Monday, December 31, 2007

Rock a Bye Baby, it's 2008

A mother is showing off her newborn baby. I'm not sure if it's a boy or a girl; the thing is so small, bundled up in its portable cradle. The baby is asleep, slightly smiling, eyes flickering beneath the lids. Dreaming.

What kind of experience could an infant child possibly have to dream about?

I want to get in there and find out. If we could only get in there to study and discover what that baby is dreaming about we may remember truth, the time before human programming.

If this baby could wake up and speak, I imagine he'd describe his dreams as a peaceful blend of buddhist nirvana and the supernatural; something totally devoid of division.

This is out of character because I don't even like babies, but looking at this one I want to trade places. To be there where he lives. In that place connected and whole.

The dream of primordial consciousness. It's my preposterous wish for a new year.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Anita Clue

After the gay pride march, my friend Mike likes to go to the Pier Dance in full drag. It started the year she showed up to our military gay pride march as "Anita Private"...following the march, his friends refused to let him change out of drag--and took him to the Pier Dance.

Now it's tradition. This year, as "Anita Seatbelt" (Lady Di), Anita wowed em again at the Pier Dance. (Anita was good enough to remove the steering wheel that hung from her neck during the parade).

Here she is with Bam, Me and Paul. At one point, Paul was asked by a potential hook up..."Is she your boyfriend?"

No. But as the only drag queen at the muscle mary Pier Dance, Anita gets away with it all. She flirts, pinches, and spanks. And drinks far too much beer.

Late in the night, Anita pulled out some green wire LCD lights from her purse. (What for? Nobody knows) After several beers they ended on her head, with the cockeyed crown and fallen wig. I took this picture, which we've determined will be the front cover of her tell-all memoirs.

Anita Private's autobiography is tentatively titled "They're not laughing with me"

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Montauk --the end?

Bam and I headed to Montauk for a getaway. New Yorkers affectionately refer to Montauk as "The End"'s the last thing on Long Island. It's deserted in winter, a fishing village with a pharmacy, two pancake houses, three liquor stores. Montauk has also a famous lighthouse, which we went running to find.

There's nothing more frustrating than a run of indeterminate distance. After a few miles, Bam and I jog into a lot with a "viewpoint" figuring we could see how far to the lighthouse. No luck.

I do spy a trail through the winter woods and decide to follow it. Maybe it's a short cut!

Half an hour later, we are lost in the winter woods. The sticker bushes and branches all look the same so we don't know which direction we came from, or which direction we're supposed to go; I only have a vague sense the ocean is all around us, because it has to be.

But the stickers won't let us go very far.

Bam is resolutely silent and I'm laughing even though I know the sun is going down and this is quickly turning into Blair Witch. We're crawling on hands and knees because the underbrush is so thick. Trying to find a path, but the brambles swallow us up in their prickly embrace.

At last we hear a car. The road! We follow the sound and escape. Two large vehicles are parked, at a posted sign we're crawling out beside. It says "Hunting Season through Dec. 31."

It's hunting season. Ok. So you've got rifle-toting Long Island Elmer Fudds in those woods? Where were we just on all fours? That could've ended worse. That could've been nearly as top-to-the-bottom of the food-chain fabulous as the tiger mauling in San Francisco last week.

We finished the run to the lighthouse along the highway. A new year remains on target.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

The Drowsy Chaperone

I finally saw the musical The Drowsy Chaperone on Broadway.

Starring Bob Saget. After his grating, hackneyed "comedy" in shows like Full House and America's Funniest Home Videos I didn't want to see him. But it closes Sunday so I really didn't have a choice.

He wasn't bad. Saget's "Man in the Chair" is a lonely older queen. Feeling "blue" in his empty apartment, he puts on the record of one of his favorite 1920's musicals. The musical bursts to life right there with him.

The production is not very sophisticated. The jokes are written broad enough to appeal to any tourist, but it laughs at itself and at its heart is the answer to the question: what's the point of these silly musicals?

The man in the chair narrates the musical and he admits it's schmaltzy; he knows it's corny and dated and flawed. But when he listens to it, he feels better.

