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GAY SAN DIEGO December 17-30, 2010


ADVICE FROM THE


With FREDDIE MERCURY (As channeled through Gay San Diego’s guest medium, Dawna Nolan)


Dear Freddie,


Help! Although I ditched my pocket protector and started wearing contacts a long time ago, the guys I meet still seem to see me as just another mild- mannered accountant, a dweeb. And though I may get off poring over spreadsheets more than tussling in someone’s bed sheets, I know I’m so much more than milquetoast. I have a ferret and also collect teapots and postage stamps! And I’m a fiend for Ka- raoke! (You should hear me wail on “Bicycle Race.”) However, whenever I’m in a social setting, I feel kind of shy. Even when I do summon the courage to approach a likely lo- thario, it seems to fizzle instead of sizzle. How do I get the cur- rent object my


of


HUMOR


My Dear Forlorn, Though I may’ve been an


extrovert while performing, I was an entirely different man on the inside (hard to believe, but true). In fact, shyness is one of the reasons I almost never granted interviews. It was also because they were boring, and because the British music press used to suggest we didn’t write our own songs, inquire about my being “bent” and other bollocks!—but I digress. So I understand your dilemma quite well. But, darling, you simply must rise up, you simply must! I decided, shy or not, I wasn’t just going to be a rock star; I was go- ing to be a legend! You too, need to be a legend (at least in your own mind) to bust a move with this muscle-bound biotech boy. It’s all about charisma. I once re- corded some songs with another shy guy who knew a thing or two about charisma—none other than Michael Jackson (I know what you’re thinking, but even Brooke Shields got more action out of him than I did).


So, those bloody awful, soul- ob- session—


a hunky biochemist who I’d like to be the object of mutual affection— to notice me so we can get to that “Crazy Little Thing Called Love? —Forlorn, but Funky,


Former Four-eyes


destroying media blokes can say whatever they like about being “all hype” or simply “contrived,” but none of it bothers me anymore. Because, darling, from my seat here in The Beyond, it warms me no end to see that Queen has spent more collective weeks on the UK charts than any artist, even the Fab Four. (I’ve become quite chummy with John up here, but as to those rumors about a gay affair with Brian Epstein, let’s just say I’m not one to grope and tell!) At any rate, I learned about this charisma biz early-on, when


a photographer snapped a photo of me as a baby, displaying it in his shop window where it was awarded first prize in a baby contest. Can you say “goo goo?” (Speaking of which, please smack that smutty Stefani Germanotta for aping “Radio Ga Ga” as part of her stage name.) I formed my first band, The Hectics, when I was 12, though we were only al- lowed to perform for school func- tions. Perhaps they were worried we’d cause a sensation, or sensed my budding penchant for leather


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stage attire. But darling, we were talking about you creating a sen- sation, weren’t we? When you walk into the party leather bar or bathhouse enter knowing they’re lucky to have you; walk in knowing that you’re a ferret-owning, teapot loving origi- nal, which my dear, of course you are! Here’s a little secret from your friend Freddie: It’s what you think that determines what they think. I always knew I was a star, and now the rest of the world seems to agree with me. And you might ask, as I have, if this is the real life or if it’s just fantasy, but darling, there’s no escape from reality. So I say make the reality splendid, and surround yourself with splendid things, including would-be lovers. Years ago, I came up with the band name “Queen.” It’s just a name, but one that evokes an image of splendid regality. Ealing Art College gave me a diploma in graphic art and design though, so designing the crest wasn’t very challenging. Darling Forlorn, you’ve got to think about how you can present yourself too! Back on Earth I used to dress to kill, but tastefully. Clothes may not make the man, but trust me, life is all one big fashion show. You may have gotten rid of the pocket protector, but have you gotten rid of the shirt pockets and starting stuffing the back pocket of your jeans with the appropriate color hanky? Give it a try; it doesn’t hurt to be a little flashy. Not very many have all I


had—a four octave range was considered “beyond” for a rock singer, even when I wasn’t, tech- nically, in The Beyond. But still, you can sing with style.When it’s your turn at the Karaoke ma- chine, wow them with your own rhapsody, let them know that you will rock them! And mix it up. I hate doing the same thing again and again—that’s why I consid- ered myself a musical prostitute. Darling, I’m not suggesting you whore your dweebie bottom, but give it a good shake!


And for Christ’s-sake, don’t disclose that stamp collection immediately (e-hem), make them work for it! Be the champion of your world, and before you know it, you’ll be the Golden Boy Killer Queen you were born to be.♚


Love, Freddie


www.gay-sd.com


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