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    Dear Muffy,                                                                                    November 12, 2002

    Do you ever have trouble with bouncers at bars? I mean for someone as young as you I'm sure you get carded every time. Do you shock the hell out of them and show them this beautiful person infront of them has a "M" on their drivers license or do you act all worried searching through you purse and claim to have lost it? Does this ever cause a scene??

    Carded and confused.

As long as one has a valid driver's license, one never needs to worry. And despite my vivacious and youthful appearance I'm happy to say that I am old enough to drive a car, vote, drink alcohol, and have sex with whichever creature I choose within the homo sapiens over-18 genus. Wow, freedom! So I have never, ever had a problem with a bouncer...though they still occasionally ask for my ID so they can spend more time basking in my presence.

If one doesn't have a valid driver's license, you can always fall back on every woman's "get into the bar free" passport: tits. Though depending on the bouncer, showing some leg may be more effective, and if the bouncer's boss is standing right there to make sure that the bouncer doesn't shirk his duties, I would suggest you skip the middleman and show your tits to the boss instead. Voila! No scene! If the bouncer is not interested in any of this and continues to insist that you show them some "valid ID," then you can fall back on verbal abuse and nonsense like "they let me and my tits in last week."

    Dear Muffy                                                                                    November 11, 2002

    I am inexplicably addicted to Bollywood films and headdresses made from peacock feathers. The real problem, however, is that all my friends can travel alone anywhere whenever they want but I can't because my parents treat me as if I am a baby. They have to be with me wherever I go. I tried to talk to them but they can't understand me because they only converse in a rare form of 18th century Swedish. Please help me!

    Akhmed

    P.S. Have you reached to state of God-hood yet? I will help your other followers build a temple dedicated to your wisdom and keen fashion sense.

What a coincidence, I am addicted to Bollywood films and peacock-headdresses as well! But since these addictions do not prevent me from forming relationships, being happy, or making money, I don't believe I have a problem that needs addressing. You, on the other hand...

Parents. You can't live with them, and without them you wouldn't exist. I'm trying to discern your ethnic background so I can understand any socio-cultural context between you and your folks, but the 18th century Swedish reference combined with your middle-eastern name makes me think that you probably got picked on a lot in school, what with your pickled-herring samosas and your lingonberry lassi during lunch hour. But I digress.

None of us who aren't parents can possibly relate to the fear and anxiety of seeing your mongrel, Bollywood-obsessed and possibly insane son striving for independence and leaving the nest. While the Swedes don't have much of a record for coddling their children, the 33-year-old Pakistani man who still lives in his parent's basement and sometimes sucks his thumb is an enduring cliché. Far be it from me to speculate on the reasons for this, but if my parents had me under their thumbs the way that yours do...well, let me just say there'd be two dead parents in the freezer and one Muffy heading straight to Mexico. Throw an inexplicable language barrier into the mix and you have a recipe for complete disaster.

Since you can't speak with mom & pop, try explaining your issues in pantomime. Show them the physical signs of your current age (armpit hair, wrinkles, receding hairline or Depends Adult Undergarments, as the case may be), and then communicate your frustration by screaming and slapping your forehead. Finish this performance by packing a suitcase and running out the front door. If they don't immediately understand what you're getting at , they might figure it out when you never come home again.

If you can't bring yourself to do this...well, try learning their rare form of 18th century Swedish. You might feel that this particular Swedish dialect has no practical application, but I'd like to point out that regular modern-day Swedish is useless as well, unless you'd like to understand the studio-chatter on your ABBA bootlegs ("Benny, is the milk particularly sour this morning?" "Oh yes, Agnetha, it is delicious!" "Mmmmm! Det är underbrå! Tack så mycket, Benny!") So, if you're really bent on actually COMMUNICATING with your folks (instead of just hurting them or alienating them, like the rest of us do), then you may need to bite the bullet and learn to talk to them.

PS: As much as I'd enjoy the temple you're willing to build, I would appreciate a monetary donation instead as I have very practical needs which must be met within this lifetime.

I recently went to a wedding. Namely my brother-in-law's. Hence all of my brother-in-laws were there. I personally feel they are all assholes - except the BIL getting married - that should have been removed from the gene pool in a Darwinian positive fashion. Does this mean that I have to find something in common with them or is it best to continue on believing they are a bunch of assholes?

Squishy Monkey

Oh, I feel your pain. My sister was dating a hockey player when I was in high school (see the November 5th question about hat tricks to understand why this was so galling). The guy had hockey hair, was in love with Samantha Fox, said "ain't" and "huh?" all the time, and was a big all-around joke, intellectually. Though, to his credit, his head was more-or-less symmetrical.

When she decided to marry this lug we were aghast. There were vague suggestions about picketing the wedding. My dad brought his knife. My mother spent more time than usual cleaning the kitchen, a method of dealing with anxiety that I wish I'd inherited. But guess what? That hockey-haired lout is now the only reasonable and sane person in my entire family. Sure, he still says "ain't" now and then, but he's a great guy during family dinners, he can repair your sink in a jiffy, and now that he's cut his mullet off I can actually stand to make eye contact with him.