Perhaps this touching sentiment is best expressed in the lyrics:

The best that we can do is hope a bluebird will sing his we stumble along...

As we stumble along, it would be kind if the bluebird also gave out gin and tonics.

A Fabulous Fire Hazard

I had a christmas tree in New York for the very first time this year. Bam Bam set it up, and we threw a party. Everyone who came had to bring or make an ornament. The tree is garish and gaudy and totally fantastic.

Crazy Dan contributed this gorgeous blue glittering elk.

"I saw it and thought of you," he said. "I elk wearing a feather boa?"

Soon after the party, the tree became dry and brittle. Was it out of water? I looked and discovered it never had water. Bam Bam didn't know you were supposed to give it water.

"Would you put cut flowers in a vase without water?" I ask him.

"I'm Australian," he says, aloof. "We don't have christmas trees." Maybe due to drought?

As you may recall, Bam Bam thinks water is a mysterious elixir.

I'm gonna let it slide. The tree hasn't caught fire quite yet. And the elk in a boa looks fabulous.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

A Wonderful Life

Merry Christmas! Merry everything!

I took Bam and a few friends to see "It's a Wonderful Life" where it's playing at IFC Cinemas on the BIG SCREEN. I see new things each time I watch this classic. I also get more maudlin with each viewing. But it's got a great message I don't mind seeing every year.

Life doesn't go as we plan it, but it's a wonderful life! Each of our seemingly unimportant lives have huge, often unseen, impacts on so many other lives. At the end of the film, George Bailey's guardian angel leaves a note inside a copy of Tom Sawyer. It reads:

"No man is a failure who has friends."

Ain't that the truth.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

The smelly story of Ann

At Bloomingdales fragrance counter a small woman, short-cropped grey hair, barrels through the crowd of holiday shoppers. She's on a mission.

Two women are blocking her from the coveted counter. "Get the fuck outta my way!" she spits, and they step aside to witness the show: Two grubby hands reach up to a tray filled with Chanel perfume testers. This woman knows what she wants, toppling over a couple bottles (clink, clink!) as she aggressively plucks it from the tray: The scent of JOY.

She then turns around and drowns herself in the stuff. She thinks she's being surreptitious, but honey, the woman is pumping out that tester like her life depended on it. Pump quick pump quick pump quick; her body, hands, clothes are covered. She feverishly sprays a puddle into her hands, rubs it through her short-cropped hair, and back down for more.

Danger: lack of Joy may induce symptoms of withdrawal

I watch her empty the tester, stunned. Mainly, I wish she'd just stuff it in her pocket and walk out. At least then the place wouldn't reek of pungent Joy. Ick.

"You've got enough of that on." I say. She keeps on. Furiously, madly, angrily, she pumps the bottle. Every last spritz she's able to steal is a major boon because she knows: I might stop her.

"Do you have any more?" she asks without looking up. She's distracting me, getting in a few more pumps. "It's Christmas," I say. "Leave some for others."

"I want more, do you have any more?" She says, crazy-like, and pumps pumps pumps again. She's dripping wet with Joy. Doused. Where's a match when I need one?

Through a choking mist of fragrance, I step in with authority. She puts it back on the counter and runs out. The tester is empty. Mission accomplished! The bottle is sweaty wet from all the action.

The manager returns from lunch, waving his hand before his nose. "What happened in here?" He asks, and before we can answer he notices the empty tester."Did Ann drop by?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Small older woman? Short-cropped grey hair?" I nod yes. "That's Ann."

Why is it that insane people always have unassuming little names like Ann?

Apparently, Ann regularly drops by to bathe in Joy. "She got away with it this time," he says.

Usually, he stops her before she reaches the counter. "How do you stop her?" I wonder.

"I hide the Joy," says the manager.

From the looks of Ann, he's not the first.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Jesse's X-Mas Wish List

The holidays are here and I'm staying put. It's just me and a few christmas orphans left in the city. Oh yeah, and all those maddening tourists. It's a holly jolly time of year here, and if you aren't quite done shopping, here are a few pleas, er, ideas:

Today is the last full day to order You Can Run from Amazon and still get it in your stocking by Christmas Eve. YOU CAN get my amazon numbers back up!

