Thursday, July 31, 2008

On the American Road

Turns out I am missing out on a lot in New York City. Driving up to Montreal yesterday, we passed this sign in northern Vermont. I have so much to learn.

A breastfeeding celebration? I'll bring the Kahlua!
Then a friend of a friend sent my friend Scott this photo. It was taken in Aspen, Colorado. Glory Hole...Park? On a phallic post? In a pot of petunias?

Take a leisurely stroll through Aspen's popular....

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

That's What Friends Are For

Walking down Commercial Street in Provincetown lastnight. The clubs had just closed, and this one girl was down on her hands and knees wasted. Her head was shoved into a hydrangea bush, and she had a friend behind her, giving her advice. "Did you stick your finger down your throat?"

The girl in the bushes moans.

The friend encourages. "Just...allow your body to let you puke..."

Nothing happens. A couple of seconds go by. The friend rubs her back, and says, "Do you want me to stick my finger down your throat?"

Monday, July 28, 2008

Get Real

I'm up in Provincetown, Massachusetts. On Cape Cod. It's a well known artists enclave filled with an eclectic mix of gays, lesbians, straights, and shows featuring every last drag queen on the eastern seabord. It's vacation: calm, relaxed, easy like sunday morning. Or so you'd think!

This ain't bohemia. Does bohemia exist in America anymore? I was here in Ptown last year, and maybe I was just too drunk to see all the nitpicky regulations ("massachusetts law does not permit ordering more than 2 drinks at a time"), persnickety regulations (everything closes at 1am), or the fact that those who summer here are really uptight (warning: anyone who uses summer as a verb is uptight). My friend Daniel laments, "You can sharpen pencils in their assholes here." Shame.

I drove up with the crew from Playgirl to do a shoot. We checked into the Boatslip late at night. The check-in clerk told us to park around the corner. Then we walked around town. Coming back at 1am (because everything closes at 1am), we saw some queen had written a nasty note on the van, saying we had parked on his private (gravel lot) property.

The hotel clerk ran outside to tell us we had to move right away because the old queen had called reception 4 times (at 1 in the morning!) to tell him we parked on his property. As if it couldn't wait til morning. As if his great aunt (menstrual) Flo was rolling in overnight.

The next day, we go to a shoot at a house which is up a long driveway. We drive up the long driveway, and park aimed at the house. There's no way to turn around, but down a few meters is the driveway to another home. We're told that when we leave, we must back up the entire length of the driveway. We are not allowed to use the neighbor's driveway to turn around.

At the shoot, we're warned again not to turn around in the neighbor's driveway. "The neighbor hates it," says the owner. "There were 14 lawyers involved at one point." The neighbor is up in arms about strangers using his driveway to do a two-point turnaround, taking about 5 seconds. The neighbor is an "A-lister," we're told. Yeah, A-list twat.

We're now staying at a home we rented on the east side. It's got charm and character. It makes you feel like painting seascapes. One of the Playgirl models came over for his shoot with a dog. We asked the owners if we could tie up the dog in the backyard for a couple hours. "Oh no," we weren't allowed to put a dog in the yard. "If the dog peed," they said. "We'd have to re-patch the lawn...and you'd lose a considerable amount of your deposit." Re-patch the lawn?

Why is it that the more privileged people are, the more petty they become? It's like they are incapable of chilling out. I want to give these people $50, a knapsack, and a one-way ticket to Cochabamba, Bolivia. If they somehow make it back to Cape Cod, I'd love to see them re-patch the lawn.

So much for refreshing artists.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Frame It.

I caught this poster at Madison Square Gardens.

I want it for my bedroom.

George Michael 25!

I used to work at Restaurant Muse in Los Angeles and George Michael would come in, and often his music would be playing in the restaurant and I always thought what would that be like? To hear your own voice on a public soudtrack? I was always in awe of him, his beautiful voice. When he finished his plate of grilled salmon, I'd pinch the fork he used and lick it.

On Wednesday, my friends Chad and Scott took Bam and I to see George Michael's 25 concert at Madison Square Garden. I had no trouble figuring out what to wear. For George Michael, I wore my "I'd rather be Masturbating" shirt. No brainer!

(Scott, Chad, me & Bam) At the View Bar, for some pre-concert cocktails.

Outside MSG, on the way in, we walked right past a striking older woman with eyes the color of the caribbean. She was striking in a severe way, and it was only then I realized she was Linda Evangelista. The funny, ironic thing about people who possess exceptional beauty is that as the years go by, the only thing anyone remarks is how much they've lost, instead of how beautiful they still are. She is still beautiful.

