9 PM at a secret location (see hint to the right then stop thinking about McFadden’s or Finnegan’s or Patrick’s or Fatty McGee’s because it’s not any of those.) It’s the first Guerilla Gay Bar Providence event. I can’t promise that it will be fun, but I can promise delicious, delicious bar food.

UPDATE: It’s not Murphy’s, either.  Unrelatedly, who knew that the orange stars in Lucky Charms used to be marshmallow Stars of David?

I’m not sure why this has been bugging me for the last twelve hours, but it really has, to the point where I may have even had a dream about it last night:

Yesterday I worked late and skipped dinner, but then decided to head out to the Black Rep for some SoundSessioning.  Because the only things to eat in my house are oatmeal and old spinach and uncooked rice, I decided to grab a slice of pizza at a certain place downtown whose name rhymes with Fizza Tween.

The girl working there seemed like she was crazy, or on drugs, and interrupted my order twice to yell at someone else working there for not helping.  Fine.  Whatever.  Feeding the drunks downtown is probably a really irritating job, although one would think that it would be less stressful at 10:30 when the place only had two customers.

So then after I order she gives me the pizza and I sit down, whereupon she starts yelling at the other guy, saying things like “stupid” and “fucking” and “fucking stupid” and “I want a cigarette.”  The line (of one) goes down and she’s about to go outside when the phone rings.  She picks it up and makes really dramatic faces while somebody orders a pizza.  She repeats questions like the person on the other end is stupid.

Then, after the guy’s done ordering and she says it’ll be forty-five minutes, she hangs the phone up all dramatically and then screams–literally screams–”FUCKING FAGGOT! FUCKING FAGGOT!”

Then she goes outside to have her cigarette and then has a conversation on her cell phone loud enough that I (and probably half of downtown) can hear.

But seriously–what would you do in a situation like that?  Sheepishly eat your pizza and then move on?  Say something?  Try to find someone else to say something to?  I can’t decide.  One of the things I like about living in Providence is that I’m not particularly exposed to homophobia ever, and I know people deal with way worse stuff than this every day.   But this was so sudden and strange that I felt like I needed to blog about it in a semi-public forum.

For some ungodly reason I woke up at four this morning, which means that I had hours and hours to dwell on the fact that one of the biggest festivals in the city this year is trying to pass off Tiffany as an exciting musical option. And, being the way I am, I started thinking about other gay-ish bands that I’d actually like to see performing downtown today. Like, for instance, bands who may have actually been culturally relevant in this no-longer-new millennium. Here’s eleven suggestions for a homo music festival that people might actually enjoy. To the Youtube-mobile!

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As this blog’s resident expert on 80’s teen-pop and homosexuals, I have to say that I’m doubly shocked and appalled–or at least disappointed and confused–that the headliner of this year’s Pride festival is Tiffany.

Tiffany, a girl who had three, maybe four hits twenty years ago, two of which were covers of songs that were hits for other, better people twenty years before that.  I mean, don’t get me wrong; I thought she was awesome when I was six, but that doesn’t mean I particularly want to hear her now that I’m twenty-seven.  And I say that as someone that still kinda likes The Party.

But, you know, I figured I’d give her a chance.  Last night I listened to her old singles.  All of them, even the ones I didn’t remember, like Radio Romance and the inspirational ballad from the Jetsons movie.  And I can now say with some degree of confidence that I Think We’re Alone Now is kinda lame; I Saw Him Standing There is basically unlistenable.  Could’ve Been is drecky, and All This Time, which is the one I remembered the best, is both drecky and whiny, despite probably being the best of her big hits.

I didn’t think Tiffany’s voice was particularly terrible (although both my boyfriend and my roommate disagreed with me on that point), but the production is amazingly bad.  Seriously, seriously bad.  And I’ve spent the last two days wondering what roomful of adults in Providence (and Atlanta!) came to the decision that this is someone that makes music that grown people should be listening to in 2008.  (Especially since she spent the nineties being born again…)

I have to acknowledge that I did actually like one song, though.  Danny, her first single, which the record company didn’t even bother to make a video for.  I didn’t remember it at all, but it’s got a good chorus, indecipherable though the words may be.  And while yes, it would’ve been better had Roxette done it, it’s probably the only bright spot on a terrible, terrible teen-pop career that probably should have never happened in the first place.

So, I don’t know what your plans are for July 27th, but chances are you’re not heading to the TC Banknorth Garden to see George Michael, because tickets, which run in the $45-$150 range (plus service fees!) don’t seem to be selling out with any great speed, despite the fact that it’s his first US tour in about twenty years.

Of course, it probably doesn’t help that interviews about the tour go something like this:

 Critical of his own work, Michael believes his U.K. tour was “too much of a party to represent what I’ve done.”

That means hits Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go) and I Want Your Sex are out. “I’m too old,” he says. “But they’ll get Careless Whisper, which I don’t particularly enjoy singing.”

But, I don’t know.  I kinda want to go.  I mean, I never pay more than $25 to go to shows, but even if it’s all “Fastlove” and terrible facial hair and unfortunate sunglasses and dancy singles from 2004, how can you not expect an awesome performance from the man that brought you this song and this song and my favorite song ever to do at karaoke and this song and even this song and my other favorite song ever to do at karaoke and  not so much this song but definitely the video.

(Photo courtesy this website, one of many circa-’97 websites I just spent 45 minutes perusing.)

Well, folks, it’s Pride Month, which means it’s time for all sorts of events and happenings around the city. Unfortunately, the events are actually pretty few and far-between if you’re not a raging alcoholic. Which, apparently, isn’t a problem with the homosexuals in this town.

Highlights from this week, ripped from the Pride calendar’s magical inclusion in this month’s Get Magazine, after the jump:

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Director Todd Haynes has made some awesome movies over the years, from the Karen Carpenter Barbie doll Superstar to glammy Velvet Goldmine to the cold and creepy Safe, which is probably the best one of all. He’s also made some dreadfully crappy movies, like the insanely tedious Poison, as well as some so-so movies, like the overrated Far From Heaven.

I don’t particularly like Bob Dylan and haven’t seen I’m Not There yet, so I’m not sure where it falls on the goodness spectrum, but tomorrow night at the RISD auditorium there’s a screening of it and then he’ll be discussing it afterwards.

It’s the kickoff to Brown’s Pride Month, an event-filled time featuring a bunch of cool-sounding lectures and films and such just about every day. There’s something for everyone, whether you’re into feminist pornography, could use an anonymous HIV test, want to experience something called Rainbow Day, or just want to know how to have a gender-free tantric orgasm without taking your clothes off. Check out their calendar for more details.

There used to be Options. It was small, it was sorta tedious, and it was mostly press releases about the Community. And by Community I mean the Gays.

But Providence has a really big Community, and it needed more than Options. Over the years, a few gay rags have come and gone, and now there’s get. It’s free, the cover photography is always mystifying, and the editors seem to have trouble filling up all of its pages for each issue.

They don’t number issues for some reason, but I think get’s been around for about two years now. It’s relatively glossy and it comes out on time every month, which means it stands out more than, say, the weekly gay newspaper Divine Providence. And it’s read by 15,000 people, according to the cover of the new issue.

Too bad it exists mainly to cater to the whims of its advertisers.

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