For under the tree, I now present:

Jesseonthebrink's CHRISTMAS LIST 2007. Maybe you can help out?

1) on the real and actual brink:
Donate generously to the Ali Forney Center. Named after a gay teen who lived and died on the streets of New York City, the Ali Forney Center is dedicated to helping GLBT homeless youth who face violence on the streets, and in regular homeless shelters. This center provides housing, and assistance in putting their lives back together. I'm going to be volunteering for this worthwhile organization in 2008.

2) on the selfish brink:
I desperately need a ticket to Sydney, Australia from mid-february to early-march 2008. My film is playing at their Mardi Gras festival! It's Bam Bam's mother's 80th birthday! Got any spare miles? Or, you could always donate airfare to the sparkle...

3) on the brink of a dream:
I'm looking for work as a writer. Ideally, writing stuff that I can also act in. Scriptwriter for a television series? A gay gross out comedy? Hollywood needs writers and I'm not in any union. Strike? What strike? Contract me as your SCAB. As far as four-letter-words go, I've been called worse.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

How pathetic am I?

I get National Geographic and read it on the train, at home, waiting in line. I love it, but it seems I'm never done reading one issue before the next arrives.

This month there's a story on new bizarre dinosaurs, a love story to the magnificent Albatross, and tales of modern day cowboys. I finally finish these stories and think maybe I can throw it away, but then there's a story about...permafrost.

I'm not even into permafrost, but I feel guilty if I don't read it. So there I am, learning about permafrost. Will it stay permanently? I have to know.

It's like living in matter how much you do, you're still missing out on something. You can't keep up. I'm overwhelmed. So I decided not to renew my subscription. For the lamest reason ever:

National Geographic is too informative.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Gift Ideas

If you need a last minute gift idea, how about stuffing a stocking with these vintage Wonder Sauna Hot Pants?

"Slenderize exactly where you want!"

"Officially approved by the AAU-USA!"

After the Wonder Sauna Hot Pants shoot, these models reported straight to psychotherapy.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Tales from a Blackout

I'm at the Urge lounge; it's after 3 and it's way past my bedtime--but hey, it's Tuesday: the best night of the week. Plus my friends are here. We've got Bam Bam, Anita Private, Paul, another Paul, and Harrison.

Oh, and a big beefy latin go-go squatting down on the bar in front of us.

The full pouch of his g-string is the size and shape of a jumbo size can of Aqua Net. Bam Bam and Harrison are putting dollars in it, and want to see if it's real. He whips out the dick, and sure enough it is real. But Bam Bam is not impressed.

"It's a Walmart cock," he says. "Not a Gucci cock."

Bam Bam is free-associating because he's drunk. He loudly explains that a Walmart cock is all about bulk, whereas a Gucci cock is about expert craftmanship.

What-evah. The go-go doesn't really care what he has to say. He's still getting dollars in his g-string. Then my friend Paul walks over with a handful of coins.

Paul holds the handful of coins up to the go-go's g-string.

"Do you take change?" he deadpans.

Walmart cock went away.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

David Barton Toy Drive 2007

Legendary nightlife queen Suzanne Barscht's held her annual toy drive at David Barton gym lastnight. They swept aside all the stairmasters, treadmills and ellipticals (where did they put them?), set up go-go boxes and two open bars. What a party. All you needed was a toy donation to get in.

I re-gifted a "Desperate Housewives" video game CD-Rom. On the back was a parental warning: contains profanity and scenes of explicit violence. I wasn't too worried about it, figuring not too many children at St. Jude's own a personal computer to play a CD Rom. Totally hopeless donation. They let me in anyway.

For once, we went early. Hello, Free entrance + open bar = mob scene. When they shut down the bars early because of over-capacity, the line outside went around the block.

I spotted a shimmering Amanda Lepore, Blondie, and Marc Jacobs (celebrity pics here). Oh, and the best looking part: all of Chelsea.