The concert was, of course, amazing (that voice!). George Michael has some die-hard fans. I sat next to a girl, Jessica, who had been to all the George Michael concerts in Europe, then LA, now NY, and next she's headed to Boston. She had a printout of all the songs, in order, and studied it as we went along. "He skipped A Different Light," she told me at one point. "But I think he's just switched it with "First Time Ever I Saw Your Face..."

When George Michael sang "Amazing" and dedicated it to his boyfriend Kenny, a man walked behind us. "That's KENNY!" shouted Jessica, and I got a picture with her and Kenny. "It may be the closest I ever get to George," she said, later, pleading with me to send the photo to her (I did). I wonder if George Michael knows what it would mean to Jessica to meet him one day. I wish I could make that happen.

Kenny and Jessica
Wham! Lookin good, Georgie
I want your...voice!
Little, Big Man
For more of the concert, my friend Joey was in the 3rd row and caught it all on his blog j'adore joey.

Friday, July 25, 2008

You're not one of those ageist fags....

...but after seeing Linda Evangelista outside Madison Square Garden, you realize George Michael is not the only one who's older. You, in fact, may be the youngest person at his concert, and although you think he is AMAZING, the look of his audience gives you the impression that George Michael might be this generation's Neil Diamond.

In an attempt to feel younger, you call Crazy Dan and head to Urge for the second wednesday in a row which, sadly, makes you feel older than musty Sweet Caroline because for the second week in a row you outright refuse to compete in the ass contest. Even drunk you won't do it, even when the winning ass turns out to be female.

After that fluke, you and Crazy Dan move your shameful asses to Eastern Bloc where you meet a pair of Doublemint Twinks. The four of you head to the Phoenix and after that, and although it's only 3 in the morning, you resist going back to Crazy's place to do cocaine with the Doublemint Twinks because you're (get this) too tired.

You try not to think about the fact that you never used to be too tired to stay up past 3 am (with or without narcotic assistance) or the fact that Crazy Dan is actually far older than you, but when you wake up at 11 am and give Crazy Dan a call, you discover he hasn't gone to bed! Crazy Dan answers the phone and tells you that after the cocaine, the Doublemint Twinks lured him back to their house and busted out a stash of adderall which they crushed and snorted til sun-up. Crazy Dan is now wandering new york city very focused, not at all hungry, and with no intention of going to bed anytime soon.

Curiously, you suddenly feel much, much older than you previously thought because for the first time in your life you are actually glad you went home early. Anyway...

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Digger Dancing!

This summer, the NYC parks department partnered with the Joyce Theatre to put on *free* dance shows in all 5 borough parks. They call it "Dance Out!" and I caught it last week in the East River Park.

First was a guy doing interpretive dance, then an incredible acrobat danced all up and down a "chinese pole," Then the audience moved to a baseball field. In the diamond sat a backhoe. It began to move, and out jumped a man who proceeded with it.

I'm not a huge fan of conceptual anything, but dancing with a backhoe?

Ok, I'm now a fan. It was amazing! He flirted with the backhoe, it flirted back. They fell in and out of love. The performance told a whole story.

Imagine these photos in motion and set to opera music. The backdrop: a full moon sunset along the East River. Magic!

Upsy Daisy
Come and get your love

Make love to that digger!

A brave new world...

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Mayday Mayday!

I'm just gonna lay it all out here. I've been noticing some bizarre behavioral patterns within myself. I've got some quirks that need ironing out.

I'm gonna list them here, and you tell me if you've ever felt like this --- or if I'm the only one:

1) I love heights, but I get a very compelling urge when I find myself way up high. The other night I was on a very high rooftop overlooking new york city. I looked down at the street, 40 stories below, and got that urge to hurl myself over the edge. It's not a suicidal feeling, more like a dare. Something inside of me screaming "Do it, you coward!" which forces me to leave the ledge because with a couple of strong cocktails in me, I fear I might be up to the challenge.

2) I recently was without a calculator and needed to do some division. There were some big numbers involved. Something random, like 28969 divided by 32. So I got out a pen and paper, wrote down the numbers, and then I sat. And I stared. I couldn't remember how to figure it out! I used to know. Once. Is this a failure of the educational system? Of the digital world we live in? Or has my brain just shrunk? I have totally forgotten the formula for long division.