Unfortunately you're in the unenviable situation of having a whole PACK of disreputable brothers-in-law to deal with, all gathered together in one spot, all no doubt farting and bragging about their cars and squeezing the butt of the poor woman serving the drinks at the reception. For the sake of the bride and groom, I hope you did your best to smile and make small-talk and even pull any fingers that you were asked to pull, all in the name of making that special day "special" (as opposed to the "special day" that one of my cousins had at his wedding, where the reception turned into an enormous fist fight and knocking-over-of-tables, thanks to everybody on that side of the family being alcoholic).

But does this mean you shouldn't think your brother-in-laws are assholes? No-siree! In fact, I would go so far as to say you have ever right to call them assholes to their faces. You have a right to do this in most social settings as well. I would only urge you to show restraint if the social setting is somebody's "special day," or if the asshole in question moves very quickly and punches very hard. (In that case, try calling him an asshole when you're in your car and just about to drive away, or when standing next to a police officer).

Keep in mind, however, that some meat-heads can become gentlemen through years of positive reinforcement. The operant conditioning methods mentioned in the October 29th question about cats will also work on errant brother-in-laws. I would suggest electrical shock for starters.

    Dear Miss St Bernard                                                                    October 28, 2002

    Sometimes I go to the restroom, and I run into individuals that I know and they start a conversation with me while I am going about my business. For not being rude, I respond them while I am in the restroom booth but feeling uncomfortable since I don't think it is appropriate. I would like to know if this is rude, and should I say something about it?

    Ticked While Tinkling

Can I share, just for a moment? The most horrifying thing that ever happened to me in a bathroom was when a co-worker of mine -- who I barely know and rarely speak to -- cornered me near the sinks and confessed, without any prompting or provocation, that he had a chronic, painful rash on his arms and neck, and then proceeded to roll up his sleeves and hold his arms under my nose to prove that he did, indeed, have a REALLY gross, scabby, oozing and probably infectious skin condition. All in the secluded privacy of our office bathroom.

Well, this sort of thing can strain the workplace, that's for sure. I don't know about other cultures, but here in the west, people -- I'm talking mostly about men here -- tend to view the bathroom as a private, euphemistic-laden place where we "go about our business" and "powder our noses." If we can't even talk openly about what we're doing in there -- ie, "taking a shit" -- how can we deal with somebody getting all chummy with us while we're doing it? So yes, I agree that it's rude for someone to chat with you in the bathroom, unless you're both just standing at the paper-towel dispenser and washing your hands: a cleansing, transitory ritual much akin to standing in an airlock just before leaving the mother ship.

Some people don't understand this, though. Maybe their fear of appearing rude by ignoring you overpowers their fear of "interfering with your business," which leads them to unwelcome bathroom monologues. Maybe they were raised by wolves. Or, more likely, they might just be clueless knobs who have no concept or concern for social norms...the sort of people who try to "pick up chicks" at a funeral, for instance, or talk about their vaginal discharge during lunch. I say that if they're that clueless they need a good sucker-punch in the bathroom to teach them a lesson. Just make sure you don't leave any marks. Go for the belly.

I consulted an expert on Bathroom Etiquette -- a man I'll refer to only as "Squishy Monkey" to protect his identity -- and his advice was to tell any unwelcome chatters that you're busy and you'll get back to them later. I suppose this would best be said in an extremely efficient and business-like tone, to communicate that you're taking what you're doing very seriously and must not be disturbed. Or, you might try moaning pathetically in the stall and saying "oh God...please...make it stop..." which certainly sends me running out of the bathroom, let me tell you. If you come right out and say you don't feel comfortable having a conversation in the bathroom, the person just might call you a prude, at which point you might try the punch-in-the-belly thing ("Plan B.")

I should point out that it's almost a cliché that women operate differently in bathrooms than men do. If you're in a woman's bathroom and not prepared to share baby pictures and tie each-other's frilly bows then you will be the strange one. And vaginal discharge is certainly a viable subject in there.

    Dear Muffy                                                                                    October 15, 2002

    I've spent the last six months periodically murdering prostitutes in picturesque Uptown Waterloo. Last Friday, I discovered my latest victim was in fact an undercover police officer. Needless to say, I feel awful about it. Would it be rude for me to attend the funeral, and show our support for our boys and girls in blue? Or would it be better to stay away?

    Hit and Miss

Your question strikes right at the heart of something I deal with every day: feelings of remorse and regret! We all do things that we wish we hadn't done, but in today's "time-is-linear-and-never-goes-backwards" sort of world, is it possible -- or even desireable -- to attone?

Whenever I have an even remotely spiritual question I contact Shri Ilsa Von Cattenstein, founder and chief advisor to The People Who Have No Connection To India But Still Try To Pretend Society. Ilsa has written a lot of best-selling self-help books inside her head and is more than willing to share her insight with (deeply) troubled folk like you and I. Coincidentally, I spoke with her last week about exactly this sort of "I made a little boo-boo that killed at least one totally innocent person" issue, and Ilsa had this to say: "Keep dancing and have fun!" Though she said it in a thick, fake German accent..."chust" and "haff" instead of "just" and "have."