As a stranger told me, "Everyone from is here!" And clothed!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Old Friends

My mom sent me this haunting presentation of famous female faces.

It spans the history of film, but as a fan of classic Hollywood, I especially appreciate the section morphing from Barbara Stanwyck to Vivien Leigh to Greer Garson to Hedy Lamarr to Rita Haworth to Gene Tierney. One glaring omission: Mae West!

Love my girls.

Monday, December 10, 2007

It All Makes Sense

The Strap-On Veterans for Truth have recently revealed that Ann Coulter is actually a former drag queen from Key West named Pudenda Shenanigans.

Born Jeremy Levinsohn, the conservative polemicist was once a fixture in Florida gay nightlife. Known for his signature, virtuoso performance of "Dude, Looks Like A Lady," Pudenda Shenanigans suddenly disappeared from the scene, only recently resurfacing as the person we know today as Ann Coulter.

For confirmation, please note the presence of Jeremy's vestigial Adam's Apple in unretouched photos. For a fascinating insight into a leading feminist who...hates feminists (gays and muslims, too) read the Strap-On Veterans for Truth investigative report.

They miss you in Key West, Pudenda.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Drunk Santa

Headed down Avenue A today I ran into Santa. Hundreds of Santas. Probably thousands, actually. And they're all drunk. I guess I missed the memo.

They've all been galvanized to come together from a site called, which does this santa thing in cities all over the place. The internet being used to get people off the internet. Drunk Santas all over the place. The future is here.

Friday, December 07, 2007

must be the bristles.

Read the full story in the Daily Mail.

4 orphaned hedgehogs in England have adopted a cleaning brush as their mother. Here they are:

Deslusion has never looked more adorable.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Where have all the junkies gone?

The East Village used to be littered with heroin junkies. They amuse me greatly.

Gentrification has swept them all away. Well, not all.

On the N train yesterday, a woman enters with a container of ice cream: vanilla with red raspberry sauce all over it. I smile at her. "Happy Holidays," she says to me, drowsylike.

When they greet you on the subway, something is up.

The woman sits down and immediately nods off. Her ice cream tips, nearly falling onto the floor of the subway car. She practically falls onto the floor she's leaning so impossibly far forward. Somehow, she doesn't.

Minutes later, she rights herself, and begins to slowly, woozily lick at her ice cream. Then she falls into another nod. Down, down, down she sinks...

The ice cream plops onto the floor, kerplunk! but she still holds onto the container. Raspberry goo falls out and drizzles all over the spilled vanilla. It looks like blood. A minute later she wakes up and notices the spilled ice cream.

"Oh shit," she mumbles and slowly she bobs down trying to scoop it back into the container, but whoa. She's overtaken by another nod.

Down, down, down she goes. So deep, so lovely.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007


Now that Evel Knievel is dead , here is the next generation of daredevils.

At first I thought the video below had to be of flying squirrels. Or something from Lord of the Rings, but no. They are base jumpers in France.

They probably won't live very long--scraping their nails against the side of a mountain at 100 miles an hour--but what a thrilling way to go. Click here. This is living!

Monday, December 03, 2007

Home Sweet Home

Shangri-la! We made it to Slut Station.
I am showing Cooldan the way to Slutstation. As if he needed direction.

We were headed back to Copenhagen around 3 am (drunk and wearing our backless shirts) after our friends' wedding in Malmo, Sweden. The train was waiting in the station, so I'm assuming Slut Station is last Stop in Swedish (?)

In any case, it was the end of the line. Slut Station: where everybody... gets off.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

First Snow

The first snow of the winter hits New York City today. It's pretty and white until tomorrow when will all turns to slush.

The East Village this morning.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Survival of the Fittest

According to a recent poll, more Americans believe in Satan, than believe in Darwin's theory of evolution. To the devil with it!

Yesterday in Sudan, a teacher named a teddy bear Muhammed has been sentenced to prison, amid vehement death threats from thousands of knife wielding muslims for having "insulted Islam."

Are you insulted? I am. I have to admit, the majority of Americans have a point. Human evolution may be an idea more foreign and fictitious than some of us would like to believe.