3) I watch people eat, and it's a nice thing to do--going out to dinner. Often people go out to dinner on first dates, but isn't it bizarre? There you are, sitting across the table from someone who is shoveling dead animals into their mouth. And then chewing. Little bit of parsley getting caught in their teeth. Sometimes I think eating out is like 2 notches up from going to the toilet together. I'm starting to feel really weird about eating in public.

Am I suffering from multiple disorders? Is paranoid schizophrenia sneaking up on me? Let me know, I could use some advice.....and if you know the formula for long division, I'm all ears.

Monday, July 21, 2008

PS. 1's Big Mirror

Hit Queens on Saturday to check out PS 1's museum's warm-up series this weekend. It's always awesome. They've got live music, beer, and each year they have a competition for architects to design the outdoor area. This year an "urban farm" theme won. You can also, of course, wander inside the old school for some always bizarre conceptual art.

In one room there was this gigantic rotating mirror on the ceiling. Everybody just laid down on the floor, and watched everyone else. Anyone standing looked like they were hanging from the ceiling. Strangely, the museum guards are really Nazi there about taking pictures. As if taking a picture of the gigantic rotating mirror is going to steal its artistic soul or something.

What's great about the iphone, is that you can take a picture surreptitiously. My friend Scott took this photo, and just as the guard came around to blab "No Photos!" I blabbed back, "He's not taking a photo, he's texting!" And how can he possibly know the difference?

With Bam, Chad, and Scott. I'm doing the Vetruvius man in the middle.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Karaoke Stars!

On Friday I did a promo for the Oxygen Network. It was for their new "air karaoke" so I got to dance around and ham it up on a green screen. I had the best day, working with a super fun director and three hot girls. We even went out for drinks afterward! I have no idea what it'll end up looking like, but here's a peek from the green screen set:

Do I look like I'm from Williamsburg? Thankfully I had a couple of costume changes.

I was really getting into it.

I wasn't the only one getting into it! Loving this girl, Lauren.

Angelique, Lauren, and mod!

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Rules Schmules

My friend Mich is currently on an Atlantis Cruise of the Mediterranean with some friends. The cruise was rather affordable, and he told me that once on board everything is free....except the alcohol. So of course he was determined to sneak some hooch on board.

Mich called Atlantis Cruises.

"I am very particular," he told them. "I drink only FIJI bottled water. May I bring my own supply on board?" Of course he was planning on filling every last Fiji bottle with pure vodka.

"No worries," answered Atlantis. "We will make sure to stock Fiji water for you..." Damn, thought Mich. But he wasn't foiled.

Turns out, one of the friends who went with him is a doctor. Together they hatched a plan to pre-load onto the cruise ship several I.V. bags filled guessed it...pure vodka! Just in case, you know, anyone on the cruise is in need of an urgent I.V. drip.

I'm guessing there have been plenty of emergencies.

Friday, July 18, 2008


I found myself on Wall Street the other day and decided to walk home through Chinatown. I never miss an opportunity to walk through Chinatown. Forget Canal Street, it should be razed, but the gritty, grimy, real heart of Chinatown is a different story. It is alive.

Walking uptown, I just barely dip into the southernmost point of Chinatown when a Latina woman with a stroller catches my eye. She's standing beside a housing project, and she compliments my boots. Then asks, "Can you tell me how to get to the 6 train?"

"Let me think," I stammer, because I'm a little bit lost in lower Manhattan. Then I notice her kid. He's maybe 3 and has big wild eyes, and when he smiles I see his front teeth are all rotted out. How many lollipops does it take to rot out a set of baby teeth?

I tell her how I think she should go to get to the 6 train. "It's in this direction, at the end of the Brooklyn Bridge." "Near City Hall?" "Yes," I tell her, "next to City Hall."

La latina smiles and signals the housing project behind us. "We just moved to the area," she says, adding, "You have very pretty eyes."

Suddenly I realize she knows exactly where the 6 train is. She isn't looking for directions at all. This bitch wants to fuck me!

I smile and scurry off, a little shocked and embarrassed. I haven't been hit on by a woman in years. I kind of liked it.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Christmas in July

Merry Christmas in July! Have I got a gift for you...

I'm not sure who sent this to me, but it's insanely addictive. Grace Jones at Pee Wee's Playhouse singing Little Drummer Boy. Total acid trip.

I love her update on the hula dance. Where can I get that outfit?

