If I never see another Drag Queen as long as I live... *shrug*
Canada's gay scene is drag obsessed. And it's not even good drag. Stick-thin horrors pout out, mime indifferently to Torch Songs, wave their arms about, and look pissy.
At least English Drag is often funny, the acts frequently sing, and there's a touch of real daring.
Over here, they're treated like minor royals, and do almost as little. The Toronto scene is full of gossip about them (... Felicia's stopped taking her meds again... She's been dying for the last ten years... Consuela offered to rim my boyfriend for free. In front of my face, the bitch!... Julie tries so hard, but she's just all attitude - and they say she *stole* that dress... Tracy and her man split up. It was a row over who'd been chewing her eyeliner...).
The highspot was definitely Sunday night. The drag staggered into a club in Ottawa, fresh from competing in Miss Gay Ottawa. Some were so drunk they were speaking french, one did her act with her back to the audience, and another one just sat off to one side of the stage, swearing under her breath and wiping her armpits with her wig.
Sitting watching it with Matt and me were two young men in love. It was a truly touching site, until I nipped out of the club for cigarettes, and came back to find one of them crouched over behind a dumpster, sniffing gak and talking about dumping his bloke for one of the drag acts later on that night.