Ilsa makes a valid point. You can't turn back the sands of time in the hourglass, not least because hourglasses don't have hands or anything else that you can turn back. Even in a situation where metaphors aren't mixed, you still can't go back and undo what you have done. Going to the funeral won't help you or the family, and you might just end up getting caught by the police, who learned from Agatha Christie that criminals often attend the funerals of those they kill, if not out of grief then just to chuckle. The best thing you can do is make sure you learn from this mistake, and perhaps make a list of the differences between police officers and prostitutes in Uptown Waterloo, the first point on the list being that most police officers here have a full set of teeth.

So, Miss Hit and Miss, stay away from the funeral and sharpen your killin' skills instead. Be a student of life and look to tomorrow.

    Dear Muffy                                                                                October 12, 2002

    At a dinner party last weekend, I was admonished for sampling a bit of ecstasy. Yet the couple hosting the party were taking hits from a lovely cut-glass bong! Were they in the right?

    Just Saying No to Faux Pas

You're missing the point, darling. Just as cat people shouldn't hang around with dog people and crowds of wrestling fans are rarely seen at poetry readings, it should be obvious to you that a dinner party where pot-heads and E-freaks mix is a dinner party in jeopardy. Your average low-key, sloppy-brained, slightly paranoid hemp addict does NOT want to watch you chatter incessantly with your mouth full and grind your teeth while you eat, and you don't want to hug somebody who's drooling, politically active, and doesn't bathe very often. Dinner parties are supposed to be fun, not gross.

So, in this case, the very fact that the hosts brought "Mary Jane" to their soiree should have been a tip-off that "Adam" wasn't invited. If you find yourself in a similarly uncertain situation in the future I recommend you bring along some PCP or ketamine...drugs that turn people into pleasant, socially upstanding guests who only rarely flip out and think the family dog is "spying" on them.

Yikes, that's a hard one. In the hurly-burly world of drag where everybody wants to be the best and most refuse to take second place to anybody, to make a statement about who is "the best" is sort of like saying "I like her, and everybody else is Kmart." Nobody wants to be excluded. Nobody wants to be Kmart. Expressing a "best queen" opinion pretty much results in alienating or insulting everybody you didn't choose.

Part of the problem with making a decision like this is that there is more than one kind of queen, with more than one kind of performance. Some are more skilled at dancing than others, and some are more creative, and some are great at vocal delivery, crowd interaction, glamour, kookiness, comedy, drama, costuming, props, or what-have-you. I would never venture a guess as to who is the best overall...I could only do a sort of "top 5," which I won't do because I don't want a shoe in the eye next time I'm backstage. It would be much easier to single out queens who are "the worst," because they tend to be bad at everything. But I digress. Let me just say that picking the "best queen" is sort of like picking the "best musician," without regard to what sort of instrument they play or how they play it. Bach queen or Sex Pistols queen? Spice Girls queen or Laurie Anderson queen? Like apples and oranges (though their both fruits).

I haven't performed in many places, I'm still very much a local queen. I've never even seen a show in Toronto. When I'm at a show I'm too busy stressing about my own performance...I don't feel like sitting and watching anybody else's. So "the best Canadian drag queen that I've seen" I need to decline naming because I haven't seen enough to make a really good decision, different queens have different strengths, and I don't like making enemies for silly reasons.

As for who I've enjoyed working with, I need to pick a person I've only worked with twice but was a delight both times: Beverly Buffet, from Hamilton. The woman gives out candy in the dressing room, for goodness sake. She seems selfless, cheerful and relaxed. Maybe I've just caught her on good nights but I wish her many more killer B-52 numbers in the future, and if you see her at a show tell her Muffy thinks she's fab.

Now that is a hard one to answer! I've been thinking about this one all weekend and it's still a stumper. I even checked with Ann Landers and she refused to help me out, claimed she didn't know what "tucking" meant, and recommended I get my "crazy brain looked at by a professional." So, short of telling you to get your crazy brain looked at by a professional, I guess I'm all alone on this one.

Instead of detailing all the physical, emotional, physical, spiritual, mental, and physical preparations necessary to be like me, I've distilled general drag-queen-ness down to 5 essential issues. Conquer these, and you'll be just as faboo as my sisters and I!

1) Invent a personality. I'm not saying you need to completely chuck your old one, but now's the ideal time to come up with something new. Keep your eye on the benefits of gimmikry and how you can work your new character into outfits. Dominatrix? Aloof and dramatic? Superhero? Cutie-pie? Pick a good one and you might just have an edge on those other girls (yup, you can even pick ones like "sloppy" or "stupid" or "demented," though they may not make you the most popular queen in town). This also includes picking an appropriate name. Plays on words involving "Miss" are ever-popular, but chances are you'll travel to another town to perform and find out somebody there is already using that one, and people will make fun of you behind your back.

2) Invent a body. Once again, we're not throwing your old body out the window here, but if you're crossing the gender fence you need to make a few concessions. Shaving your facial hair is a good idea. Most opt for wigs. Make a pair of boobs out of pantyhose legs and uncooked rice (this might not be the only method, and it does have it's drawbacks, but boy is it cheap). Go to the plastic surgeon and say "new pelvis, and pronto!" But keep in mind that if you get too far into body modification you run the risk of being something other than a drag-queen, so think twice before you get those feathers permanently inserted into your backside.