And by the way, if you haven't seen it yet---Grace Jones has a new video for "Corporate Cannibal," a single from her album that drops in October. It is freaky, freaky, freaky. Over the brink insane! I love it. Grace Jones is back.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

That Fuddy-Duddy

John McCain said last weekend that he "doesn't believe" in gay adoption. Ok John-boy, it's not the tooth-fairy. It's not something to believe in or not, it's something you're either for or you're against.

So he's against gays adopting children. Which means, in his opinion, orphans are better off as orphans than having gay parents. Moron.

Understandably, PFLAG has their panties in a twist over this. An adoptive father (he is one) should understand that a "family" cannot be defined. Especially not by numbers, gender, or blood. Let's face it, John McCain doesn't have the ideal family unit because they're not all related. If the old bird knew how to log onto the world wide web, he might read that last sentence and understand: all you need is love.

But since he's told me who should and shouldn't be in my family, let's moralize McCain. I have a few questions:

1) Since when did a Prisoner of War translate to War Hero? Last time I checked, getting captured by the enemy was not heroism.

2) McCain famously said he'll take another 100 years in Iraq! Is war his bones? One would think, especially after being (heroically?) captured by the enemy, that he might work for peace. How can a former prisoner -of-war want more war? Especially when we lost that war? (or maybe that's just it...)

3) (perhaps most important) Why is his face falling off?

I'm sorry, but men with faces that are falling off should not be allowed to adopt. I don't believe in it. It breeds bad self-esteem in children.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Pier Dance 2008

The Pier Dance is always one of the best parties of the year. It happens right after the Pride parade. Looks like I forgot to wash off all the makeup.

Ok, so maybe I left the guyliner on purpose!

Right over the Hudson, a light breeze, the Manhattan Skyline from light to dark, hot men, and a superstar surprise performer.

Things heated up when Miss Global Warming and Hunta Fowl showed up still in full drag!
Hunta's arms back, mouth wide-open pose is the only one in her arsenal. She explained she was doing it "for the eagle" on top of her head.

This pose is also the reason that the only thing left in Hunta's purse at the end of the night was the nub of a red lipstick. She lost everything at the pier dance: money, credit card, blackberry.

And guess what? Some good gay Samaritan mailed it all back to her!

It's always my birthday around the Pier Dance, so I hopped onto Bam Bam's shoulders and all my friends sang "Happy Birthday" above the House music.

Everything at the Pier Dance was pitch perfect...until the finale. Let me explain:

The surprise performer was Jennifer Hudson. We're all very happy she was there for this One Night Only! She got up and sang a song that everyone seemed to know, and I'm like "What is that song? Why do you all know it?!" And some queen yells out, "It's from Sex and the City movie." Oh. I had already forgotten that movie.

It dawned on me that Jennifer Hudson was in that movie...her only purpose being to drop a keychain with the word "Love" that Carrie would (ba-da-bing!) realize is the password to all Big's secret lovey dovey, please-forgive-me email. Was this Sex and the City or Scooby Doo? (Why, Scoob--it's old man withers! And the password is love!)

Jennifer then busted into "...And I am telling You" which everyone went wild for, especially because the girl can sing. Woo-hoo! But, and this is a huge BUT: this is an amped-up crowd, and she didn't bust into a dance remix.

I wasn't ready for bed!

She also failed to pop out of this fat suit.

Miss Hudson exited the Hudson river, and fireworks began way down off of Ellis Island somewhere. Everybody was wondering, "Is Jersey City having a centennial?" But then some tugboat dragged the show up our way, at which point the music just cut off. No more music? Huge letdown. I kept screaming, "Paging DJ Tracy Young! Back to your desk!!!"

Later, I spoke to DJ Tracy Young. She said the organizers stopped her set. Heritage of Pride wanted "A Cappella Fireworks."

Ok, A Cappella Fireworks might be the gayest thing I EVER heard, but for Gay Pride, I expect something else. Here's what could've happened:

Jennifer Hudson comes on. She sings a couple of slow ones, and then "..And I am telling you." Only in the middle of the song, the DJ helps her out. Jennifer whips off the fat suit, busts into the dance remix, just as ten male and female dancers twirl onto stage in a knockout routine.

The crowd goes absolutely insane!!!

Miss Hudson finishes just as the first fireworks blast off at the end of the pier, and the DJ plays a major gay anthem like "I am what I am," "Over the Rainbow," or some Donna Summer disco. That's Gay Pride!

I can see a cappella fireworks on a picnic blanket at the Idaho state fair.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

In The Heights

For my birthday, my friend Mike took me to see "In the Heights"---a musical about Washington Heights--which is so far up the top of Manhattan it may as well be Canada.

