Friday, October 31, 2008

A Straight Bottom?

I witnessed him in Vegas and still can't quite believe my own eyes. Joining the mythical ranks of creatures from Nessie to the Yeti is the legend of the...straight bottom?

Sure enough, that's how one of our Playgirl models identified himself at our Las Vegas shoot. When pressed, he said he has amazing sex with his girlfriend. But he performs as gay porn bottom. "Why don't you do straight porn?" I ask, and he becomes a little ruffled. "Because my girlfriend would freak!"

By the end of the shoot, we want to go out and party, but the straight bottom resists. He's got to get to bed because he's got to be up early. He has an appointment with one of his clients in LA at 3pm. So what's going to happen with his client? "Oh, he'll finger my ass for an hour."

So why can't he just get fingered by his client later in the day? "Because I'm having sex with my girlfriend at 5."

Ahhh, modern romance is such a beautiful thing. But more than the straight bottom, I want to meet his girlfriend!

Fruit Fly Convention, November 18

Because we couldn't have come out without the love and support of our fag hags, and because they've been with our community since its inception, it's my pleasure to come out and co-host the SWISH (Straight Women in Support of Homos) charity cabaret at the Duplex on November 28. It will feature plenty of performers, comedians, and fag hags from all over the world!

Come if you can....

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Write to Marry

Yesterday was Write to Marry Day, which is the day all bloggers were supposed to post about marriage. I'm just following what the liberal elite media tell me what to do! And a day late, of course.
Support equality for all by DONATING. If you're in California, don't forget TO VOTE (the propositions are at the bottom of the ballot, so don't stop at the top! And it's not too late to VOLUNTEER.

Did you hear how they're predicting blacks to turn out in full force to vote for Barack--and simultaneously vote DOWN gay marriage. Irony, black people, irony! This is a civil rights issue.

In another smack-you-in-the-face with hypocrisy, how about them Mormons? I actually just wrote a letter to my one Mormon relative asking what his family's position is on gay marriage, since his church has donated over 80% of the funds to the yes on 8 campaign. They spent over 20 million dollars that could've gone to "protect families" who lost homes in Hurricane Ike, or to curing cancer. Instead, they sent it to stop gays from marrying. Which affects anyone how?

I need not belabor the point that Mormons know a little something about being marginalized, misunderstood, and mistreated. Funny they should be the ones now to marginalize, misunderstand, and mistreat! My two cents? They're bitter about not getting polygamy on the books. We shall see if my Mormon cousin writes me back...

Also on topic, gaycities has done an excellent feature up right now where celebrities speak out against hate in California. The piece features Margaret Cho, Joe Biden, Maria Shriver, Ugly Betty and many, many more...on the record!

Finally, my out column about urinal man---and how he may or may not relate to gay weddings-- is now up at OUT.COM. Comment over there if you read it. Edina, you helped me write it! To tell the truth, I think the forces that be may agree with your opinion---as this column didn't make the magazine. I think it's one of my best columns: the distinction we make between the deviant gay and the mainstream gay. However, Urinal man proved too scandalous for print, or maybe my point too confrontational.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Show on the Road

Here's how to silence four 'mos in a cab, Vegas style...

Version 1:

The cabbie is this fat guy with a long beard. He looks like a cross between Rowdy Roddy Piper, and one of those trolls that waits under bridges and eats goats. We're chit chattering, driving to the gay bar, which you could tell the driver was not thrilled about, chit chattering away when suddenly a Blondie song comes on the radio and he says "You guys might not care, but Blondie has great tits." The driver reminisces. "Always had em."

The four 'mos in the car nod. He thinks some more. "She did get a little fat though," he says. "But I'd still spank that." he says, spanking the wheel with his hand. "Yeah, I'd still spank that!"

Version 2:

The cabbie is a black woman with a strong accent. We ask her where she's from and she says, Ethiopia. She detects that the four boys in her cab may be a bit fey. "Are you all married?" she asks, and we immediately scream, "We're gay!" She of course doesn't believe it, how can it be? "We don't have gays in Africa," she says. "Yes, you do," I tell her. "I've slept with lots of them!"

"We don't have gays in Africa," she goes on, merrily, "Because they are killed." She is quick to add that it's the lesbians she can't accept. "They have nothing to put in to make boom-boom". Gay men, like the 4 in her cab, are fine. Because they have parts to go in and make boom boom? Well, yes, and also "Gays, they tip very very good!" she said.

