Amanda and Michelle of The Girls Productions! offered a peek at what they've been up to lately on their blog. Turns out they've been laboring on a lot of fine art and schwag to commemorate the 40th Anniversary of the Pirates of the Carribean ride at Disneyland. I've put up a sample of the art that they'll be showing at the gallery above the ride on March 18. This print is called "Showem your larboard side" and depicts the famous auction sequence from the attraction, in which the pirates are all shouting "We want the Redhead! We want the Redhead!" You can check out the rest of their Pirates work here.

Last week, the character of Phyllis Kroll was added to The L Word. I'm really happy about this new character for a number of reasons. I think it's fantastic that the series is including older women as cast members and showing them to be active, sexual beings.

Phyllis is in her 50s and has enjoyed a long conventional married life when she begins to reconsider her sexual orientation. I don't know what is true today, but when I first came out, it was definitely more common for women to come out after having married than before. Coming out in one's teens was not a typical experience back then, and I sometimes wonder how much things have changed. In any case, I think Phyllis's narrative is an important one to include on the show.

While it's unusual for television to promote older women as sex objects (there are exceptions, of course, like BSG's Mary McDonnell), I don't think it's unusual in terms of lesbian sexuality. In my experience, lesbians have tended to be more flexible than the mainstream about what constitutes female beauty. It's nice to see that reflected with the inclusion of attractive older characters like Peggy Peabody and now Phyllis.

But the best thing about Phyllis, in my opinion, is the casting. Cybill Shepherd's great with goofball humor, and I love her past work, including two (!) Martha Stewart TV-movies that I absolutely howled at, and her sitcom, Cybill, which dealt with a variety of women's issues. Plus anyone who dated Elvis is just inherently cool.

But my most positive associations with Cybill Shepherd stem from her willingness to participate in the 1993 March on Washington for gay and lesbian rights at a time when things were not so rosy for gays and lesbians. I was at that march and I remember the lift that it gave people to see a Hollywood celebrity in the streets with us. I will never forget it. In the complicated playbook of my affections, if an actor who plays gay gets 10 points for bravery, an actor willing to march with gays gets about 1000.

You can hear Cybill Shepherd talk about her activism for gay and lesbian and women's causes on this week's L Word podcast.

"I am not watching one more time!" I vowed to those in the room. "It's over! I'm done with it! They have so jumped the shark for me!"
My outburst came moments after the marathon watching last year's Academy Awards show with the Cute Little Red Headed Girlfriend, Joe, and the Sister. I was pissed over Brokeback Mountain's losses, which I attributed to homophobia. I was expecting my pals to join me in my righteous anger, but instead I was faced with smiles and soft chuckles. I was confused.
"Don't you agree with me?!" I asked.
"Yes, we agree with you," the Girlfriend said jovially. "It's just that you say this every year."
"No. I mean it this time!"
Okay, so let's just say I meant it for several months. Until the Academy announced that Ellen DeGeneres would be hosting the awards in 2007, and I came to terms with the inevitable.
But I'm going to need help getting through it. So this year, inspired by the annual State of the Union Address Drinking Game, I'm going to devise my own Academy Awards Drinking Game. Every time I hear a reference to piracy, copyright or DRM technologies, I'm taking a drink.
This year, I think I'll be pulling for The Devil Wear Prada. It's a hard choice between Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep, but you know, I just loved that moment when Miranda Priestly commands Andrea to get down on the carpet and hike up that ugly skirt immediately.
Wait, it didn't happen that way? Actually I went looking for Miranda/Andrea fan fiction and found some at a Russian livejournal site. I thought I had explored the outer reaches of slash fan fiction before, but until you've used Google's BETA Russian language translator to read a femslash story, I don't think you can really say that you've explored all that the genre has to offer.

Although I've been writing the past few days about Lucy Lawless, I don't want to give my many new Xenite visitors the impression that I am not into Renee O'Connor. I am very into the ROC, and I loved it when she took the stage to dance at Lucy's concert, as shown in this photo from the evening.
To prove it, if I can follow-up on my previous post and continue another Internet meme, here is a list of some of the top things my girlfriend and I have argued bitterly about:

• Who is more responsible for carrying the subtext on Xena: Warrior Princess, Lucy or Renee?


• Who is the greater genius of the Beatles, John Lennon or Paul McCartney?


