So I was falling out at promoter Scott Brown’s  fave queer monthly Faggot  at the former Daddy's, now 440 Castro , last week (somebody slipped me a half-ate Payday bar , and I was using it to terrorize gaybots on their way to Bar on Castro down the street -- needless to say the nutty goo got stuck in an overwrought fauxhawk and sashayed doe-like away) when doorboy of the moment Jacob Laurent lassoed me into a mutual admiration session with Jon Ginoli of Pansy Division . No sex, just love.
Payday means "faggot" in French, har har.
Jon’s and my affection from afar has blossomed ever since homocore kicked ass in the early ‘90s, though I lost touch a bit when P.D. went through their Green Day phase -- oversize frat house fauxpunk fame makes my amour awfully itchy. Fortunately, the Pansy asses just released a 30-song retrospective  that serves to remind me of the good, actually superb, ol' days. But now that our teenaged dreams of circuit-music death and gym bunny submission to the power of rock ‘n roll (or at least electroclash) have been realized, does that mean old skool homocore is THE MAN IT MUST BE STUCK TO?
I’ll let you know when they stop putting fucking Madonna on the cover of Odyssey Magazine.
Meanwhile, Felecia Fellatio took the stage and did a rousing tribute version of “He Whipped My Ass at Tennis (So I Fucked His Ass in Bed).” Considering she could have cashed in on the current Boreback-Willie-Nelson-meets-iTunes-stoked fever for “Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly Fond of Each Other,” I thought it was mighty ballsy of her. But then anyone who’s seen Felecia in a tennis skirt knows she’s pretty ballsy already...
(doozy of a photo by Guillermo Torres)