As I walked the red carpet at the Limelight movie premiere">Tribeca Film Festival for the Limelight movie premiere, I was swarmed by a half a dozen TV film crews and twice as many photographers and reporters. Someone asked me what it all meant, and I replied with a Winston Churchill paraphrase: Winston once said that history is written by the victors, and maybe this was an attempt by some parties to claim victory. There is little doubt, especially upon seeing the film, that the story of the Peter Gatien era in NYC ended badly, with the government behaving badly—to say the least. However, to rewrite the history and have no blame fall on the parties involved is a disservice.

Half of the fun of seeing a new movie is discussing it with friends after it's over, comparing different perspectives on the plot and picking apart the decisions of the directors late into the evening. To that end, long-time sponsor Stolichnaya is celebrating the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival with a slate of film-inspired cocktails created to encourage post-screening conversation at appropriately dramatic nightspots throughout the city. Drinks with names like Stoli Blue Sintini, Stoli Razpiroska, and Stoli Gala Temptress are available throughout the duration of the festival (which runs through May 1) at ten sleek New York bars, including Ward III, The Mulberry Project, Millesime, Libation, Ulysses', Underbar, and Fraunces Tavern.

I’ve been busy as a B-list promoter these days. It's Good Friday and I see no reason not to make it great. Tonight I should be cloned, as two "must attend" events are happening at the exact time. I will attend the Limelight film premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival. I was interviewed about a year and change ago for the flick, and I hope I am portrayed correctly. I was assured that I am, but I have been divorced a couple of times, and my reliance on assurances have diminished.

For anyone who's never had the opportunity to be on either side of the velvet rope at a red carpet, lucky you. Doing the red carpet—whether you're conducting the interview or answering the question— has a tendency to be at once boring and unnerving. Basically, you don't want to be asking folks the same questions the person next to you will ask. As the star, you are forced to listen to yourself answering the same question repeatedly to interviewers who are all perched side-by-side like open-mouthed baby birds. Here's a video of our girl Juliette Lewis and our boy Alexander Skarsgård as they dole out some classic stock answers while repping their animated movie—the dark, dystopian Metropia at the Tribeca Film Festival. Enjoy! (Or don't.)

Although there are several films I’m looking forward to seeing at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, nothing’s got me in a lather quite so much as the Serge Gainsbourg biopic, Gainsbourg: Je t’aime…Moi Non Plus. I’m a Gainsbourg fan, obviously, and have long been of the opinion that his life story fairly screams out for cinematic treatment. His childhood in Nazi-occupied Paris, his various amours (with, among others, Brigitte Bardot and Jane Birkin) and his non pareil recording career are the stuff of legend, but I’m especially partial to some of the reckless, boozy shenanigans he pulled late in his career. When he and Whitney Houston were guests on Michel Drucker’s Saturday evening talk show in 1986, he actually exclaimed to the host “I want to fuck her!” Candid, no?

What better way to enliven a film festival visibly trodden by a slow economy than to dress it up in a little Gucci? The folks at our favorite Italian couturier evidently know how to do a lot more than frock out a fete in lightweight tropical wool -- this is the second year the Gucci Tribeca Documentary Fund has partnered with a selection of avant-garde filmmakers to assist them in proliferating their art.

"So... did you get a pen in the gift bag?" we ask, wondering if we missed out on serious swag at Sunday night's Montblanc-sponsored after-party for Julian Schnabel's latest documentary, Berlin. "No, but the girl at the door checked my name off her list with one." Relief.

Much to my family's chagrin, I've always been sort of obsessed with incest. I read JT Leroy's The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things with great excitement! What an exciting coming-of-age odyssey! I watched Spanking the Monkey and The House of Yes, reveling in family ties bound too tightly. I even flipped through the Dollanganger melodramas churned out by V.C. Andrews, surreptitiously of course, because twincest was of a different breed altogether. When, in university, I was forced to decide on a topic for my undergraduate thesis, my choice was obvious. Over the course of many months, I examined the ways in which incest was used in popular culture to explore notions of sameness and difference. Sylvia Plath and Jacques Lacan held it all together. It was also interesting that mom-on-son action and its variants often came about as reactions to a fear of difference in the outside world: homosexuality, miscegenation. Aspirations of academia aside, people were really creeped out. Still, I persevered with my research—until Julianne Moore came along and ruined everything.

Once upon a time, in the mid-'90s, chicks with dicks, leather-clad fairy princesses, and never-been-kissed Drew Barrymore headed over to Manhattan's Don Hill's for its weekly SqueezeBox! party. It was a haven for outsiders who defied the stereotypes associated with sexuality. For better or worse, feather boas and Celine Dion covers were replaced by drag queen rockers. Everyone and everything was welcome. Debbie Harry (pictured left, with Roger Harry) performed there. It was there that John Cameron Mitchell gave birth to Hedwig's angry inch. Then, during Rudy Giuliani's determined effort to sanitize the city, the big, bad mayor blew this house of sin down. Now, seven years after its final bow, directors Zach Shaffer and Steve Saporito return to the debauched underground with their new documentary, SqueezeBox!, which premiered on Friday at the Tribeca Film Festival.