• Who represents the highest authority in the known universe, Judy Garland or Barbra Streisand?

I like to think of myself as a tough dyke, I admit it. A bit intimidating. A bit of a bruiser. All the more reason to be stunned at the effect Lucy Lawless had on me and a crowd of women like me when she took the stage at the Roxy. I felt like a wound-up toddler--overstimulated, whimpering, incapable of rational speech, at times almost on the verge of tears.

The Cute-Little-Red-Headed-Girlfriend and I got in line for the show roughly an hour before the doors opened. L.A. is experiencing some uncharacteristically cold weather, so we shivered in line in the low-30s air until we started to go numb. During my punk teen years, when busting into music clubs was weekly sport, I had once broken into the back of the Roxy when I couldn't get in by the front door. With the weather so cold, it was tempting to try it again.

While in line, I recognized a fellow blogger from her live-blogging of the Xena Con earlier in the day. I introduced myself and we chatted: she was covering the event for AfterEllen.com, so check out her report there when it goes up, as well as the great concert coverage on her site, Dogged Blog.

MC Kat Crimins and comic Tig Nataro did a great job warming up the audience and set a conversational tone for the evening. Portions of the concert were like a traditional rock or pop concert, but there were often chatty interludes and long intros that reflected the tight relationship Lucy has with her fans.

Dogged Blog reports that there were some problems with the sound initially. Since I was in the mosh pit about two rows back from the stage, it wasn't something I noticed, since there's a "wall of sound" effect when you're standing that close. However, I did feel that throughout the night I heard aspects of Lucy's voice that I'd never heard before, both in the higher and lower registers. If this is the beginning of a music career, it's exciting to imagine what's to come.

Speaking of coming, as soon as Lucy hit that stage in her leather chaps, I felt a tight grip on my arm that just seemed to get tighter and squeeze harder with each refrain. It was my girlfriend, twisting my arm with excitement. As I watched Lucy grip the microphone and belt out one of her original songs, "Down on My Knees," I could feel the girlfriend start to sway next to me as she moaned in my ear "the hands, the hands" (she's obsessed with Lucy's well-endowed mitts, which she lovingly calls "her Frankenhands").

I'd heard one of Lucy's originals songs at another event, but this time around both of her original pieces really impressed me with how catchy they sounded. Even with an audience that's positively disposed towards a performer, it can be hard to get them to connect with a song they're not that familiar with. So I was surprised at how much I dug Lucy's rendition of the New Zealand pop song, "Maxine," a fact I can only attribute to her abilities as a singer.

In contrast, on well-known tunes that are easy to get wrong, like "Don't Let Me Down" and "Piece of My Heart," Lucy's performance was so strong that the audience went completely apeshit. It was full-on insanity. Lucy also had a great rapport with her band and her back-up singers (the two women were also very sexy). During a costume change, one of the back-ups, Sharlotte Gibson, came forward to do a very rockin' performance of an original song.

The back-up singers also appeared to be having fun with the audience. I really liked it when Lucy stripped off her top shirt, revealing a tank underneath and threw it at one of her back-up singers. In the spirit of Lucy worship that permeated the evening, the female singer held the sweaty garment to her face and inhaled deeply and joyously before throwing it backstage. (I yelled at her to throw it to me, but alas, no.)

There was good news from the concert, as well as some bad. Lucy is going to be appearing on Curb Your Enthusiasm (yay!). On the downside, Lucy's appearance at the Dinah Shore Weekend, which was originally supposed to be on Saturday, has been moved to Friday and she's only been asked to do three songs, not a full set. (Private to organizers: Are you crazy? Fix it, fix it now.)

Don't forget, you can still get tickets for tonight.

Concert photos appearing on this page are all Copyright 2007 Gregg DeGuire / lucylawless.info. Thanks to Mary D. for letting me use them here. For tons more photos and other reports, check out Mary's site. For more coverage of Lucy on In Sequence, do a search for "Lucy" or "Xena." She's all over the place.

The Cute Little Red-Headed Girlfriend and I have tickets to see Lucy Lawless in concert at the Roxy this weekend. After her appearance on Celebrity Duets, Lucy decided to launch a singing career. Although the Saturday show is sold out, if you're in the L.A. area you can still get tickets for the Sunday night show.