3) Pick an icon. This isn't 100% necessary, but it's common enough that there must be some reason for it. You get extra points if your icon is dead, and if her career and personal life was going down in flames as she gamely struggled to keep a drug-induced smile on her face. Here's a quick test of icon-hood that you might want to take...Since this is a very subjective realm of drag I'm not going to answer them for you, but it will give you a feel for the selection criteria (here's a hint: don't confuse "potential icons" with "women who drag queens impersonate.")

4) Learn some songs. If we're assuming here that drag queens are people who perform in clubs, then it's essential you pick some songs to lip-sync to. Songs that are emotional, theatrical and upbeat are good, as are songs that people know and love (but haven't heard to death). You're going to want enough numbers that you can surprise the crowd occasionally, and don't rely only on just your old standards...go out there and find something new! And keep in mind that in the territorial, dog-eat-goddess world of performance, queens can get very protective of their numbers. Do somebody else's Liza and you just might find a dead rat on your makeup table.

5) Do what drag queens do. Every drag queen is different, of course, but there seem to be some common themes. Learn to bicker. Get involved with charities and fundraisers and politics. Buy one of those big wheeled suitcases so that, when you get angry, you can stomp off in a huff with the thing clattering behind you. Be at the front-lines whenever something important or interesting is going on, even if that means getting hit in the head with a brick or struck with an unflattering camera angle. Become extremely concerned with your appearance, especially when you're really, really drunk. Try to set an example for others. Become excruciatingly aware of your own flaws, and even more aware of the flaws in those around you. Recognize that not everybody will love the fact that you're a drag queen. Get high hair. Spend a lot of money on a revolving door of outfits and accessories. Network, network, network. Bathe. Improve.

These are, of course, only one Muffy's opinions and are full of rabid generalizations. What makes a drag queen a drag queen, really? The only thing that unites us is that we wear curious clothes in front of an audience that (hopefully) enjoys us and tips us. Oh yeah, and most of us DO tuck.

The Supreme Court of Canada will soon review the so-called spanking law that for more than a century has allowed teachers, parents and other caregivers to use physical force to discipline children. What are your views on spanking in social settings?

I think most conscious vertebrates believe there are certain things you should and should not do with children. For instance, you should never humiliate children in front of their peers, rub their noses in their vomit if they get sick on the carpet, or drop them in a vat of bubbling acid if they refuse to repent for breaking a window during a game of "throw your sister off the roof." But since these are all extreme examples, and many sociopaths and non-vertebrates might disagree with me, these guidelines don't do doodly when it comes to legal definitions.

As a child I was occasionally threatened with "the wooden spoon," which was held aloft in a most threatening manner, and I have vivid memories of running up and down the stairs to get away from it, but I was never actually spanked with it...and look at me now! Quite frankly the fear of public censure and the guilt complex that my parents instilled in me while I was still in my crib was enough to keep the wooden spoon away from me, a sort of boogeyman that I never actually had to meet.

Since you're asking about social settings, I think that if a child is going to be spanked -- I mean, if a parent has absolutely, positively decided that a child will be spanked, and that no law is going to stand in their way -- this spanking should never be done at a soiree, unless the child being spanked is old enough to eat at the table and is the child of one of the guests. Otherwise, you should hold your finger under the child's nose and say something like "you're really gonna get it when we go home" or "you're gonna wish you were never born" or -- if the child is particularly young -- "the clown under your bed is gonna eat you when you go to sleep tonight." Note that the word "gonna" is necessary in all situations -- conveying, as it does, a certain whimsical propensity to spontaneous violence -- and, on a related note, if you are saying "I'm going to get you" to a child, you should pronounce it "ah'm gonn-a git ya!" Children are always more frightened when you assume a lawless Texas accent when speaking to them..

The only thing that makes me sicker than watching a child misbehave is watching a parent whacking the hell out of a misbehaving child. Actually, what might make me sickest of all is watching a child rip clothes off of hangers and throttling pigeons in a department store while the mother walks behind saying things like "Spencer, you're making mommy angry. Spencer, mommy is getting very very angry," and then looking askance at another person in the store and smiling slightly as though to say "kids...what can you do with them?"

Well, to be honest, I don't know what to do with them either...there is surely a broad, thick line between "abuse" and "punishment," but combined with subjective "this kid is driving me batty" emotions and subjective witness descriptions, not to mention the subjective emotions of the child itself, "the law" has a hell of a time deciding which side of the line "spanking" is on. So in the interest of keeping children safe from abuse I'd need to say -- reluctantly -- that I support the review of the "spanking law." I like to think that any child brought up with a modicum of respect will not require physical punishment, either publicly or in the coal cellar. But I have a feeling that if I were saddled with a spoiled, angry, manipulative child while trying to shop for lingerie and pimple cream...well, let's just say: this is why I don't have children.

Have you ever been in Love? If so, do you believe in being able to love someone else after your first loving experience has completely derailed and crashed into a pile of burning cinders? What are you views on love?

