Friday, March 31, 2006

taken shape

I started working on this story months ago. A response to a story about how science has influenced architectural design, this is my take on the ways in which architecture is shaping science.

OK, maybe it's not breaking any new ground, but read it, you may learn something...

(and that ends today's self-referential PR announcement. Go about your regularly scheduled business.)

spring is here

It's incredible what a little sun and warmth does for the libido.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

bewitched, bothered, bewildered: the black party

We had to wait til 4 a.m. to enter the party, so after leaving Trayb's, Ben, P and I stopped by Baracuda for a drink. Did we drink? Yes, a beer I think. And we chatted with Ebs, who I'd met a month back but never heard from. Then we were off to Roseland.

Since we still had 30 minutes before we could get in on the cheap ($40), so we stepped over to Therapy before it closed. There, the young guy said he'd give us our drinks for free if we showed him our cockrings. I wasnt' wearing one, but I still got my free redbull vodka for showing my cock. It was the perfect start of the evening.

After we checked our coats, I had Ben and P check their pants. How liberating is that: walking in a jockstrap and boots with thousands of other partially clothed men (and a few ladies). Trayb, Taures and B had alreadyfound their spot and the dancing began.

The music was dark—heavy drum beats rattled through my ribcage. I retreated to the balcony and what would later turn into a mix of leather and studs, masks and sweat; the orgy overflowing from the two darkrooms. Each time I passed near the doors to the darkroom I was handed lubes and condoms (I found dozens and dozens in my pockets when I returned home) but the crush of naked, fucking men usually caused me to retreat too soon. I was feeling a little claustrophobic and not all that sexual. But I was impressed that there was a separate DJ just for the fucking (at one point some really great Prince played as I watched a man ride another's dick--GREAT CHOICE!)

The man with a a leather mask sculpted to cover his nose and mouth stood next to me for 15 minutes, staring with silent eyes as the thumpthump eased up. Sometime around 7 am the movie broke and the disco ball came down. I'll never think of Kim Carnes' "Bette Davis Eyes" in the same way after dancing to it half-clothed with hundreds of sweaty men around. I had a second-wind which got me through the next few hours and made the party rocket to one of my favorite nights of music and dance.

Around 9 o'clock I was ready to leave. We collected our clothes, P and Ben putting their pants back on after their hours of public near-nudity and joined the tourists gathering in Times Square on Sunday morning. It was the end to a great evening. We'll be there next year.

(and here's the HX public sex issue with a shortie (the first) by me—under pseudonym—with an anecdote adapted from this very blog!)

Saturday, March 25, 2006

spring rites

seems I'll finally be experiencing my first black party.

So strange that the article I first read from which I learned about the whole deal was written by the guy who is currently my boss.

Went to his "brunch" today and then tried to get some sleep since everyone says the party doesn't get going til after 4 (and since, being under 30, I get a promotional discount after 4 a.m. I must try to hold out and party like we're back on euro time).

Last night saw some dance that got me and P talkin quite a bit. But unfortunately I was so tired by the time we got to the party with John Cameron Mitchell, that I didn't really chat or anything. Have to wait til the next time. Now it's almost time for a completely different sort of dance.

Am I ready for it? I'm not really in the mood but I've been so "sober" lately—meaning too serious and work-oriented—that I feel I need some rupture in all that's going on. And this celebration of pagan solstice rituals (right) and male sexual bonding is a better reason than most.

Ask me if I feel the same tomorrow afternoon.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

call me starfucker

OK. So I almost said no to the press credentials to this show. But then I was like, Hell! I've always wanted to meet Rufus Wainwright. I talked to M. Stipe only that once very briefly in the Hartsfield Airport (he was buying Cosmo at a kiosk and I was on my way for study abroad in France) and if I can see Peaches and Margaret Cho in the same room, the world will seem much more liveable. So that's the plan for Monday.

And then, I find out that John Cameron Mitchell is DJing an "afterparty" for the Arcs on Friday of next week. I'm excited. Then a writer of mine calls from Mexico and mentions it and that he's friends with John.

"If you can get me a way to meet John Cameron Mitchell, I'll be VERY happy," I say.
"You serious? Of course, I'll call my friend and you can go clubbing with him or something."

He was serious. I call his friend and I'm gonna meet JCM (who've I've missed at two Radical Faerie gatherings as well as when he was in town for the Atlanta Film Festival the year that Hedwig came out).

"I'm not a starfucker or anything," I told his friend on the phone.
"No, of course, it'll be fun. See you there."

Now, if only TrayB had brought me along with him to meet Stephen Sondheim, so many people that I respect and admire for their talent would be fulfilled. But I guess we all need something to strive for (Almodovar someday?).

