Sunday, August 24, 2008

Off to meet Burning Man

This morning I'm heading to the desert of Nevada to participate in the Burning Man festival. If you're like me, you've heard a lot about it. It's my first time (and I don't say that a lot), so I'm not sure exactly what to expect.

What I do know is I'm going to be part of Black Rock City, a community of 50,000 that appears and completely disappears on the desert "playa" for one week each year. It's supposed to be life-altering. There's no money (only bartering), no luxuries (no wifi?!), lots of art installations, and at the end they burn a big wooden man.

From the website: Burning Man is an annual experiment in temporary community dedicated to radical self-expression and radical self-reliance.


My bags are so full of self-expression that I forced myself to remove a pair of platform heels. Taking them out, I realized this was the first time (another first, what is this?) I removed a pair of heels from my pack for the sake of space. I must be getting older.

Then again, I could ruin a good pair of hooker heels in a place where radical self-reliance means that showers are replaced with wet nap wipes.

Wish me luck!

See you on the other side...

The Faggot Nigger Debate

So I'm up in Hell's Kitchen lastnight, among the heavy post-theatre crowds, waiting for a light. A black man (why is it always a minority?) walking the other direction, glances my way, yells "Fag!" and then laughs.

Although I eagerly await the day I can let insults like this roll like water off a duck's back, I am reminded too much of those awful junior high days. It's still the same. Life is like one big junior high. The difference is now I holler back.

"You're UGLY!" I yell. "UUUUUGLY!!!" And this is always the way I return an insult. It's never racial, which it probably should be, but that's just far too easy. So I call them ugly, because they are.

At this point, another black man (unrelated) comes up and asks me, curiously, "Why are you calling that guy ugly?"

I say, "Because he called me a fag."
He asks, "Are you a fag?"
I tell him I'm gay.

"So why do you have a problem with him calling you a fag?" he asks all non-chalant.

"Because it's disrespectful," I answer calmly. "It's like if I called you a nigger."

And I swear, the word nigger was not even out of my mouth before his fists were in my face, and he was furiously screaming about how he was gonna kick my ass.

I'd say he brilliantly (albeit without intelligence) illustrated my point.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Put down the iphone and Dance!

Ever notice how in 2008 people go out socially and only talk to their portable computer?
Literally, people are just texting at the bar. Or browsing the internet. That's all they do.

Imagine my excitement at Posh the other night when I ran into this beautiful girl who was dancing up a storm. You know that hot song "Just Dance", where Lady Gaga sings "I lost my keys where is my phone?" This girl definitely lost her keys, her phone, and she misplaced her big gold heels, too! And she just kept dancing. Barefoot.

She was so infectious, I had to join her. Eventually, so did the rest of the bar.

My signature move: a crawl between the legs
Thanks, Cazwell, for the great tunes! Thanks Scott, for the pics!

Thursday, August 21, 2008


After the Mae West Walking Tour, my friends Chad and Scott and I definitely needed a drink.

So we hit every last happy hour in the village! The Monster, Maries Crisis, Pieces, Boots & Saddles, and then there was the Stonewall. I didn't want to go in, because look at the sign--- $5 cosmos? Far too expensive for happy hour!

Luckily, I kept reading.

Hot dogs at 4pm? Jesse ran right in.
Chad enjoys self-serve hot dogs with a side of cosmo

Jesse extracts a bun from the oven
Everybody loves hot dogs at happy hour! This queen got twisted and posed with tongs as tweezers. You gotta have a gimmick!

Marie's Crisis has this amazing patriotic mirror that was created by the WPA back in the '30's. It hasn't been dusted in just as long.
Got splinters in the woodpile? Check out the scratchitti in the Marie's bathroom.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Splinters in Her Woodpile?

Sunday would have been Mae West's 115th birthday.

So I attended the well informed Mae West "Walk on the Wild-Side" walking tour with fellow "Mae-vens". The highly informed historians (and fans) wore Mae West inspired bonnets, and even sang songs and arias dedicated to Mae as they took us around Washington Square to learn about the people and places and inspiration in Mae's life.