The conversation somehow moved to the election, "I like McCain," she said. "White people, they are better," she says, and the 4 'mos in her cab are completely silenced. "I'm black, and I'm not racist, but white people are better," she says, again, chirpily.

Amazingly enough, she did not get a very very good tip.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Gutter Girls

Las Vegas, in 1,000 words:


Sunday, October 26, 2008

Sin City!

If you don't believe in sin, does it exist?

I'm in Las Vegas--the epitome of America. Land of lights, luck, meth, obscene extravagance, and a hefty helping of shriveled ladies smoking beside slot machines at 4am. Ding, ding, ding, ding!

The bars here are open until dawn, which is one of the many reasons that a long weekend is the longest I'd dare stay. My friend Danny is sharing a room with Jared at the Monte Carlo. We all went out (til dawn), but Jared went gambling. He only gambled $20, and nobody heard from him until 5am, when he texted Danny. The transcript read:

Jared, 5: am:
I'm up 5,000 at poker!

Danny, 5:15 am:
Cash in and go to bed.

Danny, 5:30 am:
Or keep gambling, lose everything, and come back drunk and crying.

Guess what? Jared chose option B!

Jared just wanted a little bit upgrade all the many presents he was dreaming of buying, but at 9am he lost all $14000 of his chips, drank himself silly, and crawled back to his room blubbering like a mongoloid baby. The only thing he accomplished the rest of the day was a prolonged puke in the tub.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Let's get Stupid!

This is far too over-the-brink genius not to post about! We all know this campaign has gotten ugly, we all want it to be over. I mean, killing a brown bear and putting Obama signs all over it on a North Carolina campus? Just sooo wrong. And then yesterday, a McCain supporter being robbed, and a "B" cut into her face. She told police that her attacker said he's "make a Barack supporter out of her". Turns out, she made the whole thing up.

Our first clue to the "intelligence" of vigilante McCain supporters who kill brown bears and viciously attack themselves in smear campaigns? she carved the B onto her face backwards!

Try not using a mirror next time, honey. And maybe an "O" instead --it's less work and you can't really carve it backwards.

Ashley Todd, Queen of the Mayonnaise people, is severely dyslexic retarded.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Cat's out of the Bag

I've come across some things recently that are from very reliable sources. Direct from the horses mouth. It ain't gossip if it's true:

Not that any of you watch Fox (Faux) news, but Bill Hemmer hosts "America's Newsroom" from 9 to 11 in the mornings. And my source who works for the network says he's gay as gay can be. And what's worse? Sometimes Bill Hemmer gets furious when they go to a commercial break. He'll yell at the producers, "That's not what we went over! That's not what we ran through earlier!" because they'd toss something up that was totally right wing, wrong and unreal. And why would this adorable gay man (who is, I'm told, a real liberal) blatantly lie?

Mr. Hemmer says this in a recent article about his work for Fox: "We’re a business. Viewers count. Ratings count. The store has got to stay open. We need customers.”

In other words, my dear, selling your soul to the devil?

2) I always thought Ellen Degeneres was the sweetest, most approachable person on the planet. I'm told she's not that nice, but then again nice is a characteristic one doesn't associate with extreme courage. It could be her handlers, because dear old (drunk!), courageous Ellen has so many proxies she doesn't even know what's going on in her own show and the simple act of deciding which color card she'll hold up on-air has to go through an arduous checks and balances process involving all five producers signing off. And apparently these producers are the worst human beings imaginable ----so much so, that they say in LA that if you do get a job working on "Ellen", it's not if you'll get fired...but when.

3) The East Village landmark, St. Brigid's Church (on Avenue B) is a catholic landmark since 1848, and was instrumental in the spiritual lives of Irish immigrants coming over to New York during the potato famine. Well, the Catholic church put it up for sale (to pay for all their pederasty lawsuits) which had East Village preservationists in an uproar. It was miraculously saved by a $20 million dollar gift from an anonymous donor. The papers are all agog, wondering who it could be. Saving a precious local landmark? Could it be a devout catholic hero?

Wrong. The $20 million was donated by a resident of the Christadora House, which lies across the street from St. Brigids. Catholic, nothing. He donated $20 million to keep his view!

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

is multi-partisanship possible?

I'm so down on gays these days I'm considering advocating on behalf of the log cabin republicans. At least they publicly acknowledge they hate themselves!