"It's gonna win the Tony" I told Mike, when he asked what I wanted to see. He bought us tickets, and then it DID win the Tony. The acceptance speech by the writer/lead was all rhythmical rap, and then I thought: Do I still have to see it?

So when the curtain went up on the sold-out show last week, and that lyrical rap started, I really wished I had swallowed several strong barbiturates. But then I got into it. Turns out that Manhattan gentrification has made it up even into the Heights! The musical was vibrant, diverse, and packed with energy and enthusiasm. And some impressive choreography.

But something was missing in the story. In the end I didn't care one bit what happened to any of the characters. This was not as it was supposed to be. In the Heights is filled with color and flavor and heart, but I was unphased by their plight. Not a good sign.

I've never felt so ambivalent about a piece of theatre.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Angry Letters to the Editor

In the latest (August) OUT magazine, there were two nasty letters to the editor about my last column. Funny how if someone agrees with you or laughs, they won't write in. But strike a nerve, and look out!

Strangers felt something strong enough to take the time to sit down and write nasty things about me, which only makes me certain about that last column. It was one of my best.

Friday, July 11, 2008

Not Without My Cocktail!

Remember that ridiculous "Steamboat" move, where you kick from one end of the pool to the other with your arms outstretched? In a better world, the Steamboat would have a purpose. At a pool party last weekend, I gave it one.

The Steamboat suddenly got more ridiculous when I debuted my Steamboating with a cocktail maneuver.

Do you love?

A Demonstration: Steamboating with A Cocktail

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

I hate that, too

Apparently there are biological females in Fire Island Pines. Who knew?

A lament overheard in the Pines last weekend:

"Don't you hate it when you see a really cute guy................and it turns out to be a girl?"

Monday, July 07, 2008

Survivor Weekend 2008

There's only one rule to Survivor Weekend: no sleeping in a bed. Anything else on a bed is fine.

Each year, a group of friends goes out to Fire Island and crash on the beach. Even if you're offered a bed, the whole point is to crash on the beach in solidarity with your friends.

We kinda broke the rule this year. On a technicality....but we still survived. Barely!

We go out there together because there are no options on Fire Island Pines. You have to be in a share with a gazillion rules about no house guests, certainly not two guests in the same moon cycle, have to dish out $400/night to get a room at a cinderblock dump they refer to as a hotel.

So we take one little bag, and head out knowing one thing for sure--at the end of the night it ain't gonna be pretty!

Surprisingly, the guys on Fire Island are always super accommodating. They let us into parties, feed us at BBQ's, offer showers, ply us with alcohol, and this year we got a tip about a secret abandoned, derelict house that we could try to crash in. Someone drew me a map, and I found it late that night--with a tree through it-- all very Hansel & Gretel.

I woke up very itchy (I'm still itchy) laying next to mouse poop.

Then, following a whore's bath in the ocean, we did it all again: Party. BBQ. Dancing. I was actually so jittery from lack of sleep and proper nutrition, that on the third day, I had to hold my drinks with two hands.

Then, as you may know, the only way to get around on Fire Island is to walk. And my flip flops broke. The flip went through my flop!

I only had one pair of footwear, and nails on the boardwalk hurt. I had to improvise something so the flop wouldn't keep pulling through.

My first big idea was to use bobby pins, so I asked every last queen for a spare bobby pin. They all claimed not to have one. Sister, please!

I ended up improvising with drinking straws. I tied them around all gay MacGyver, and voila. Flip Flops...fixed!

You may think I just underwent cataract surgery. This is not true. When my grandpa died, all I got was his pair of blueblocker sunglasses, so I decided to rock them this summer!!

Except they aren't actually the Blueblocker brand. They are knock-off "Solar Shields" because grandpa was cheap. (I got it from somewhere)! In fact, one of my favorite moments from the weekend was at a party where I was mulling the totally improbable idea of giving in and actually paying for a timeshare for myself next year because, as I told one of the housemates:

"I'm just sick of being always being the mooching friend."

"So are we," he deadpanned.

Ok, who are these people?

Someone at the Christmas in July party (with DJ Lina, love!) asked:

"How is Survivor Weekend going?"
"Just look at me," I said. "Yeah---," he goes, "Put a fork in you and turn you over!"
I was done.

I was the first one in the pool. By like an hour.

There is one thing more frightening than survivors, surviving. That is the danger of new media!