Hat's on for Mae West!
Not only was Mae West the "Brooklyn Bombshell" who broke barriers to female sexuality, but she was also one of the first stars to fight censorship. In the 1920's, Mae West put a show on Broadway called "Sex" and was arrested for "obscenity" not only due to the show's content, but because she put known "degenerates" (homosexuals) on-stage. Mae was ordered to pull the production or face jail-time. Guess what? Mae chose jail.

She totally went to bat for the gays! And she was a huge fan of the illegal gay drag clubs (many of which we saw) which she went to with her friend Texas Guinan. Mae West is the undisputed queen of innuendo. Everyone knows a Mae West one-liner . What's your favorite?

I'm partial to:

"I used to be Snow White....but I drifted."

But after the tour, I may have a new one. Turns out Mae West once went on a radio show and told the host she'd let him "play in her woodpile."

Later in the interview, she said he gave her splinters.

After that show, Mae was permanently banned from the airwaves.

See why I'm a Mae-ven? A-Mae-Zing! Happy 115th!

Friday, August 15, 2008

Life at the Belvedere Castle

If ever in Fire Island, you must stay at the Belvedere Guest House. It's a clothing optional "for men only" with rooms and ramps and domes and spiral staircases and so many levels and passageways that seriously, I'll never get the lay of the land. The place drips with personality.

Feel like Romanian Royalty in the Belvedere Main Room.
We did a Playgirl foto shoot at the Belvedere and the next day, one of the older gentlemen staying there spotted me in the grotto. "So are there anymore Playgirl shoots today?"
"No," I told him. "We're all finished."

"That was so shocking yesterday," he goes on. "Seeing nude models with cameras and video!" Shocking? He was...shocked? I have to ask. "Weren't you roaming around here lastnight in leather, carrying a big whip?"

"Yes," he answers without the slightest hint of irony.

Long pause.

"So did you find anyone to whip?"
"I was the one wanting to be whipped," he says.
"Well then maybe you were sending the wrong message by carrying a whip."
"I was carrying it in my right hand."

Long pause.

"If I hold a whip in my right hand it means I'm submissive and want to be whipped."

Another pause.

"Sir," I turn to him. "I am so ignorant."

Later, when I go to check out of the Belvedere, one of our Playgirl models is behind the desk. "What are you doing here?" I ask. "They needed a new person at the front desk," he answers, gleefully. "So they hired me!"

And that, my friends, is life at the Belvedere.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Michael Musto made me do it

I got a great shout-out from Michael Musto in his Village Voice column this week. He even gave a shout-out to Bam Bam, whose now in Australia to meet his gayby Ava! It's quite an honor for me to appear in there because I've admired his writing genius from the very first time I saw his column when I first moved to new york.

It was in fact Musto who suggested I get on top of the piano in Philadelphia. And for the record, he has some serious endurance. Musto stayed out later than any other judge twirl dancing girls on disco floor and most impressive: he did it all on a strict succession of cranberry juice and soda water.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

What is up at the Beijing Olympics?

Who hasn't been watching the Olympics? Got to love the Olympics. Especially when you think these athletes have been training every last day of their lives for just a couple minutes of glory. Or, you know, training every last day of their lives to fall off the balance beam.

As far as the Chinese female gymnasts ---

China really has the nerve to say they are 16? Why is Bela Karolyi the only one who says outright they're lying? The girls have baby teeth! They're 12 years old.

Teeth tell age, like horses.

Mens' swimming --

I speak for every gay man when I say: bring back the speedos! These new shark suits, they cover everything up. When it comes to Phelps and company, I want to see torso and thighs, ok?

Less world records, more skin!

The only thing more hideous than the new sharksuits? Host Bob Costas' hair-do. What is going on there? It's either a really obvious dye job, or he's got a muskrat up in there. Who does he think he's fooling?

The Chinese gymnasts?

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Mr. Gay Philadelphia

Mr. Gay Philadelphia was off the hook!

First off, they teamed Philly drag doll Brittany Lynn with fantastic host Frank DeCaro.

