Peer Pressure Can Be Such A Drag

Since the good Pres. has made sure there's nothing on TV to watch, I have time to recap Easter Afternoon.

Ah, Sunday at the 'Moon. Even more enjoyable with the company of good friends. Of course, at the Magic Witching Hour — otherwise known as "that time at which the drag shows start next door at P." The general consesnsus was that we should go. Even Dan decided it was what he wanted. I, of course, being the not-a-fan-of-drag, hesitated.

I could have stayed fiercely independent and remained. I did drive, after all, so I had something of the upper hand with at least one member of the party. But staying behind wasn't much of an option, as a simple conversation with a stranger-with-six-degrees-of-separation had gone quickly from innocent to indecent proposal (one which reminded me of the not-safe-for-work lyrics of an old Monty Python song). So, off to face the music.

Our visit reaffirmed every reason I don't do drag shows. Witness:

• People giving money the drag queen for nothing more than the abiliity to put on makeup, a dress, and sashay down the runway. Lip synching is not career-worthy, in my book.
• It made me feel old, but the music was incredibly loud. Louder than when the room is a dance floor. The treble was so high (and the draggette kept shrieking) I found myself stepping behind the angle of the speakers.
• And the peak of it all: the second performer started out in long robish dress, and then surprised us by giving twice the show Miss Jackson did at the Super Bowl. At what point does surgery make it no longer "female impersonation" and nearly "female?"

Now, there were other items that I was supposed to remember to blog. This is all that stuck. Overall, I enjoyed the evening. But I think i officially have my requisite Dose of Drag to last another couple of years.

Side note: One final drink did make the whole drag show palatable. Of course, it also meant Dan drove me home in my own car, but it was a fair tradeoff.