The sight of any camera on Fire Island brings the not irrational fear that it could be one of the anonymous bloggers Pines Punch or GOOL, capturing you at your most fragile. Even worse, someone might soon be tagging you on facebook!

So I'll just put all the blackmail out there right now.

Anita Flagpole by the Sea

Anita Flagpole made it out as the star spangled sequin "Majorette." It was the 4th of July, but when the Star Spangled Banner came on, and people started singing it, Anita looked around and asked me if it was the new Donna Summer single.

Anita abandoned this whole jamboree of an outfit in the meat rack in the middle of the night! Can you imagine finding these red, white and blue sparkles in the meat rack? Picture the delight of the beachcomber who finds the majorette outfit! Anita had to take it all off because she kept scratching people with her elbow gloves.

Let it be known: Sequins are an unforgiving fabric, not conducive to sucking cock!

In a signature Revolutionary outfit, Edie Beale was spotted summering in the Pines.

On the last night of squattingt, apparently I was "fidgeting," which forced Bam Bam to take our "blanket" (a beach towel) and retreat. I found him there in the morning, a hot mess, on the broken roof! When he woke up, he berated me for keeping him up with all my "fidgeting".

I wanted to tell him....but I had no voice. Totally gone! What I wanted to tell Bam Bam was that it wasn't me "fidgeting". It was my death rattle!

Check out the train home:

I ended up losing the flip flops (in the meat rack, I think? A companion to the majorettes?) and found this pair of little green shoes in the Hansel & Gretel house. They didn't fit.

Survivor Weekend sponsored (in part, and among others) by the fine fellows at:

296 Holly,
853 (or was that 583?) Sea View,
137 Beach Hill,
and of course the boys at Reflections House who put on another knockout IndepenDANCE!

I'm now going to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. Anyone tempted to go with us next year?

Sunday, July 06, 2008

Fire Island Invasion Photos

What would you do for your country? This Lady Liberty was spotted in Cherry Grove on her way to the invasion. She was teetering, and walking very very carefully. She had a lot to lose.

The Invasion in Fire Island on the 4th of July is definitely the best thing you can ever imagine. It commemorates the occasion when a drag queen (back in 1976) was refused service in the Pines.

Each year since, every last drag queen on earth gets on a ferry, and they enter the Harbor. It's over-loaded with every last color of the rainbow, all of them waving away, and speakers blaring "God Bless America"--- and I get goose bumps. Literally, I showed everyone the hair standing up on my arm. Now that's freedom!

Then they unload and the leader, Panzi, yells out catcalls into a mic as they step off the boat. At one point, a rather old, tragic drag queen saunters off the boat, and Panzi calls out: "This one's got more teeth in her vagina than she does in her mouth!" Hysterical.

I always plan on invading, too, but then every year I get too wiped out from Pride. Plus, there's the issue of my outfit. Where would I stash it? On Fire Island, I crash on the beach!

The Invasion: July 4, 2008. Amazing!

At the back of the boat, in long dresses with long sleeves, I spotted the troupe of Mormon Polygamist Mothers. I about flipped my wig, and I wasn't even wearing one. I immediately declared them the grand-prize winners.

But then, just as I had declared the polygamists the grand prize winners, I spotted this drag queen paddle up in a kayak behind. I would've pinned her the late entry winner, but only if she rappeled up the side of the listing ferry.

In related news, Sofia Loren was later spotted in the meat rack. She was seen trekking in her pumps, delicately pulling branches back, on her way back to Cherry Grove.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Star Spangled Sluts

NYC Gay Pride 2008.
Photos of our Preparation to Infiltrate the Pride Parade
The theme: the Gay Vote.
The participants:

Anita Flagpole

Miss American Dream

Aunt Sam (wants you!)

The Head Master

Miss Global Warming

Hunta Fowl (an Endangered Species Activist)

Mimi Gration

About to infiltrate the parade: Patriotism stops traffic on 6th Avenue.

It all looks better from behind.

Promote the Gay Vote on Fifth Avenue

The Emprire State building watches as the gay vote rocks the parade (please note, two ladies have lost their heels to the grueling, unforgiving asphalt).

Wardrobe Malfunction!!! Head Master reapplies the pasties she lost in the downpour!

Bewitched, bedraggled, and soaking wet. These queens will not melt!
Sun and Rain. Long May our Rainbow Shine. I hope to uncover photos from within a glorious 5th Avenue summer rain!

Happy Gay Pride New York City!

Thanks to Thomas for these photos (more on his site).