Here's the skinny on DC: My friends take me out--we hit some fun clubs: Town, Nellie's, and then they suggest the country western bar for line dancing. I've been to country western bars from LA to Portland to Dallas and they've always been a hoot. It's down home good fun. Well, not Remingtons in Washington DC.

At Remingtons, they're doing a two-step round and round on the dance floor. Immediately upon my arrival to the dance floor, one of the dancers makes it his business to sidle up and insist I leave the floor immediately. I could "injure" him if I stayed. Are you kidding me? He doesn't even know if I can do the two-step. But I get it, I've felt this before. I do not belong.

I wasn't one of them.

Now I could've learned the two-step in a second. So I put up a stink, and the manager takes his side, telling me it's "etiquette" to stay off the dance floor if you're not a pro. He says I can go on the back of the dance floor when they do "stationary" dances. So I wait. And when the tush-push comes on, I go to the side of the floor, far from those who knew their thing, and I'm minding my own business. Dancing harmlessly with Bam.

We paid a $5 cover, um, to dance. I certainly didn't pay $5 to see a show (less to see show-offs) but these guys (probaby 7 of them) apparently thought I'd paid to see them star in some dinner theatre sideshow, because instead of enjoying their own dance--they all turned and jumped me!

I guess I was a threatening distraction to their talents (which says a lot about their talents), because they came at me with foaming mouths...and fists! Because I disobeyed the choreography? Yes, I guess it was a gay bar.

They tried, but couldn't get this ho down. Bam and my DC friends jumped in the middle. Fuck that shit, I dialed 911! The manager was unapologetic. Not only could he not control his chorus girls, he even refused to refund the cover we dance!

The riot police came and I helped them pick out all the boot scootn' bullies. But the Remington gang claimed I threw the first punch! And that my presence on the dance floor, might result in their "injury" --as if they were prima ballerina Anna Pavlova, with the delicate bird-thin bones. By the way, that's apparently a new excuse to use violence --- someone on the far margin of the dance floor might somehow injure you.

It was our word against theirs. The police left, and the ugly eels retreated back to the newly defended exclusive dark lair. I felt like a black man who was racially a black man. It just doesn't make sense. People who should back and bolster one another instead choose to seal themselves up into the tiny bubble of an even smaller world with no allowance for fluidity.

Inside these satellite communities, customs and culture turn to rules and walls which foster a (sometimes) violent disdain for anything foreign. People ossify rigid. Cookie cutter, like country-western choreography.

Club kids, Muscle Marys, Pines Boys, Fems, Leather, Country Western, Conservatives, Trannys, Monogamists, Lesbians ---- we're all gay, but to one another we're mostly unwelcome strangers.

We may come together to fight AIDS and the murder of Matthew Shepard, but the truth is we treat each other far worse than any disease or hate crime. And how are we going to grow as a community if we don't start including, accepting, and reaching across the aisle (as it were) in solidarity?

How fitting this shit should go down in our nation's capitol.

Now will someone (nice) please take me line dancing soon?! I don't want to ossify.

Monday, October 20, 2008

the weak-end

Just back from a weekend in DC, which was an unqualified disaster!! The highlight was probably being attacked by a pack of rabid gays at a washed-up country-western bar because I didn't know the tush push. The earrings came off. Fists flew. 911 was dialed.

Details to follow...

Sunday, October 19, 2008


Recently, I flew US Airways, which I do not recommend. You think you're getting the cheapest flight, but then they tack on all sorts of extras. First bag is charged, extra if it weighs over a certain amount; they charge for meals they don't have enough for everyone), and (get this!) they charge for drinks. A can of coca cola is $1. So is a cup of coffee.

One incredulous traveler asked the stewardess if he could have a glass of tap water, and if that would be free. She said yes, and asked if he wanted ice. "How much is ice?" he deadpanned.

It was really pathetic--watching flight attendants degraded into juggling cans of coke with fistfuls of dollars. Bam Bam now calls US Airways the "Greyhound of the skies."

With air-travel in such a sorry state, cruise ships will inevitably reign once again. I'm looking forward to my first cruise (not sure when that will be) but Bam won a lunch/guided tour of the Queen Mary when it was docked last week in Red Hook, Brooklyn. We went with friends Paul and Anita.

I can't remember much of what I learned aboard the Queen Mary, but it would be a blast to do with a group of queens! And soft drinks are free of charge!