Annie Drogyny

How did you know that this is one of my favourite topics? Love. Have I ever been in love? What are my views on it? Can new love rise from old wrecks? In short...where do I start my lecture on love, darlin'?

First off, love is a disease, one that most of us are bound to catch sooner or later. Since the incidence of love infection is so high I can only hope to teach new victims how to deal with it, to make the torture bearable and the recovery even faster. Think of me as a "post-love physical therapist," one who specializes in getting people back on their feet again as soon as possible (if they really want to recover, that is).

Have I ever been in love? I think so, yes, if alternating feelings of euphoria and total psychic blackness relating to another person can be characterized as "love." I've had urges to buy socket wrenches and catnip and cherished nick-nack's for other people's nick-nack shelves. I've shoved my ego's massive butt aside to let other people sit on my park bench, for a short period of time. So I can say with confidence that I've had a few strains of the love affliction in my time, but I've managed to fight them off with lots of rest and chicken soup and the gradual realization that I'm not the sort of beast who takes well to being in love. Me in love is sort of like a fish in the wrong element... in fact, more like a fish dumped into a jar of sulfuric acid mixed with vodka.

So you're wondering if a person can "love again" after being near-fatally wounded by the train-wreck that is love? I think this is entirely possible and that -- honestly -- each failed experience is a chance to go back and learn from (not dwell on) mistakes and issues that got in the way before. Examine the next train carefully to make sure it doesn't suffer the fatal design flaws that caused the last one to burst into flames. Try out the seats to make sure they're comfortable and you can sit in them for a long period of time. Take it on a few short trips around the countryside, and invite friends over to give you their opinions. Then -- masochist that you are -- you can entertain thoughts about getting in for the long haul and really BEING in love.

But the thing is, so many of us desperately WANT to be in love. We don't care if it's the RIGHT love, we just WANT it. And this -- other than "lies," which is a whole other subject -- leads to more train wrecks and shuttle-craft explosions than anything else. I'd recommend you sit back and ponder why you WANT love. (Some sick fools go even further and desire not the actual love, but the flaming carnage that happens when love dies. If you're one of those people, well...then you're the kind of person that fun and malicious gossip is made from.)

In short: yes, a person can love again, a person can always love again. But should they, particularly with that not-so-very-bright-but-hunky-guy over in the corner who you just met and felt a sudden twinge for? You take your well-being into your own hands whenever you make that decision, and my advice has always been: get a cat instead.

I have a terrible problem with my cat. Normally she is so well behaved but when I have my Rabbi friends over she refuses to wear her Yarmulke! Then, just to add insult to injury she'll encourage the parrot to murmur anti-semetic slander and once she convinced the tropical fish to switch the unleavened bread with peameal bacon! It is very embarrasing for me and the synagogue is actually talking about debarring me! I know you are good with animals and hopefully you can share some of your training methodologies! Oi!

Rabbi Nolenstein

Oy vey, such problems! I start kvetching when my cat will drink only out of the bathtub faucet, and here you are with a mutiny on your hands! Well, you've asked the right person, and I think we can tackle these issues in a humane and timely fashion.

First, we need to figure out whether your cat has political / ideological / religious issues with Jewry, or if she's just engaging in undesirable learned behaviours. One important question is: is your cat actually Jewish? If so, I don't feel you should be making her wear a Yarmulke. It just doesn't make sense. Far be it from me to argue with a rabbi, of course, but forcing her into a religious choice, not to mention wearing something that squashes down her ears, may be the source of her resentment. Have you made it clear to her that she has other options? Most cats I know are Pentecostal, which explains why they yodel in the night.

If your cat is harboring deep anti-Semitic feelings you might try engaging her in a discussion about these issues. Being a rabbi, I'm sure you've dealt with these sorts of things in the past and can handle them in a sensitive manner. If things get too heated between the two of you I would not, under any circumstances, recommend partition of your household...it's so 1940's. Where would the fish and the parrot want to be, in terms of the newly-defined territories? How would everyone maintain access to places of worship and the litterbox?

I have to say, however, that I doubt your cat is actually anti-Semitic, because the average cat's brain is about the size of a walnut. Instead, I feel that she has simply learned these behaviours over time and that you can "extinguish" them through operant conditioning. Next time she refuses to wear the Yarmulke, place it firmly on her head, and then give her a tasty treat to eat. When you see her being a bad influence on the parrot or the fish, spray her with a squirt gun... cats hate that! Most importantly, ignore her when she acts up, and reward her when she behaves well, and over time she'll be the perfect kitty you've always dreamed of. You might also consider not keeping your unleavened bread in the fishbowl as this is only asking for trouble.

Explain to your synagogue that you are working on these problems and I'm sure they will give you time to implement a solution.

It never hurts to ask! But there's a reason why it's called a blowjob, hon: it's work. I understand that in certain Communist societies people need to suck cock three times a week in order to justify their state-mandated Friday-afternoon treat of Borscht, but I'm not living in a society like that. I live a capitalistic existence where the incentive for doing a job is not for the selfless good of "the whole" but rather the paycheck necessary to get me another pair of expensively uncomfortable shoes.

