I have a wonderfully free speechy article in HX of all places this week. I am still shocked when people let me write all my freaky shit. But of course as magazine must do to fit their space, they cut it down, so here is the exclusive director's cut DVD version of the article:
During the Peace March last Saturday, four of us Dazzle Dancers -- Cherry, Vinny, Propecia and I, Dazzle Dazzle, played the dance classic "Follow Me" on our cheapDazzle boombox and tried out our newest routine. We wore tight stars and stripes-themed outfits created by our magnificent costume designer Machine Dazzle, except for Vinny Dazzle who came smeared head-to-toe in a toxic bright magenta pigment. "Do I look like a gay sports fan?" he asked.
When we performed on the street by Macy's, a crowd formed around us, and right when we were doing our awesome 8-count meltdown move to the lyrics "Lets Put and End to Racial Hatred" the police came along and made us stop, the crowd booed at them, and I snatched up our cheap box --freaked out that I would be sent to jail in blue shimmering shorts and red and white striped leggings.
I suppose I should get used to it. In this increasingly clenched, fear promoting climate, exhibiting any kind of hip swiveling, flirty freedom has strangely become more charged and political than I ever thought it would be. And now our dumb little troupe, the Dazzle Dancers, have taken it upon ourselves to be glitter-smeared, bouys of sequined peace. Along with getting free drinks, a little bit of money, and the chance to make out with people in the bathrooms of clubs, this has become our mission: to inspiring sexy freedom and liberating fun through glitter, nudity and semi-retarded dance moves. "Amandla!" meets Xanadu.
Between hangovers, we somehow convinced ourselves that being as nude and stupid as possible was quite important to our city's quality of life. For almost 8 years now we have been pumping our crotches all over the city, getting our feet covered in club munge, and meeting the drag royalty, faeries, burlesque vixens and freaks we now consider family.
When we started in 1995, Giuliani's anti-nightlife campaign was making everything boring and expensive. Thousands of overpriced bars and coffee places with spindly stools and chilly atmosphere proliferated over the city, and people absently thought they were having a good time by buying 12 dollar cosmos and glowering at each other. No fun! It just seemed like a necessity that we should perform little spangly dance routines, get naked and get the blood flowing. And as the world has distorted in ways I never would have imagined, we sort of feel like it is our duty to bring smiles and a deeply needed pelvic energy to freaked out New Yorkers (and to ourselves.)
Not to say it's been all fun. We can barely schedule rehearsals, we send bitchy emails to each other, and glitter is lodged in every goddamn orifice of my body. The gossip, the sex scandals, and code red dance troupe dramas--every one of us has had a tantrum at least once. But in the end, it only inspires us more. We think if WE can get along, then anything is possible--including world peace. The fear-farming media sure doesn't encourage us to think so, but it should be a right for us all to feel hopeful about humanity. (Remember "the pursuit of happiness"?) Whether by us or the several other theatrical peace efforts sprouting up in the city (like the Radical Cheerleaders or the fabulous Glamericans), colorful demonstrations of festive love are what our fried minds need--not another scrolling news report, blathering TV pundit or slickly rendered "Showdown Iraq" graphic on CNN. Or another war.
At our most successful gigs, The Dazzle Dancers have encouraged people to get naked themselves and dance. You can't be a terrorist or warmonger when you are in a nude sandwich. Inspiring hilarious peace through our glittered genital exchange is a non-partisan and pro-human effort. Even Laura Bush is welcome - if she would just take off her bra.
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