And then assembled the gayest panel of judges imaginable:

Village Voice columnist Michael Musto, adorable actor David Moretti of Here!'s the Lair, Project Runway designer Jack Mackenroth and his pal, 1984 swimming swimming gold medalist and out athlete Bruce Hayes, my friend Dr. Frank Spinelli (buy his book!), PGN's Mark Seagal, and me.

The event put us up at a fantastic little boutique hotel, the Independent. From my window, I could spot two big gay discos: Woody's and Pure.

Talk about spitting, um, stumbling distance!

Below: Dr. Frank, Jack, David, moi, Bruce. Curiously absent: Michael Musto. For more of our antics, (including Musto's signature flip flop and sock routine), and the contest itself, check out my friend HughE's blog Philly Chit Chat!

I was glad to see all the great diversity on hand in the contestants. We rated them from 1 to 10 for swimwear, evening wear, and personality. Believe it or not, I was the nice judge. I was the Paula. One guy came out in his swimwear, pulling a big wad of toilet out of his speedo, and although he didn't have the best body of the bunch, I gave him "10"...for personality!

I look over at Jack and he's giving him a "2". "I'm glad you're not judging me!" I tell him, and Jack just says, "I'm not being mean, I'm being honest!"

As judges, we got to ask one question. Mine was: "If you could be one classic hollywood actress, who would you be, and why?" The contestant who got this question answered, "Vanessa Williams!!!"

WHAT?! Scratch. No points. I'm not being mean, I'm being honest.

At intermission there was some major sucking up going on. We judges were swarmed, and I'm like, "Boys, I hope you brought your knee pads, because the final challenge is in the back alley!"

In the end, we crowned JOHN. He was excellent in the back alley.

Kidding! John was sweet and hot, had a cheering section of fans (with signs!) and a sister who came up crying her head off she was so thrilled. We chose the right winner. Congratulations!!!

The contestants.

After the contest, we hit up Bar on Tamac, where I attempted to do a hand stand against a tree. I planted my hands, flung my legs in the air, and guess what? I missed the tree! Landed flat on my back. Glad I wasn't being judged. I scored zero for the talent portion of the pageant.

Later, we all went dancing out on the town. I even sang Annie's "Tomorrow" on top of a piano. Not a solo, phew! Magically, I didn't get kicked out of anywhere, but did wake up (thank god that hotel was close) with bruises, blood on my elbow, and a big kiss of ruby red lipstick on my chest.

I heart Philadelphia!

I had an 8 am train Saturday to Fire Island --- for a Playgirl photo shoot. It was worth the early alarm. We were put up in the labyrinthine "guest house for men" palace the Belvedere.

I went out Saturday in the Pines, and after slogging back through the meat rack at 4 am, guess who I found humping outside my bedroom door? Two hard, naked Playgirl models!

Can you guess which ones?

Friday, August 08, 2008

Mt. Adams Aflame!

In Washington state, right under Mt. Adams, there was a huge forest fire this summer. I practically grew up there. My ancestors settled a town just below the Mountain. Town is stretching it. It's more like a one-horse hamlet. My father built a cabin on our property in Trout Lake, where my parents will soon be retiring.

So the forest fire was big news. They can't stop talking about it.

There were pup tents all over the local schoolyard with dedicated firefighters battling the blaze. My mother made and brought them cookies. It was a real community effort. With helicopters, too! Mom even bought me a t-shirt memorializing the "Cold Springs Blaze"!

They're stuck on this fire, and as I prepare to go to Philly to judge the Mr. Gay Philadelphia contest, I'm struck with just how large a country we live in.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Meet My New Niece...or Nephew!

I found out recently that out in Montana, my sister-in-law is pregnant again! This will be the 3rd child for my brother and his family.

Seeing as my little sister and I remain deficient in our evolutionary responsibility, my brother took up the slack. With three kids, he's evened it out. One for each Archer. Thank you, Ryan!

This is the first ultrasound I received by email. It's a whole new generation...

Cute as a Speck!
*thanks, Danny, for concealing my sister-in-law's identity. Couldn't you have photo-shopped some sparkles for the embryo, too? It's lonely up in there!

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

I Ate Raw Testicle!

This is NUTS! Remember when I went to Denver and interviewed a bunch of people about "Rocky Mountain Oysters"? Yes, they are BULL'S BALLS.