So, as my cat would say: "what's in it for me?" And if you reply "the joy of putting my stale and slightly funny penis in your mouth," I'm going to recommend you find some discarded diapers in a landfill somewhere and masturbate into them, which is pretty much the only way you'll get free stimulation outside of your own home (and which some people actually prefer to genuine oral sex, I hear, because there is no commitment involved and it reminds them of their childhood).

So as far as i can tell, your hair is all natural, and cut in a rather feminine style. What do you do with it when you're not performing?

Awww yikes, this is a bit of a tragic story, and it goes back to my childhood. For the first few decades of my life I didn't give a damn what my hair looked like, as my parents made me wear hippy-clothes, and what sort of hairstyle matches hippy-clothes? Cornrows? A 'fro? At that point I opted for the sort of hair that you saw on many arcade-dwelling pre-teens in the early 80's: feathered (yes, it's true!) and tapered at the neck, sort of like a turkey without a head or legs. It looks funny in pictures but back then I was the KING of Donkey Kong with that hair.

Then, in highschool, I decided I wanted a mohawk. I had obviously seen one-too-many Skinny Puppy videos. This was one of my more disastrous decisions and -- after a drunken session with the clippers at a friend's house -- I wound up with a sort of crooked, lop-sided flap of hair that would stand on end when I got nervous. At that time I decided: I would never cut my hair again, not being the sort of person who takes chances (and sometimes running away with my tail between my legs when things go wrong). A stupid reason to have long hair, perhaps, but better than my abortive mohawk.

This lasted until the late 90's when I had butt-length hair that I thought was a real asset to drag...you can still see a few shots of this hair in the old "Photojourney" pictures. Other folks could do fabulous things with it but I simply didn't have the upper-body strength or the know-how to style it myself. Sometime in 2002 my heaven-sent hairdresser -- Dann Haner -- finally achieved what all hairdressers seem bent on achieving: forcing you to cut your hair much shorter than you ever wanted to. He got me good and drunk and, holding the hand of Vanilla (there for moral support and to make sure Dann didn't do anything sneaky), my three feet of hair was chopped off in favour of a "reverse gradiated bob."

We discussed this a lot, and my primary worry was the one that you voiced: what the heck was I supposed to do with it while not in drag? But we decided that since I already tend to walk around with pointy painted fingernails and gobs of old eyelash glue on my face, and since young children ALREADY yell "hey lady" at me on the street, I might as well go all the way.

The first week with "the bob" was horrible. Everybody looked at me askance, the way dogs look at things they don't quite understand. People on the street no longer yelled "hey lady" at me, they just made wide circles to avoid getting in my way. "The bob" was my Mark Of Cain. I was stigmatized. But part of the problem was that I was so insecure about my hair that I'd slink around everywhere and was constantly fussing at it, the way that crazy people do on street corners when they're getting ready to push you in front of a car. And most of the people who were staring at me were just shocked that I'd cut off so much hair overnight.

Now, I'm comfortable with it. It looks a bit funny but that's okay. During the day I just let it do what it wants to do and if somebody stares, why should I care? It's not SO far out, even though it's gotten shorter and shorter over the past few months. Some people glare at me, but I think they always did. I don't know what Dann has in store for 2004 but even he is worried about what I consider to be hair nirvana, and my eventual descent into total public ostracism:

My my, this is a difficult one! How to answer this one without being all boring and semantic? I'll try not to write an essay but please excuse me if I ramble on a bit.

First off, what is a "drag queen?" Everybody probably has a different opinion, but mine would be simply: a man who does some sort of performance while trying to appear feminine. The operative term, I believe, is "performance." If you're a man who gets up and sings, or lip-syncs, or acts, or masturbates with a pumpkin, or dances in front of an audience, and you do it in a dress, then I would classify you as a "drag queen." This gets a little confusing for me because I considered myself to be a drag queen long before I started performing...but if you want to split hairs, just getting done up in a gorgeous way and taking the bus or hanging around a club can be a performance of some sort.

Beyond that, it's generally accepted that drag queens are flashy and somewhat larger than life...often cartoony. Much has been made of the continuum between "clown drag" and "glamour drag," but what separates a glamorous drag queen from a pretty boy in a dress is that the drag queen performs in front of an audience, or has performance ambitions.

The more difficult term to nail down is "boy in a dress." Is a boy in a dress a transsexual, or going out for Hallowe'en, or involved in the fetish scene? Or is he just looking for attention? There are as many different types of "boys in dresses" as there are "drag queens," I'm sure (possibly more), so without specific examples it's hard to really nail down what makes them different.

But for the sake of convenience and not being wishy-washy, I'd simply say: drag queens want to perform and be noticed, whereas a boy in a dress doesn't necessarily. You might say that drag queens are a subset of boys in dresses, the ones who probably have a larger audience than the rest (or at least wish to).

    Dear Muffy,                                                                                October 11, 2002

    Well, it's that time of year where the winter wardrobes start coming out. With your many years of style and etiquette advice, I thought you could give me some historical background on what is proper attire for what times of year, along with what current fashion dictates for this year. Are feathers truly out this season?