Of course, the CLRHG and I have seen Lucy sing before, at previous Xena conventions (number twelve is being held this weekend), and at gay pride. We also went to see Lucy when she appeared at Girl Bar at The Factory in West Hollywood. For various reasons, I never wrote up the event for this blog, but I thought I'd make up for it now.

A friend of ours came in from out of town for the Factory show. Well, actually she came in from out of the country. The show was set to start at midnight, and on the day of the concert I came down with the most evil virus thingy. So I put my digital camera in their hands, hoping they would bring back some good pictures, and settled in for the night with my fever.

The pictures they brought back told a strange story of their evening. It seemed to go something like this: blurry lesbian go-go dancer, blurry lesbian go-go dancer, back of some chick's head, empty space, blurry photos of Lucy cropped in interesting ways. The best of the bunch are shown here. I've named them "Torso Close-up" and "Lucy on the Stage with Acid." Perhaps you can see why I'm eager to expereince the concert in person this time, rather than by proxy.

The Cute Little Red-Headed Girlfriend is a bit intimidated at the prospect of being that close to a singing, possibly gyrating Lucy for a long period of time. She told me she was afraid she'd get so excited she would just start screaming nonstop like the girls in A Hard Day's Night. I had to concur with her that this would be an embarrassing state to be in. I hope she can hold it together.

In terms of my own reaction, I've been thinking I might emulate Tom Jones's fans and toss my panties with a housekey attached onto the stage. Over Christmas, I made note of the many useful tutorials available on how to wrap presents in cloth, thinking that could help me present my gift of a housekey in the most tidy fashion. Better than clipping it with a safety pin, I think. (I should not have linked to Tom Jones's site. Now I cannot get the song "She's A Lady" out of my head.)

If you want a preview of the show, there's a number of reheasal videos available at the Official Lucy Lawless Fan Site. I particularly recommend part 5, which has Lucy covering Melissa Etheridge's "Like the Way I Do." There's also a Roxy Countdown page over at MySpace, and ongoing coverage at Mary D.'s concert subsite.

Supposedly the playlist hasn't been finalized, but there's been mention of a possible Pretenders cover. I can tell you right now that if Lucy sings "Brass in Pocket" I think that will be grounds for my losing it. As most people know, there is a fine line between pleasure and pain and that song may be sliding over the side of exquisite pleasure into the unbearable agony of unrequitable lesbian lust. In other words, look for me screaming my head off a la A Hard Day's Night.

If you're at Lucy's show on Saturday, look for me and the Cute Little Red-Headed Girlfriend, don't forget to look for us and say "hey." We should be easy to spot in the crowd--we'll be the two dykes up in front.

A shiver of anticipation rushes through me knowing that The L Word Season Four is about to start. Sure, there were some problems with Season Three, but time has passed and now all is forgiven. Well, maybe not all. Tina.

Many L Word fans were upset about the death of Dana at the end of last year. Although I will miss the character, I didn't have a problem with her death from a story perspective. Dana's demise from breast cancer freaked me out enough to get me in to the doctor for a mammogram after going for four years without one. That's what the story was supposed to do, so I'm not going to quarrel with it. Lesbians are known to be negligent about their health needs, and if it takes a beloved character's death to get the point across, it seems like a small price to pay.

While some fans grieved at Dana's passing, others were exasperated that the character Max lived on. In the show, Max, a transgendered character, is transitioning from a female body to a male one. I thought last season's plotline was ambitious but a bit too complex. It reminded me of when gay storylines were first appearing on television and they would include long, explanatory speeches to get viewers up to speed on the subject of homosexuality so that a drama could take place.

The image above is one of the new downloads available from the Showtime site. I'm looking forward to checking out the new cast members this Sunday.

I've got a piece up at The Horror Blog that I hope my readers will go take a look at. I was asked to participate in a Halloween celebration featuring contributions from non-Horror bloggers about a "favorite scare." I wrote about an album from the punk era called "A Minute to Pray, A Second to Die." For graphic art fans, you might want to look at the original punk flyers I scanned to go with the article. Also, there's a picture of me as a little kid dressed in a Halloween costume that I think is at least worth a click.

I was a featured guest on my friend Joe's podcast this past week. In this edition, Joe is very depressed about the state of the world and he's looking for me to cheer him up. Let me tell you, if you think anything I say is going to cheer you up, you are in a very dire situation indeed. Nonetheless, I do try to shake him out of it, sharing my new and brilliant idea to replace all the cars in Los Angeles with litters. You can listen here.