Anita jumps ship

Friday, October 17, 2008


I was featured in this month's Australian glossy, DNA magazine.

Click and it gets bigger (!)

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Are all hotel rooms Christian?

Last night was so unusually insane. So unusually insane that I can't tell you about it til January! That's because I had to sign a confidentiality agreement. Can you believe it? Confidentiality? It's so antithetical to my belief system.

Speaking of belief systems, I can tell you this:

Last night I threw a bible onto a midtown street, from seven stories up. Minutes later: bang, bang, bang! at the hotel room door. Hotel security stood...with a bible in their hands. And they were furious! I denied it up, down and sideways. A bible thrown to the street? Blasphemy! But old Sherlock said he saw me smoking out the window. And I don't even smoke!

Reluctantly, I took back the battered bible. He left in a huffing rage, and I called out after him: "Next time put a bible from the church of the flying spaghetti monster in my room!"

Seriously, who are these Gideon people? More seriously, who allows them to go around putting Christian bibles into secular hotel rooms? Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of fiction...but shouldn't there be a Qur'an on my night stand, too. Also a book of Mormon, and noodly pages from the church of the flying spaghetti monster? Let's be fair!

It is enraging, really. It makes me, I don't know, want to throw bibles out onto the street.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Feeling Frisky? is a NY based gay sex(y) site. Think Manhunt, only with better technology--and unlike manhunt, it doesn't support McCain! Or meth parties! Friskylist's no-fuss interface will soon have it evolving into something more than just sex.

So why am I plugging and promoting this new site? Because it's Bam Bam's baby!

The boys of Friskylist
Is it polio? Someone tell the boy in the middle that the hands-on-hips look is not working

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

A few items

Hey, are you good at story? Can you help me out? I'm beginning to write a comedy about house on Fire Island. It's got all the usual gay suspects, stuck in the same time-share for summer. What happens out there that's of any consequence? What gets em all riled up, besides one another?

You see the right sidebar of my blog is blank. There are supposed to be Adsense ads in there, and I can't figure out why they're not appearing. My techie friends can't figure it out either. When I click on "blog preview" they appear, and that's one of my main issues with blogger: Their "preview" exists on an entirely different plane than actuality. So since I can't figure out adsense, if you have an ad (and its code) you'd like to post here, let me know.

I know my sales really suck when my book ranking on Amazon is behind the book "How to say Fabulous in 8 languages". I get a real kick out of that! Maybe my new publisher (who is my new publisher?) should put the price of mine back down to something reasonable? I feel like busting into their bindery and liberating it from the chains of absurd pricing. That's how I say fabulous in English!

Monday, October 13, 2008

Happy (virtual) Birthday, Cooldan!

Cooldan just had his birthday, but he wasn't around. So what did we do? The invitation went something like this:

We've always tried to pull off something memorable for Cooldan's birthday --whether it was the flower power party with bums in the east river park, or the trinity party at Crazy's house where his three decades were celebrated by 3 Mae West impersonators, or last year when we insisted he was turning 40, and everyone accepted it without question!!!

Our silver fox is turning 33 today, and we're celebrating with our most inventive party yet! We're orchestrating a virtual birthday party: That's right, you all and I will be there but the birthday boy will not, repeat Cooldan will not be at his birthday party!

It'll almost be like a wake, only he's still alive! Cooldan's working over-time in Paris.

But that doesn't mean we can't honor the boy with some merriness and blow him, er, his candles out. Then we'll toss it on twitter, type him texts, tag it all onto facebook, and who knows--maybe we'll wake him up across the pond for an ichat!?

An absentee birthday party is the first of its kind, and as we ALL know, Dan has so few firsts left....


Rob, Steve, Crazy Dan, Jamie Ranieri our Fruit Fli and her lovely bf Marco
Crazy Dan (preparing to enter "the fog) with Josh and Jamie
The Italians showed up to give us the latest in 3-D fab. Milan is always first in fashion!
Bam Bam, JMP, Keith Michael, and Jesse
Sean, Shari Albert and Todd corner genius columnist Michael Musto
Hell's Kitchen in the house! Caleb, Matthew and Wayne
A spirited "Happy Birthday" to Cooldan's voice mail.
Happy Virtual Birthday, Dan!!!
There's a bum who sleeps outside on my stoop. He was so amused by all the people entering the building, that he stood outside with another homeless friend and kept up a running commentary. When my friend Danny entered, they asked: "Is there an orgy going on up there?"

