by J.D. Oxblood
It’s that time of year again—when the air turns crisp and the strippers descend on Gotham like an unkindness of ravens. Or maybe I’m being overly dramatic. To be sure, in years past I’ve feared this event, draining as it does the very lifeblood of my being, replacing it with bourbon and cheap Mexican beer, but age does something to a man, and if not wisdom, at least a practiced method of coping with predictable challenges.
Indeed, I saw producer Angie Pontani the other night—an outing, along with 21st Century Burlesque luminary Holli-Mae Johnson, that is decidedly off the record—but I will say that Angie seemed… not completely stressed the fuck out. She’s done this before, yo, and practice makes—well, if not perfect, than at least not “this-is-a-disaster, send-me-to-the-loony-bin” strung out. Angie and Jen Gapay built this monster, and this monster is damned well gonna do what they tell it to do. Which I think is show boobies and eat brains.
What am I so afraid of? Well, usually, it’s the drink. Me likey drinky. Which can be problematic if you’ve been tasked with covering four straight nights of burlesque shows, which run three to four hours each, often while standing, all while imbibing copious amounts of fire water and complementing copulating-worthy sex magnets from the far corners of the globe. Yeah, Angie and Jen bring the heat—Perle Noire and Indigo Blue are in town, and the Satanastic Kristina Nekyia, and the devastating duo known as Gravity Plays Favorites (*crush*), the wonderful Mysterion from Canada and Lillian Star from Australia and some dames from Sweden, Russia and Amsterdam whom I’ve never heard of but will soon see nekkid. Oh, and Kitty Kitty Bang Bang is in from London, and I’m looking forward to knocking a few back with that crazy chick. But I’m going to try to go easy on the hangover-inducement, for once, which hopefully will be a little easier this year now that Mel Huckabee’s not around.
And the darkest corner of the globe is New York itself—expect to see all your faves this weekend, like Gal Friday and Jo Boobs and Trixie Little and Minnie Tonka and Gin Minsky and Nasty Canasta. Expect to see them onstage, but maybe not offstage—they’re likely to run off to other gigs, because, hey, this is New York, and a weekend is just a work day.
But I am absolutely over the moon this year about the NYBF bringing in some Legends—by which we mean the Godmothers of Burlesque—who will be doing a panel at the burlesque bazaar (at the Slipper Room) Saturday between 2-3pm. AND that means that my girl Tiffany Carter is in town, and she’ll be taking if off on Saturday night. Seriously kids, all you bored New Yorkers who’ve never gone to Vegas—do not miss this shit. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a grown-up lady take it off with that kind of boldness, throwing her hair the way she did when she was Miss Nude Universe in 1975, and getting everyone in the room all soaking wet downstairs. Love you, Tiff. Can’t wait to see you.
And Jen and Angie—I’ll meet you on Sunday at the Burlesque Beat afterparty (co-sponsored by Erica M. stockings—free gorgeous stockings for the first 50 guests!)—and I’ll have a cold one waiting.
J.D. Oxblood is….. hell, you know. If you see him this weekend, be a buddy and buy him a glass of WATER.