I even ate them, at first cooked. Then I swallowed them wet, sliced and raw.

It needs a little lighting, it's a lot drunk, and what's with my outfit? Anyway, here's the clip. I'm...having a ball!

Special thanks to Francis Legge, Anderson Pierce, and the wonderful folks at F0rt Restaurant!

Sloppety Slop Slop. Oink!

The nightlife scene in Montreal blows away anything in NYC. Alright, the bar scene in NYC is great, but Montreal still has big, bad, bangin' clubs. Imagine that! Multi-leveled dance floors, blasting music, and people actually dancing (with shirts off!) That's in addition to their world class male strip joints...

The problem with Montreal nightlife is...the drinks. After about 20 vodka/pineapples, I still hadn't gotten a buzz. Turns out nobody else had either! They have a cap on each pour of about, um, 1ml of booze. So in Montreal, we alcoholics turn to drinking BEER (can you believe it?) at the bar because at least they can't mess with the alcohol content of beer.

After figuring out that racket, we started drinking in our hotel room and smuggling our own hooch to the club. Problem solved! Once sufficiently liquored up, I actually look forward to leaving the club, so I can devour a 3 am plate of Montreal's deliciously disgusting POUTINE.

When I think about Poutine now, during the day, it actually makes me nauseous. This "cuisine" is a jumble of 1) french fries, 2) gravy, and 3) cheese curds. If you're really feeling decadent, you can order the deluxe version which comes with peas and chicken chunks. Eww! What sick fuck invented this recipe?

In Montreal, I eat it every night. Poutine is the best drunk food since the greasy bacon-wrapped hot dogs they sell late-night on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Poutine Carnage: it felt like a good idea at the time.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Playgirl Party Van!

The Playgirl Party Van, aka the "Shaggin' Wagon" is an promotional whore! The g(A)y team drove it up to the shoots in Ptown and Montreal amidst lots of attention. There were good reasons to be drinking heavily in the backseat.

First, the van got a swastika tagged onto the side. Then we ran out of gas in Vermont, got lost in Canada, and all along the way people whizzed by honking and taking photos out of their windows with cell phones. That's entertainment!

One of the models who went carousing with us is a high diver. He practiced some acrobatics on the roof.
This way to Wal-Mart!

Sunday, August 03, 2008

Cake Farts

"Know what I like the most?" she asks, all sultry. And you'll never guess the answer!

I'm sure I'll lose a couple of blog readers with this post, but a friend showed me this site and I'm passing it along. If you'd like a good laugh today, check out the demo video at:

Not exactly sure how people get so dementedly creative, but the competition out there is fierce!

Friday, August 01, 2008

Naked Men of Montreal

Up here in Montreal with Playgirl, blogging behind the scenes for their 8 man shoot. Don't know if the press release has gone out yet, but Playgirl magazine will cease publication after their January 2009 issue. It's all going to be online from then on out. Print's going, going....

But back to the boys!

The guys we shot here are total pros. Other shoots were amateur hour, comparatively. These guys are all (stunning) nude dancers and none had problems getting hard...or getting off.

And they were also giving me some serious...foreskin envy.

On set, I interview/get to know them for the playgirl blog, and I kept getting the same answers to the same questions. So I compiled a list of our demographic. With very little deviation, they all share the following qualities:
  • straight
  • dance nude for men and women
  • beefy
  • super hung
  • short (5' 9"-ish)
  • shaved to the quick
  • sleep naked
  • into "mixed martial arts"
  • into women with firm, round asses
  • plan to later work in (blanket term, I suspect) "construction"
  • totally chill
Maybe my description is deficient. Have there been 1,000 words? This might help you visualize:

The boys of Montreal all basically look like this hottie, Felix.
My opinion of straight guys has really risen with this job. Something about this kind of work just makes guys really open and funny and coolly confident. They crack me up.

I asked one of the guys - a real ladies' man player -- what's his biggest turn-off? "I get turned off," he answers, "When a girl asks me why my dick smells like pussy."

Another one I ask, "Where's your favorite place to have sex?" He deadpans, "In the ass."