Last month, the Cute Little Red-headed Girlfriend and I went to check out the first Felt Club at Meltdown Comics. It was a lot of fun, and with the second Felt Club coming up this weekend I thought I would write about our experience.

Felt Club is a mini-craft fair held once a month in the back lot at Meltdown Comics in Hollywood. You can check out a pic in the news section of the Felt Club website to see it in action. It was a very low key event, with lots of interesting crafty people selling their wares. There was also a table full of snacks for sale and copies of the most recent Bust magazine were being given away for free.

As we browsed the vendor tables, the girlfriend and I were really taken with these plush monsters that are called "Spazimals" by their creator, Jek in the Box, who also sells crafts through Etsy. There were so many cute ones to choose from but we finally walked away with a Spazimal to call our own.

And, of course, Meltdown Comics was waiting just a few feet away to suck up more of my cash once we had visited all the vendor tables.

Edit: At Joe's request (see comments), I've added a picture of the Spazimal we took home. Note the noble crest, the lovely snout, the beautiful pattern. Truly a wonderful creature.

I was at work yesterday when the big blackout hit Los Angeles. Since I work in a high rise, I felt some alarm when I realized that none of the elevators were working. But the phones lines were up, so I was able to contact Joe, who had electricity back in his apartment and was able to check the news reports for me.

It took awhile to determine what was causing the blackout, so I had time to weigh the possibility that this was in fact the attack on Los Angeles threatened the day before by Al-Qaida. My first thought was about how, even though I had dutifully purchased all the elements of a disaster kit for my home, I had no such supplies at work. Or in my car, should I be asked to evacuate.

How does that poem go?

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but with a massive power outage in effect for all areas of Los Angeles

This past Sunday I went with the Cute Little Red-Headed Girlfriend to see Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharoahs at the Los Angeles County Art Museum. Although it's been billed as "King Tut Returns," it's not the same exhibit that traveled to the U.S. in the '70s.

The museum was a mad house. Throngs of people were waiting to see the show. In what I assume must have been an effort at crowd control, LACMA closed off all restroom access inside the museum and set up lines of Port-a-Potties for outside use instead. In addition, once visitors are let inside, the exhibit follows a one-way throughpath that does not allow for any wandering.

Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharoahs has definitely been staged to be a blockbuster. Before being let into the exhibit, we were shown into a screening room for a short film, narrated (of course) by Omar Shariff. The Hollywood intro was an apporopriate set-up for the first exhibit room, which had been decked out as if it were a stage set.

My first impression was that the exhibit reminded me of a high-end ride at Disneyland. I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way, since the production quality was high and the end result impressive. For better or worse, it felt like I was standing not in a museum gallery but in an ancient setting, amid crumbling stone pillars offset by dramatic lighting.

The exhibit tech kept on coming. In one darkened, tomb-like room, very large, mounted flat-panel screens showed intensely colored motion displays of Egyptian artifacts. Another wall offered a short multi-screen film on the possible explanations for King Tut's death. More focused on science than art, the film's content was similar to that of the excellent PBS series, Secrets of the Dead. I later discovered it was part of a National Geographic special.

Like most people, I imagine, I have a sense that ancient Egyptian art has one style of representation. But many of the objects chosen for displayed experimented with representation and its meaning. There were some playful patterned jars that showed efforts to recreate or simulate one type of material with another. I was also struck by how many diverse methods the artisans devised for incorporating writing or written symbols in art or on objects.

One of my favorite displays was a series of small dolls, less than a foot tall each, which were placed in the tomb when an important person died. The dolls were supposed to be afterlife maids. They were expected to run around the tomb doing day-to-day work for the deceased.

Although many of the objects on display were funerary objects, this did not fully register on me until I came to a display showing a gold casket about the size of a sub-compact automobile. Then morbidity got the best of me and all I could think about was whether a body was still inside the casket. And if not, where did it go? "Sorry, we need your casket for an art exhibit! Out you go!" I read the display cards diligently, but my question was never addressed.

At the center of the final room was a half-height table in the shape of King Tut's coffin. Over the course of minutes, the image on the surface would dissolve into a new image. One was an illustration of where the objects on display in the room were located inside the coffin when it was opened. Another was a photograph of Tut's mummy inside the coffin. And most impressively, another was actually a CT scan showing the condition of King Tut's body beneath its wrappings.

