By Rebecca Bulnes
By Laurie Charles
By Chuck Strouse
By Lee Zimmerman
By Laurie Charles
By Falyn Freyman
By Hans Morgenstern
Head over to Wednesday night at the Rose Bar in the Delano to see if her petals are unfurling. Party men Maxwell Blandford and Ernesto "the fabulous" Arambatzis are entertaining their distinguished guests: Rudolf Pieper, Erica Freshman, Rolly Aspuru, George Slover, Alicia Rodriquez, et al. Blandford, marketing and music director for Level, can barely contain his excitement over Level's upcoming production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
"We're getting calls from all these parents who think it's a children's story," Blandford pauses for effect, "but I think they are going to be in for a surprise when they see this inch."
To say the least.
Elinor J. Pinczes's Inchworm and a Half and John Cameron Mitchell's musical about a botched sex-change surgery don't have much in common except for -- well -- nothing. But hey, the looks on the soccer moms' faces should be priceless. Maybe our flower can be found there in their shocked and petrified gazes.
On this night we have the dancing throngs of beach locals, models, and big-spending Herbs to comfort us as we quietly seek that special moment. The energy here is festive, but somehow still yielding and unhurried. The tribulations of nightlife and misgivings about the existence of la reina de la noche slowly begin to sink in, causing all hope to wilt. And with rumps-a-shaking to Missy Elliott's "Work It" (yes, she does say "Ra ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta" as a lyric), Clubbed soon realizes that even in the most typical of gatherings, there is warmth, affability, and fun to be found. In short, every night offers its own flower in the desert. But that doesn't mean that we have to be happy about it. Being a cynic is so much more fun.