Thursday, December 07, 2006
Amuse-Biatch Courageously Faces the Possibility That Marcel Vigneron Does Not “Feel the Beat from the Tambourine”
Possums, take a look at that photograph and tell us, as gently as you can, is it possible? Might we, for once, be…wrong? Does our gaydar deceive us? Is Marcel not a Dancing Queen?
We admit that, occasionally, very occasionally, our gaydar is thrown off—fooled, confused—by Canadians or Mormons, much as flocks of geese show up as false positives on radar. And, well, when we encounter a Canadian Mormon, we simply can’t be held responsible.
But with Marcel we really didn’t have any doubts. Though he mispronounced many things, he never said “aboot” for “about,” and we never saw him sporting the Mormon holy knickers. So we thought we were safe.
And really, is it any wonder we referred to him as Madame de Pompadour? Dear God, there was the hair, the whole Liberace vibe, the painful attempt to use French words to sound more sophisticated, the use of three adjectives when one would suffice (ahem), the whole battery of dramatic gestures borrowed from the pre-Johnny Stompanato Lana Turner. Definitely a first mate on the Good Ship Lollipop.
And then, on this week’s episode, after he won the Quickfire Challenge and thus immunity, we saw him doing this, this, this, jig. And we were racked with horror and doubt.
Would a gay man really do a dance channeling both Walter Huston in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre and Missy Elliott in her blimpier days, a dance that's more hoedown than “down, ho!”? Would a real gay man demonstrate on national television the sort of celebratory dance an Ewok might perform at the Lucasberry harvest festival, or whatever it is that twee, twittering furry creatures do in the forests of Endor?
But Miss XaXa, ever the sensible one, offers a ray of hope: “Oh, come on! What straight man would do interpretive dance on the beach, the way he did with Elia? It was so Sprockets, so 70s shampoo commercial. I know I call him Marcel the Monkey, but really, darling, I just think he wants his monkey touched.”
We assured Miss XaXa that there would be no monkey-touching of any kind. That’s not really our sort of petting zoo. Still, she had planted an idea in our heads:
Might he just be in the larval stage?