At the end of the exhibit, we exited directly into the gift shop. I immediately set out to find the schlockiest object in the store. I found it near the cash register: a tissue paper holder in the shape of King Tut's death mask, with a hole at the mouth to pull tissue paper through. Regretably, I was unable to find a picture of it in the LACMA gift store, but you might want to peek at the Egyptian Sarcophagus Backpack for children. It's actually kind of cute.

When I was a kid my parents used to take me and my sister to local Catholic school and church fairs. They were in mostly Mexican-American neighborhoods in East Los Angeles. My parents would hear about them or see them on the news, or sometimes my Dad would spot a new one on the way home from work. He'd notice the arcing lights on the rides from his car. During certain times of the year, we might go to one of these fairs every week.

Most of the fairs had some mechanical carnival rides, the kind that get put up and taken down in a week's time. We'd pay something like 2 dollars to get in, then buy script for the rides and games. We would listen to mariachis, or some sort of musical entertainment. Play a little bingo to round out the evening. Before we left, my parents would buy a week's worth of homemade enchiladas or tamales and that would become our dinner for the next week.

I mention all this because I've been writing about the Gay Pride Festival here in L.A. What I wanted to say is that when I first started attending the festival many years ago, it was kind of like a low-budget version of one of these fairs. I mentioned in a previous post how the entertainment at the festival has changed over the years. Another thing that has changed over the years is corporate sponsorship. As a result, today's Gay Pride Festival feels more like a business fair crossed with a county fair.

At the entrance to this year's festival, a Hummer was on display as part of a car giveaway. I didn't take a close look, but I imagine it was the new H3. This seemed wrong on several levels. In L.A., we go through car fads quickly, and the Hummer is so last year, so I-just-cast-my-vote-for-Ahnold. But this is what has happened with gays going mainstream: you can't even count on gay men to reliably stay on top of trends anymore.

It's not just the gay men who've succumbed to mainstream influence. There was a time when putting a gas-guzzling, military-inflected vehicle favored by the ultra-wealthy in front of a crowd of lesbians would have been an invitation to mayhem. At the very least, it would have been pushed over on it's side, possibly even defaced. Many harsh words would have been spoken. Now, it's a door prize.

Of course, I recognize that there's also a positive aspect to corporations' interest in gays. Corporations have found gays and lesbians' pockets, and no matter how much the religious right tries to threaten Disney or Ford or Microsoft, it doesn't change the fact that our money is still green. It just goes to show that one man's disordered sex deviant is another man's potential Subaru owner.

I always like to see what companies have decided to market to us, or which products or brands they think we will embrace. So I walked through all the festival booths, noting the banks and bottled water and whatnot. Then something caught my eye; it was the Tylenol PM booth. I was floored. "Now this relates to my lifestyle!" I thought. I scurried over to the booth and was greeted by "the sleepy boys," two attractive pajama-clad men. They ladled sample packets into my outstretched hands.

Blondie is one of those bands that seems to punctuate my life's timeline with their music. Certain songs and albums are a date-stamp for different eras or periods in my past. Although they're not my favorite band, I have quite a lot of sentiment tied up with Blondie and the band's lead singer, Deborah Harry.

When I was in high school, Blondie's first album (still my favorite) was the main soundtrack to the first teen party I attended where illicit drinks were served. My friends and I would always demand that the song "Rip Her to Shreds" be played at regular intervals.

I think of that era as "pre-gay." Many of my male high school friends would later become gay adults, but in high school we shuffled along in romantic indeterminacy. My male friends worshipped Bowie and Abba; I was enthralled by Baudelaire's Les fleurs du mal. We paired up in intense but platonic mindmelds based on our shared sensibilities.

At a certain point in my teenage years I became more entwined with L.A.'s rock culture. Those were my punk years. I met Deborah Harry then, at a party for a local radio personality. We stood next to each other at a meager refreshment table, sharing Triscuits from a box. It was one of my first experiences of the dream-like ennui that results from hanging out with celebrities.

Another dating memory comes from the debut of Eat to the Beat. Blondie released the album along with an unusual cable TV special consisting of videos that went with each song. At the time, cable TV was a luxury so finding a place to watch the Blondie videos was a challenge for me and my teenage friends. We watched and found the whole "music video" concept a bit arty and avant-garde.