    Ruffled

Dear Ruffled,

I'm glad you asked this question! As the demented mirrorball which is Canadian weather turns gently from "blistering heat" to "hell freezes over," now is the perfect time to address the issue which vexes fashion-conscious primates each and every year: what should I wear, and will I survive if I wear it?

I took a trip to the zoo to find out if feathers are 'out,' and I can honestly say that this whole feather debate is pointless horsepucky. Feathers are still definitely in. All the birds are wearing them, even the ones in the park. I can't say I'm surprised because anybody who's ever worn feathers knows that they're cozy, warm, and more-or-less waterproof, and that birds don't have much else to wear if they decide to nix the feathers for a while. Also, birds have been wearing them each and every year since they first evolved from veloceraptors, needing to rely on a heat-trapping 'body-wrap' to keep them warm instead of the blood of precocious children.

So the "feathers for winter?" question is moot: if you want to be warm, you'll wear your feathers. Feathers = fashion survival. If you're particularly smart -- even smarter than the birds, which is a stretch for most fashion victims -- you'll opt for feather boots as well, though fur and scales are also "in."

To really get to the heart of your question I snuck into the locker rooms at various sporting events, and to my surprise found that feathers are NOT common accessories, but raw, buffed and hairy bodies ARE. I also saw a lot of athletic supporters, some of which were truly gargantuan and NOT filled with feathers. It's also 'in fashion' to tie a towel around your hips and then wait for somebody else to pull it off and 'snap' you with it, and then to scream and run to the shower in a sort of depressingly girly way.

All of this got me thinking about rough, drag-em-by-the-hair cavemen and other reptiles, which ties in perfectly with the historical aspect of your question. What are the precedents of the seasonal fashion conundrum? I coughed up money to go to the Royal Ontario Museum where dinosaurs are more-or-less skinless for fall, having also shed their muscle and internal organs this millennium in a move I think is risqué and tasteless...but it just might catch on! Viewing the museum's priceless collection of Chinese art and sculpture revealed a love of gold, red, and Fu-Manchu moustaches AT ANY TIME OF THE YEAR. But feathers, you're wondering? In a place like China where they actually eat sparrows stuffed with exquisite spices, gunpowder and "lucky monkey tail" and then burp and say "it is good," feathers were more of a delicacy than an accessory. But then, look at how long the Chinese have survived. They must be doing something right! So, feathers don't always equal fashion survival, I suppose.

While trying to smuggle an enormous and expensive-beyond-my-wildest-dreams Ming-era vase through the emergency exit, hoping to pay my debts on a gorgous lion-taming outfit I bought this week (no lie!), I had the opportunity to quiz an armed guard about his idea of proper fall attire. His response was interrupted by my knee connecting with his face and my screaming "rape! rape!" as concerned people kicked his prone and crumpled body, allowing me to escape with pilfered historical artifacts and a Nefertiti snow globe from the gift shop. Most of the people in the mob were wearing T-shirts featuring Toronto landmarks, grey slacks, and beaded Iroquois necklaces from the Adult Crafts workshop. Many of them also had scale-model "child" accessories, which come in many sizes and can be dressed in matching Toronto landmark T-shirts, some of whom were themselves clutching small dolls also wearing T-shirts, which leads to a "Ukranian doll" meta-fashion concept that gives me a headache, coupled with the way the accessories screamed and drooled like something from a Bosch painting (on display at the Art Gallery of Ontario, which I couldn't afford to visit).

    In short, Ruffled, you're sort of on your own when you open up your closet this season. Unless you want to look like a dork you'll choose only clothes that make you look good, and you'll shun anything that makes you look bad. Keep historical context, weather, and species in mind when you're choosing your wardrobe. And don't forget: you can never have enough hats, scarves and gloves.

    Always glad to be of service,

    Muffy.

Have you ever heard of a pee shiver? Do you have any freakin' idea what that is?

Biologically Uneducated

I know exactly what a pee shiver feels like, though I don't believe I've had one in years. For the uninitiated, some folks will occasionally feel an almost orgasmic "shiver" run through their body while urinating. In my experience it's quick, runs from your belly to the tips of your fingers, and feels like a really fast spread of goosebumps. It feels like somebody running bunny-fast fingers up your body, albeit an invisible person with no fear of being peed on.

As for what causes it, though, I have no clue. I can't even steal somebody else's explanation because -- wonder of wonders -- nobody on the internet seems to have tackled this one! I can't find any information about it! In a time when we can put folks on the moon and smash atoms together, we're still ignorant about the miracle of the pee shiver. Even stranger is that very few people seem curious about the issue at all, as opposed to life's other great unsolved mysteries (like "how do cats purr?"). If I were a more paranoid, stupid, or deranged person I might think there was some sort of conspiracy involved. If we knew how the pee shiver worked, we might contrive a way to achieve it all the time (using kegel-esque workout exercises) and then we'd be in the bathroom 24/7. I know I would be.