And when my friend Angela came in the building, he told her: "You're only the fourth vagina."

At one point there were so many people, that the smokers spilled out onto the back fire escape. It abuts the neighbor's window. They are a young family and were asleep on Friday night. The mother woke up, looked outside and started counting: "My God, there are ten people standing outside our window!"

"What are you doing out there?" she flipped. "We have a 4 year old in bed with us. And we're trying to sleep!"

One partygoer dryly puffs: "We're just trying to smoke. You're the one talking about being in bed with a 4-year old."


Maybe they'll move to the burbs? Although there's no worry about drunk driving here, there are still times when you're too crunk to crawl in a cab. could (like my friend Justin) turn into Polly Amorous.

In any case, out came the inflatable bed.


My friends Chad and Scott just celebrated what most people want and what so few have: a successful marriage. Happy 20th Anniversary, boys!!

I'm still deciding if I'm more envious of that unheard of milestone, or the fact they're now celebrating in the Seychelles...

Friday, October 10, 2008

Evidence of a Virgin Birth!

So I stand corrected about the virgin birth thing---it's true, it's happened: SHARKS are doing it! I've heard of hermaphrodite fish impregnating themselves (and I totally tolerate them...), but now there are virgin sharks giving birth?

No wonder they've survived so long.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Cold Cock, er, Calling...

This is the last post today. Promise!

Last Sunday Afternoon:

I decided I couldn't sit on my butt in Manhattan this year and do nothing about the election. So when Daniel Nardicio set up the "Barack the Vote" party in Brooklyn to cold call voters in swing states....I had to go. He managed to entice a whole bunch of hipsters to turn Sugarland into a call center by promising go-gos, and show-breaks featuring the talents of Bridget Everett and drag darling Epiphany.

Our job was to use our cell phones to cold-call voters in the swing states on behalf of, and Barack Obama. I don't get intimidated by a lot. But I was terrified to do this: my hand on the phone, my voice, everything was trembling in terror. I'm not sure why. I think because first of all, I hate receiving calls like that. Second, I didn't know what kind of rude ignorance I was going to encounter.

Brian, the editor of Next Magazine, held my arm in support as I got my lists and began calling people with names like Brandolyn and Theodesia in swing states like Virginia. When they answered, I was so flustered I totally fell off script. I couldn't read, I couldn't speak. I looked around and drag queens were giving hand jobs. I was mighty distracted.

Mercifully, the tactic (or is that a strategy?) worked because basically, since I was so shaken, people stayed on the phone with me...out of pity!

Ring, Ring, Ring:


(voice quaking) Hello, Brandolyn?


Hi Brandolyn, my name is Jesse, and I'm calling on behalf. Obama. Vote. Help me, help him. Swing states. Changing the world. Need your President. Please, you...

I'm listening.

Thank you. Brandolyn, you would not believe what's going on in this call center!!!

The ever-lovely Epiphany HARD at work. In the background, I cold call voters.
Photo documentation by WilsonModels

Fan Mail

I haven't been receiving any fan mail for my blogs over at Playgirl, but the folks at Playgirl sure are hearing from fans of their videos! Here's one recent fan letter, from Jeff, in Florida.

What are the odds he was masturbating as he wrote it?

THANK-YOU Playgirl.

I viewed the Austin solo video for the second time. FANTASTIC.

Thank-you for providing such great male entertainment. I enjoyed watching the camera zoom in on his ball sack- not once but several times. It gives a great view of the size and shape of his testicles.

I enjoyed every close-up of his penis and this video was filled with close-ups.

I particularly enjoyed having my computer screen filled with his erect penis and watching him coax his penis into releasing its semen. It's beautiful to know that so many women...AND men are enjoying this classy male entertainment that Playgirl is famous for.

I would love to work for you and be a part of it all.

Also- got any Playgirl t-shirts? I would love to have one and show my support.


You, too, can be as inspired as Jeff. For more zooming onto ball sacks, head on over to Playgirl. Write em a letter, tell em I sent you. In the meantime, since the appetite is insatiable, I'll share a little something more from Burning Man.

Just spreading the sunshine

A Sleazy Pitch

My Friends, recall this little catch-phrase used by McCain at the Presidential Debate? I thought "my friends" came across as patronizing, and presumptive. but then I was reading a comment on Towleroad post about it, and only then did I understand why I had such negative associations with the phrase:

McCain needs to quit it with the "My friends" routine. It's so played. The only other times I hear such constant repetition of "my friend" is when I'm in a cab or electronics store, and I'm getting ripped off. "For you, my friend, special price for you, my friend."

