The Shelley Novak Awards

Love, marriage, planning a life together..... All of those are pressing items on the agenda, but it's time to get down the the really important things again. Yes, it is once again time for The Shelley Novak Awards, the academy awards of Miami drag society. The date is February 27 at Crobar.

It would be an understatement to say that the anticipation for this night is causing anxiety here. Remarks are made, ("She looked so tired in that old dress."), dirt dug up ("You know, she did serve time."), and accusations flung ("I know she stole it!) in the jockeying for votes and attention. Social powerhouses like Edison Farrow use their vast resources to coordinate the voting and stir up the pot.

It's not a good time to be known as a judge or other deciding factor in this claw-your-eyes-out competition, but The Unsinkable Shelley Novak did ask me to be a presenter. My immediate reply was, "Will any other presenter being wearing gold lame' that evening?" Shelley answered, "No presenter can afford gold lame'." I squealed like a pig.

I am now rehearsing in front of a mirror. I walk up the imaginary stairs of the stage (the audience is hushed, waiting for me to step on the hem of my gown and fall). I glide with unbridled grace and dignity across that stage, waving to some unknown club person in the front row (I can't see them anyway without my glasses). I shake the hand of the announcer and brush him back to take over the podium whipping out a fashionable pair of diamond-studded reading glasses (my hands have been steadied by a shot of Van Gogh expresso vodka). I gently clear my throat.

"And the nominees are..."