Convoluted connections, #568 in a series...
Still basking in the afterglow of the faboo time we had being the "alternative element" at Gay Pride on Saturday - we were the ones NOT covered in rainbows, the ones NOT on the march, yet the ones getting more than their fair share of attention nonetheless - on returning to the office this morning with particularly foul resentment flooding through my veins, I was cheered up somewhat when I came across a new interview with John Waters [courtesy of the ever-fabulous Feuilleton, bien sûr], in which he reminisced about Divine:
"People thought Divine - they always think wrong - was trans. Divine never dressed as a woman except when he was working. He had no desire to be a woman. He was fat. It was too hot to wear all that shit. He couldn’t wait to get that wig off. The tits were so hot. He hated it. He didn’t want to pass as a woman; he wanted to pass as a monster. He was thought up to scare hippies. And that’s what he wanted to do. He wanted to be Godzilla. Well, he wanted to be Elizabeth Taylor and Godzilla put together."Amen to that!
To close the circle quite nicely - I have had a certain song [that might well have been a tribute to the erstwhile Harris Glenn Milstead] going through my head as an earworm over the past few days.
It also happens to be a choon that brings back happy memories of a much, much earlier Gay Pride event in London: 1999, in fact - the year I started a Mexican Wave upstairs on a double-decker bus from Finsbury Park to Camden by singing this to a (ahem) larger lady as she was teetering up the stairs in heels to try and get a seat...
I see you baby
Shakin' that ass
Shakin' that ass
Shakin' that ass
Ah, memories.
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