punchy. The two floors of zanies, cute guys, and other types make for one of the few truly mixed crowds in New York. And they're opening a performance room/art gallery to make the place an even more aesthetically eclectic exercise in dominance and surrender.
The New Year's Eve party at the East 20s lounge Vig 27 brought out some of the local loonies, including a transsexual in a high-fashion chin strap who's always popping up on Facebook with a whole new name and identity. By any name, she's the scary mess of my dreams.
Last Thursday, something called The New York Times had no fewer than three articles that either were about drag or referenced it heavily. "The Gray Lady" has officially become "The Tucked Gay Man," and that's OK with my newly plucked eyebrows.
Need to sit down again? Well, on Wednesdays, Lyle Derek and Miss Guy throw a salon-like dinner hosted by a different celebrity every week, at the Royalton's Mon Chouchou restaurant. One time, the host was approached by someone gushing, "You look a lot like Debbie Harry." "I get that a lot," she replied, wryly. It was Debbie Harry.
Another belting blonde, Lourdes Lane, tells me her Chix 6 rock opera has been signed by the Nederlanders, with an eye to Broadway. No one will fall on your head.