For once, he wasn’t holding a clipboard, or stressed out over which hipster to let in first. Motherfucker door bitch THOMAS ONORATO‘s birthday party at the Dark Room last Sunday was so chill, I thought everyone was gonna lie down and take a nap.

Prior to the shindig, Miss Onorato, ever the diva, instructed his guests, “Please, work a fucking look!” I tried, but I wasn’t exactly going for the “rich white lady look,” which is how Thomas described my hair when I showed up to give him birthday kisses. The MisShapes kids, GREG K, LOVELEIGH (who is featured in Teen Vogue this month), and GEO, were on hand. They all left for Sway to party with CHLOE and PAUL SEVIGNY, but I headed to Happy Ending to see Crispin Glover spin classical music for the New York Underground Film Festival’s closing event. When I found out Glover wasn’t going to show until after 1:30, I had to send myself home to bed. The reason for his late arrival was that Mr. Glover, whose film What Is It? is quite controversial (the cast is composed of individuals who have Down syndrome), insisted on doing a Q&A after the second showing, and it lasted over 45 minutes. After that, Glover signed books, with the eccentric request that each person in line stand far away and be brought up one by one so they could have a private conversation. Good to know that someone’s living up to his freaky reputation.

Another event, which seemed like it might be freaky cool and ended up being cheesy, was the DJ CHEF demonstration at the Lexington Avenue W Hotel Tuesday night. Since I like house music and food, I figured I’d at least get a kick out of MARC WEISS, who trained under celeb chef BOBBY FLAY. A true New Yawker, with the accent and a sleeveless jacket, he guided the audience through a recipe for coconut chicken skewers while some music played on the other platter. Engaging and charming as he was—he’s got a new show on the Food Network—I’m not sure I’d hire him to spin or cook. The pre-made skewers they passed out (to be fair, probably not cooked by him) were flavorless, and his set of tepid hip-hop and house was just as bland. Maybe it’s better not to multitask after all.

I’ve been going to as many shows as possible during the long, never ending Fez Death March, including JOAN RIVERS, the Miss Lower East Side Pageant hosted by MURRAY HILL, and, finally, drag diva JACKIE BEAT last Monday. I can’t think of a better kiss-off than watching the lewd Ms. Beat tear a new asshole in every audience member, including yours truly, whose cell phone rang during the first number. (It was on silent! I swear!) “The fucked-up thing is this person is a friend of mine, and she reviews shows for a living,” she said. I curled up in a ball and died on the floor. After I recovered, I was able to enjoy Ms. Beat’s scatological humor (she turned SPANDAU BALLET‘s “True” into a ditty about how BRAD PITT smells, renamed “Poo”), pedophiliac tunes (one set to Metallica’s “Enter Sandman”), and robot mime dance. Knowing her reputation for scaring the crowd, she wondered out loud, “How come no one wants to sit in the front row for my shows?” and then ventured into the back booths, where she poked fun at some middle-school teacher from New Jersey, scarring him for life. SOPHIA LAMAR, *BOB*, KENNY MELLMAN of KIKI AND HERB, and HOPI formerly of CANDY ASS, all in the crowd, escaped unscathed. She closed the show with her version of “No More Drama,” about how drama classes are making children gay, and sent everyone to their feet in a standing O. Fez, we’ll miss thee. Jackie, I’ll see you out hookin’ on the corner near the Cock, girl.