Happy Gay Pride Month – or

The Month Formerly Known as June
On the last night of May, under a stunning Manhattan full moon, I made my way down to the Fashion Institute of Technology. Not for a butch outfit tune-up – “Is this tie too fat?” – but to attend the 19th Annual Lambda Literary Awards. The Lammies, darlings. The bad news is that the ceremony started in May and ended in June.
The good news is that there is just that much LGBT writing out there, despite LGBT bookstore closings, imprints ceasing and desisting, and a supposed decline in LGBT reading scores. I come from a family of readers, so it was a pleasure to help kick off the ceremony. Charles Flowers, the executive Director of the Lambda Literary Foundation and his hard-working board have resurrected and expanded the organization. From the silence of the Lambdas, the literary lions are aroar. Stop me before I ménage again. (www.lambdaliterary.org)
Early the next morning, I flew to Long Beach, California to do a show with the South Coast Chorale at the beautiful Karen & Richard Carpenter Performing Arts Center on the gorgeous campus of Cal State Long Beach, incidentally the alma mater of my booking agent, Tam Martin. She loves her old school. The evening was the chorale’s last with their innovative and creative musical director, Kevin Robison, who is moving to Atlanta to take over their music directorship. The South Beach Chorale gave it their joyous all and was joined by Men Alive from Orange County in the second half of the program. I joined the chorale on stage for one number, but I only lip-synced, I swear. Those chorales have a ton of fun.
Next day I flew up to San Fran Sisters, a city still recovering from NCLR’s 30th anniversary bash at Fort Marsha Mason. I did two shows at the Brava Theatre, now in its 21st year under the indefatigable direction of Ellen Gavin. She has made Brava! the entertainment hub of the Mission with a long commitment to the work of lesbians and Latinas. P.S. SF could use a little global warming. It was freezing and reminded me of the great line from Will Rodgers, “The coldest winter of my life was the summer I once spent in San Francisco.” I saw lots of my San Fransisters and had a great Moroccan dinner with Deb Shapiro and Mosk. We thought the belly dancer was a little underwrought.
Since it’s Serena Ova on that French clay s’il vous plait, this weekend I’m finally off to see friends in Hudson, New York, the home of many of my artist friends from Ptown who have been driven out by the ridic high cost of living. From there I will GPS my way to Northampton, MA to take part in the celebration of the 10th Anniversary of Perugia Press which keeps in print the words of women poets. It will be a lovely bookend to a week that started with the Lambda Awards. I think they are officially over by now.
But first, this evening, my excellent girlfriend and I head to Brooklyn to the 7th Annual Miss LEZ pageant hootenanny, founded by drag king host, Murray Hill. Last year’s winner, Glenn Marla, whose platform was “to make backfat the new cleavage” will crown the winner. We will hook up with the very tasteful lezbo comique and LOGO a go go starlet, ulie Goldman and will scream our support for all contestants. I loves the lesbians, did I mention that? Happy Dyke Day!