Theatrical RANTS and RAVES

Here's my review of a few recent things caught on Broadway. Xanadu is gone. Rent is gone. [Title of Show] is going to be gone. October 12th it closes, and trust's even gayer than a Madonna concert.

[Title of Show] is a self-referential play about two guys putting on a show about two guys. It's so much better than a show about a movie about a show, which is the rest of Broadway right now. If you're a theatre trivia fan, this show is something you've waited for all your life. And if you're not a theatre trivia fan, still go. I laughed the entire way through, and you know what? I was inspired. Inspiration can be hard to come by. See it...while you can.

Since I was inspired, let me ask: Who out there is a composer, and wants to develop a show with me?

Next up:

The other day I found a pill in the house, and asked Bam what it was. He didn't know. Was it an upper, or a downer? I popped it into my mouth hoping it was an upper. It wasn't. I was thrust into this loopy sort of un-reality, and ended up puking and going to bed at 3pm.

When we went to see August: Osage County, the pulitzer prize winning ensemble drama that's three hours long, which is the reason it took me so long to see it. "Three hours! Three hours!" but like everyone said, it rushed right by. The viper, Violet Weston, is a mood-swinging, pill-popping matriarch, and when she begins to babble incoherently after too many pills at the end of the first act, Bam turns to me and says, "It's you!"

Violet Weston is now being played by Estelle Parsons, who I last saw as that whiny, freaked-out member of the gang in Bonnie & Clyde. She won an Oscar for it in 1967, and she's 81 years old next month. As Violet Weston, she knocks the role out of the park. It defies all reason. At the end, after three long acts of rushing around for three hours, eight shows a week, this 80 year old woman races up two flights of stairs to the top of the house. And she does it faster than I could.

Next up:

How many friends told me I'd need binoculars to spot Harry Potter's wand? Hey, it's cold in the theatre. And he's got a mass of pubes, and big balls. And he does a great job. Besides, I'm way more into the simple smoky staging, and the horses played by six sexy men wearing high heeled hooves.

But can I say one thing that is so not p.c., and is not mentioned in any single review? This is not nice, but it has to be said because it takes away from the strength of the piece. The character on stage the entire time, Richard Griffiths, who plays the psychologist, is so upstaged by his own imposing, obtrusive world-record holding Fat Upper Pubic Area that who can concentrate?

Equus has some great things to say about what religion can do, but it gets too plodded down with psycho-babble ("Do you like to mount horses?") and incessant yammering by the over bloated psychologist and she his friend? Superior? Co-worker?...Capt'n Janeway (Kate Mulgrew, once again showing off her indecipherable Hepburn-ish accent: it's not Connecticut, it's not Brighton & Hove, where is it from?) who is written into the script only to allow him to talk about his past, and say that unlike Daniel Radcliffe's character, he has no passion; that he's never worshipped anything in his life. Which is a case of bad casting, because this man has been worshipping cheese doodles and arm-chairs his entire life. No wonder Harry's uncut cheese doodle looks small. Next to that?

Not to harp, but last year I had to ingest the sight of this actor's FUPA for the entire length of the History Boys, another show on Broadway, where he played a lecherous teacher who molests his students, and the irredeemable play thought it all fine and dandy. Same idea with Carousel. The main character in the musical Carousel beats his wife and by the end of the play we're to understand he only did it out of love. Vomitrocious, both History Boys and Carousel.

But what's my opinion?

Richard Griffiths won a TONY for History Boys. I believe he ate it.

Sorry about that, Bessy

Remember back in December, I heard from my mom and she told me that my brother was out elk hunting. I thought it was awful, how horrible, and then she was like, "What are you having for dinner...vegetarian?"

So I decided that if I can't kill something outright, I shouldn't be able to eat it. Yes, I could kill a chicken. But I couldn't kill a cow, so I haven't eaten red meat since that time. I'm still of the same mind. But I did fudge, just once. It went like this:

It was July, during my self-imposed Survivor Weekend on Fire Island. I'd lived on nothing but booze and bagels, had slept in an abandoned house with ticks and mouse droppings, and by the time I arrived drunk to a mid-afternoon BBQ. I went up to the grill with my paper plate in two hands because I was so jittery, and I spoke to the cook:

Me: "Do you have anything vegetarian?"
Cook: "There's Macaroni Salad in the kitchen..."
Me: "...I'll just have a burger."