Parallel Lines was unforgettable because it spun off a mainstream hit, "Heart of Glass." The song rose steadily higher on the charts, eventually reaching the point of painful ubiquity that only the biggest, fattest megahits can achieve. Songs like "You Light Up My Life" or "I Will Always Love You." They soon become unbearable to listen to.

How strange and gratifying then, that so many years later, while seeing Deborah Harry perform at the L.A. Pride festival, I felt an almost transcendent joy when I heard the opening beats of "Heart of Glass" boom over the outdoor speakers. It was by far my favorite song out of a short but fantastic set that included "Rapture" and "In the Flesh."

I really wasn't expecting such an amazing performance. But the songs, the attitude and the choreography were just right for the occasion. Debbie came out in a costume similar to the black short shorts and halter worn by Liza Minelli in Cabaret. Behind her, dancers in similar Cabaret-inspired outfits provided performance accompaniment.

During the opening song, one of the male dancers twirled twin fire batons while Debbie sang. Throughout the set, the dancers unfurled a giant rainbow flag behind Debbie. Sometimes, they would tuck the flag in the back of Debbie's shorts and she would stomp around the stage with the flag fanning behind her, like some demented psychedelic peacock. It was very punk and very gay. The whole thing drove the audience wild.

The second blonde alluded to in my title was introduced to the crowd as a special surprise guest just before Deborah Harry came on. I was standing near the stage, close to a metal barrier at the time. Suddenly, a fast-moving gang of faux-Secret Security types went rushing by me, dressed in black suits and shouting into walkie talkies. Peering into the middle of these self-important bouncers, I realized who was less than 5 feet in front of me. It was Paris Fucking Hilton.

A wave of horror mixed with fascination seemed to sweep over the crowd as people recognized her. I imagine this is the standard reaction to seeing Paris Hilton. We were told by the emcee that Paris Hilton would be introducing Deborah Harry and were reminded that she was this year's Parade Grand Marshall (along with her mother, Mrs. Hilton). Around me, people began to ask, "Why is she the Grand Marshall?" It was a question I overheard strangers repeat throughout the weekend.

Paris Hilton took the stage wearing a fringed sheaf dress in the gay rainbow colors and began gushing to the crowd about how much she loved gay people. I suppose it's a good thing that there are pro-gay millionaire heiresses out there. Perhaps gay people should encourage it; perhaps the world would be a better place if only there were more pro-gay millionaire heiresses. Maybe it's even a tipping point of sorts: if only enough millionaire heiresses were for us, the whole country would then rush to embrace gay civil rights. Still, I find it hard not to interpret the stark fact of Paris Hilton acting as Parade Grand Marshall as a slap in the face.

Last night, I went to go see Lucy Lawless at the Gay Pride festival in Los Angeles. Before Lucy came on, I also caught Ce Ce Peniston and Deborah Harry performing onstage.

The night made me think back to the first time I attended the Gay Pride festival in L.A., more than 20 years ago. (Did I just write that?) It was a very different time then, and the gay scene was much more underground. There were no celebrities onstage back then, that's for sure. In fact, if I remember correctly, the highlight of the performance schedule on Saturday night was a drag group called "The Mandrew Sisters," who sang covers of golden oldies by the Andrew Sisters.

So it was really exciting for me to see acts like Peniston, Deborah Harry and Lucy Lawless performing at Gay Pride. I wrote last year about how excited I was by Lucy's appearance at the Gay Pride Run. I wasn't expecting her to come back this year to sing, but I was certainly happy she did. Especially as I didn't see much else in the way of lesbian-centric entertainment this year.

Lucy was wearing a costume that included a long, luxurious golden blond wig. I actually think the audience was a bit unsure it was Lucy at first. But since I've seen Lucy in different wigs and costumes at the various Xena conventions it didn't throw me off one bit. In her costume and wig, I felt I could see a certain physical resemblance between Lucy and The Ultimate Sex Goddess of All Time, Ann-Margaret. Lucy sang a single disco song--I wish it had been a longer set, but it was still great to see her.

I was sort of hoping that someone from the L Word might make an appearance at Gay Pride but that wasn't the case. However, it makes me appreciate Lucy's willingness to perform for a lesbian crowd all the more. It's still an act of bravery for a celebrity to appear at Gay Pride, and I'm grateful to Lucy for having the guts to do it.