My guess as to the cause? Something to do with the prostate gland, and the equivalent gland that women have in that curious and surreal labyrinth that they call their sex organs (apparently pee shivers happen less often in women than in men). When the pee is the right temperature or the right pressure, and the nerves are feeling frisky -- zoom! Like a tuning fork touched to a vibrating piano, like Louis Armstrong's trumpet echoing across the Mississippi from a tranquil riverboat, a beautiful melody emerges. Zing! go the strings of your spine. An orgasm without the work or mess, unless you fall over while you're still peeing, which probably happens.

This sounds plausible to me, and until somebody comes along to research this phenomenon I'm afraid it will have to do.

Why is scoring three goals called a "hat trick" in hockey? Does the hat have feathers? Is it stylish?

Very little about hockey appeals to me. It's cold, loud, echoey, and it goes on for far too long. People fight, and other people stand up and encourage the people to fight. The people who fight can barely be classified as people in my book, they're more like puck-dented golems and behemoths. The only good thing about hockey is that it keeps hockey fans off the street for the evening, and it gives the puck-damaged golems something to do besides terrorize villages and fill up strip joints.

Having made my stance on the sport perfectly clear, I can now tackle your question. I work with somebody who watches hockey -- let me call him "Papa," just to creep you out -- and his answer was "they call it a hat trick out of respect." This didn't make much sense to me and I knew you'd lynch me if I gave you such a lame answer. So, I turned to the obvious font of hockey wisdom -- the "Pensacola Ice Pilots" website -- and discovered that hockey pucks are made from vulcanized rubber, goalies protect an area of 24 square feet, and "hat tricks" had their origin in another sport: the cricket player who took three wickets with consecutive balls was given a new hat. Hockey borrowed this convention early on, probably because the people involved with hockey aren't clever enough to make up their own traditions. (Oh yeah, they do throw squid, I stand corrected)

Regarding the hat itself, I seriously doubt whether anybody actually gets a hat anymore...but if they do I'm sure it isn't stylish. Most hockey players have such permanently lopsided, asymmetrical heads that they can only wear toques or special-ed helmets. And have you ever seen a toque with feathers in it? No self-respecting bird would allow his or her feathers to be used in such a way, let me tell you! (The feathers on Oktoberfest hats have been taken from such profoundly damaged birds that they could never be used for any other purpose, except for cheap pillows).

    1. Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?

    2. Why is the word "dictionary" in the dictionary?

    3. Can fat people go skinny-dipping?

I'm glad to see that you have your lacquered fingernails on the pulse of the world! You certainly know the questions that the gal on the street is asking, and I'm happy to do all the research necessary to fulfill your curiosity.

First-off, about the glue. While some columnists might be content to just point you to http://www.madsci.org/posts/archives/1020463563.Ot.r.html and spare themselves the difficult work, I'd rather approach this from a personal point of view: if I were glue, why wouldn't I stick to the inside of the bottle? Never having taken any method acting classes (and being piss-poor at Interpretive Dancing, I might add) I find it hard to put myself in this sort of situation. I have never been glue. I don't remember ever being inside a bottle.

The closest I can come to "glue-in-a-bottle-empathy" is a traumatic memory from my Grade 7 art class, when I was stuffed inside a cupboard as part of a birthday "surprise" for our teacher. When it came time to jump out of the cupboard and yell "surprise," the class bully held the door shut and wouldn't let me out until I was crying hysterically and writhing about like an electrocuted sea-creature. The only positive thing to come out of this experience was the realization that if I were -- like glue -- tightly crammed into a small plastic bottle, I would want to get the hell out too.

Next: "Why is the word 'dictionary' in the dictionary?" Many online resources list this as one of life's unanswered questions, but I disagree. "Dictionary" is a word. And Dictionaries are, among other things, collections of words. "Dictionary" has just as much right to be in the dictionary as "cat" and "peacock." Admittedly it's a little odd that, by expanding this idea, the set "Dictionary" also contains the word "dictionary." But as long as you make a distinction between a SET and the words IN the set, you avoid things like "...a dictionary containing a dictionary containing a dictionary containing a dictionary..."

I don't know much about the theories behind recursion, but just think of the physical dictionary as a sort of meta-object which can contain only regular objects such as the word dictionary. This makes sense because it's absurd to think that you could open a dictionary and find another physical dictionary inside, right? Since this is largely a linguistic issue it has very little impact on everyday life...unless you're the sort of person who gets intense physical stimulation out of essays on Artificial Intelligence and Recursive Sets, in which case: drive yourself kooky, ICQ.

Finally: "Can fat people go skinny-dipping?" Hmmm. Why, of course they can! Sidestepping the issue of whether they should or not, let's just replace the phrase "skinny-dipping" with a synonymous phrase like "swimming in the buff," and you're free of any oxymoronic wordplay paradoxes. Fat people can certainly swim in the buff, and I suspect they do, quite frequently, and this may be related to why we have tides.

* These are the first of several questions submitted by ICQ, all of them with a sort of "bar trivia" bent that is refreshing in it's paradoxical, non-offensive simplicity. As I answer more questions from the ICQ in the coming weeks I hope that she will become a cult-figure sidekick, eventually prompting a "what do YOU think the ICQ looks like?" colouring contest. So get your crayons ready, kids!