And I had it. And it tasted really, really good.

In all fairness, at that moment I probably would have killed a cow.

Pri-Madonna Hangover

I'm just going to blog a few different posts all right now: Whatever comes to mind.

I hope you don't mind.

Let's start with Monday. I went to meet up with friends who were all prepping for the Madonna concert. I called it the pre-Madonna gathering. Get it?

So there we are at the Ritz with friends from as far away as Portland, Oregon, and several friends from, ok it was THE ENTIRE BUILDING of tenants who living at 447 West 45th street (homos!!) drinking in preparation for and anticipation of the Madonna Sticky & Sweet show.

They shared stories from past concerts, compared ticket seats, flipped through local gay rags (HX and Next) which both had Madonna on the cover. Even the bar conspired, playing only Madonna. Now I like Madonna. I $50 like her. I just don't $300 like her. And I really hate her latest album.

But when they all left, giggly and excited, and I found myself all alone at the bar listening to "Borderline" for the third time, I suddenly felt as lonely and out of place as a fag hag at 2 am. Like I was missing out on an important piece of culture.

Then again, the concert reports weren't all that glowing: She doesn't even do an encore.

So then yesterday, I'm on the set of Law & Order SVU and I'm with about 18 beautiful girls and we're supposed to be at a high end club. But really it's just a humdrum set in New Jersey. And the model girls all have to sit on the lap of this short, thin older latino, and he's got long slicked black hair and he is Carlos Leon, Madonna's baby daddy. Apparently he's playing a witness, or maybe a suspect, I don't know.

But I wonder if he's seeing little Lourdes while Momma Madge is in town. I'm play-acting, pretending to have fun because that's my job, but I'm surrounded by 18 beautiful women and feel just as lonely as I did back at the Ritz when everyone left, and there's one common thread:

It's Madonna's fault.

Is it me?

Some things I'm struggling with today:

Am I missing a crucial gay gene for not worshipping Madonna?

Why is there no synonym for mainstream in my thesaurus?

What the hell is an earmark?

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

When Gays land on Blue Moon

Took a break from the city up the Hudson River Valley to New Paltz, and the "Gunks" which is part of a mountain range, and the only real place to go rock climbing in New York State.

Minnewaska State Park
Sacajawea scouts locations

The forest performs its annual peep show
It also does an exotic strip

So we were staying off highway 299. A few miles from the hotel, right beside the above photo, was a broken down building called "The Blue Moon". It advertised "Exotic Dancers" on a beat up sign. The mere idea of "exotic dancers" on the side of a lonesome bi-way in upstate New York gave me a little thrill. Did they come all the way from the Catskills to dance here? I wondered if they gave themselves names like Wichita, or Angelique? Just who were they?

After dinner, at about 10pm, I made Bam Bam drive us down the biway. He protested the whole way.
"I don't want to see vagina!"
"It'll be fun," I reassured, "And it's probably just titties."
"I don't want titties in my face."
"I do," I said. "I definitely want titties in your face."

I suggested we'd just watch all the exotic action from afar. At the bar. Where I'd placate him with multiple Coronas. We got to the Blue Moon and drove into its lot slowly, to scope it out. There were just two cars outside. One van, and one toyota. "One is the owners," I said, "And the other belongs to the exotic dancer." We laughed and laughed, but suddenly a girl who we didn't notice, got out from the toyota and ran inside. She carried hooker heels in her hands!

She'd been laying down in the driver's side, waiting Blue Moon business to pick up.

Now we had to go in.

I yank Bam out of the car and we walk inside only to find a big man with a sign that reads no alcohol allowed, or sold here! There is also a cover charge. Behind the bouncer, on a stool, sits the exotic dancer. Her back is to us. Long hair races down her shoulders. Her legs are up on a table, straightened, to emphasize their length. Her hooker heels are on. One wiggles off the end of her heel, seductively. Prince's "Erotic City" blares over tinny speakers in the background.

"Wait, you don't sell alcohol here?" I ask the bouncer. "No," he answers, and Bam Bam turns to go. The bouncer stares flatly. The exotic dancer does not alter her pose. The door makes a little jingle as we leave.

I felt guilty all night.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

I've seen my future

Look who I spotted at Burning Man Neverland! He may not be ageless, but he hasn't grown up. Peter Pan is alive and well.

Is that Wendy in blue?

Life and Loss

That adorable ultrasound I posted a while back? Turns out it's the only photo I'll ever see of my little nephew. He didn't make it.

He was very active. He did flips and cartwheels which ended up twisting his umbilical cord and strangling off his food supply, in seven places. He never got the chance to see the world, or to do cartwheels upon it. Not everyone makes it, and while I'm reminded how lucky we are to be alive, I'm struck with a profound sense of loss. My heart goes out to my brother, his wife, and kids. I can't imagine their grief.

They put up a memorial for him in Beartooth, Montana

Monday, October 06, 2008


Yesterday at 5 am I passed out on a train, missed a transfer, and when I got back on track I passed out again and missed my stop. Previously I was with my favorite blogger, chugging a bottle of champagne from behind a giant planter on a side-street in Queens.

Oddly, Bam Bam barely beat me after a debaucherous night of his own.

When we woke up early and unrested, as is always the case after a long night of drinking, we decided the only cure would be to go and see people who were more miserable than we were.

How were the Netflix Movie Marathoners doing up in Times Square? We hobbled up there to gawk at their 4th day of straight movie watching---4 days without sleep. There are now only 2 contestants left. And boy do they look beat!

$10,000 and a Guiness book entry is so not worth this.
The final two have taken to standing, so they won't pass out. Which is the tactic I should've employed on the subway the night before.

And their eyes---the eyes look like they've taken punches: black from sleep deprivation.

Outside the booth, this lady who looked homeless and had one of those toothless mouths that shakes when she talks was eagerly telling me how three other contestants fell out earlier in the morning, she watched them all: one, two, three, go down.

The lady adds that the guy on the right has another Guinness Book record...that he stood on one foot for 175 hours or something and I wonder quickly what has become of me? I willingly came up here to participate and watch this and listen to a homeless lady narrate a brutal game and suddenly schaudenfraude doesn't feel so good or funny or make me feel better at all.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

Say no to Prop 8. With your $$$

I'm not sold on Gay Marriage. Meaning, I don't know if it's for me. Bam asked why I would want marriage, and I told him if he's a veggie in the hospital I'd like the right to pull the plug!

I can think of a few other reasons: hospital visitation, inheritance, tax breaks, etc. In California gay couples who choose marriage are facing an important election. Proposition 8 is a hateful amendment that would outlaw gay marriage, and we can stop it.

Brad Pitt put $100,000 to fight it. So did Steven Spielberg. If our straight allies can fork over their cash, certainly we can collaborate. I don't have a lot of money, but I wrote a check for $25. Bam Bam matched me. Go here to contribute what you can. Imagine if we all contributed a little something. Help keep frickin' Star Trek's Sulu married to his husband! Please do what you can. C'mon, what else do I ask you for?

I also wrote a recent piece on gay grooms for the Gay List Daily. If you haven't signed up (the New York edition), do it now. It's free, it's fun...and totally irreverent. Oh, and I write it!

Friday, October 03, 2008

Couch Potato Heaven! In Times Square!

So I'm in Times Square yesterday and you'll never guess what's going on! It's the Netflix Massive Movie Marathon... and the glass room below is filled with 8 contestants watching films continuously in an attempt to break the Guinness Book of World Records and win $10,000.

Lastnight, at just 8 1/2 hours into the competition....
The current record is 120 hours, or more than five days. And once you fall asleep, you're out. The contestants inside are forced to actually watch the movies, they can't take their eyes off the screen. There are monitors to make sure this happens. Of course there are distractions, with people like me outside yelling. "Don't let her go to the bathroom! She's packin' meth in her coochie!"

To stay awake watching films like ELVIRA and the ENGLISH PATIENT, you'll need a stock of meth in your coochie.
Here's one of the couches. The contestants are in red netflix jumpsuits. The guy in black is monitoring the contestants.

I'm reminded of They Shoot Horses, Don't They? which is one of the best film's I've ever seen. The film is set in the depression, when they had Dance Marathons with big prizes. People would pay entrance to watch couples dance, dance, dance until they dropped trying to win.
Do you think this will be in their Netflix Queue?
In the 1930's these endurance marathons were about exercise. In a 2008 depression, all you have to do is sit and eat popcorn and keep your eyes open.

Oh-but the best part? This morning, Richard Simmons is dropping in to give for a light stretch!