Umm. Tomorrow I'm going to the screening of Matthew Barney's new film, which he collaborated on with his wife Bjork. Maybe one day?

OK, I'm not sure why I'm writing all this, but please, don't hate me. It's actually work. Believe me.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

oh, johnny

Just got back from seeing Ring of Fire, the Johnny Cash musical at Branson, I mean Broadway. Ugh. So un-fun. Don't even want to go there right now. Instead I'll say a bit about the excitement of the morning.

After working hard and getting as many errors and fuck-ups out of the latest issue (it's getting better each week I hope!), the paper was finished and sent to press. It arrived around noon today as usual. Then the blowup ensued.

Seems the designer left some "dummy" text on the page. But you see, it wasn't the ever popular ipsum or even some uninteresting but harmless XXXs. No he wrote: Joe bloe's Fucky Fuckball p. 21. It was there on the bottom of the cover page. When the publisher saw it, things were not good.

My boss wasn't there, but when he arrived, he wailed. You'da sworn he was channelling his Jewish grandmothers and would soon rip his clothes into shreds. The designer was lucky not to be in. He may have been physically harmed. The papers were held, then collected and new cover pages were printed. In reality, it's not that big a deal. I showed the paper to five different people and they didn't notice the line. Shows you how much those words on the cover actually matter. But with all the recent problems they've had with covers and advertisers (they lost the majority of their advertising a year ago when a cover story with 50 jokes about the Pope's imminent demise), I can understand that they're a bit gun shy. The individual responsible has not been fired.

The paper should hopefully be out tomorrow. The "clean" cover looks quite nice, but I have saved one from destruction for a collector's item. (For your reference, page 21 contained a very nice review of a Korean restaurant by one of my writers. No fuckball in sight. That really disappointed some people in the office.)

And a story about that I didn't have room to run in the paper is also available online: My review of the JT LeRoy movie The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things.

Ain't paper life grand?

Sunday, March 12, 2006


I attempted to go shopping yesterday, but I'm a big failure. I've been too successful in eradicating all those have-to-go-shopping impulses that now when I find myself out and about I just can't buy a thing. I think meatcute was a bit disappointed since I promised him vicarious buying pleasure.

Oh well, it was such a beautiful, sunny day that it was at least great to be outside. And, of course, that's the ONE good thing about shopping in NYC: It involves being outside instead of a mall. So I actually get some sort of exercise and sunshine instead of bland shopping blues.

I spent the rest of the day cooped up inside, napping and getting over my previous night's excursions. I ended the evening by watching both Before Sunrise and Before Sunset since I moved up things in my netflix queue that I KNOW P does not want to watch. God, what a pretentious, depressing, bullshit evening that turned out to be. Sorry for any big fans of the films out there, I too love/hate Linklater for all his pretensions, but the first was such a ball of blech. Maybe when I was 22 I would have related, but now I much preferred the sequel with all its much more realistic cynicism and disappointment. Guess it's cuz I'm closer to the protagonists' ages (32) these days and like to watch defeat than youthful romance.

Anyway, I had reason to leave the house today even if it was rainy: meatcute was all set to watch the off-off Broadway production of Paradise Lost: the Musical. I feel it should have an exclamation mark at the end, especially after sitting through the show, which has one too many jazzy, fosse-esque numbers for something that is purportedly based on Milton (yes, Dee, you'd be so flabbergasted). Plus, I was scratching my head at intermission cuz, maybe my Paradise is rusty, but I didn't remember any Sophia. Turns out she's an addition to the epic poem: These youngins (the writer of the thing only recently graduated from Williams in 2002) decided they could improve by adding "an amalgamation of several ancient divine feminine figures" to thwart Lucifer/Satan and help ol Adam and Eve out.

As I sat there, I thought of those moments on TV/film when they show people at bad NY theater. You know, cramped space, nudity, weird acting choices and directing confusion. Well, having 20 people doing dance/fight choreography on a stage the size of some people's kitchens with "wings" painted on, a puppet snake, people in body suits and fishnets singing about being falling angels and how god would be brought to justice, certainly felt that way.

The only other addition was that hottie Lucifer (who has supposedly been on a soap opera at some point) is also bisexual. No I mean the character, not the actor! Satan goes both ways! Since most of the cast is flamin all over the place, no wonder, but when he kisses Beelzebub on the lips and then goes after Sophia, I realized, "Of course, of course, Satan would definitely want his cake and eat it, too."

gotta love the theater. Up next: Faerie Queene: the Musical!

Saturday, March 11, 2006


It was a long day at work. A LONG Friday, but somehow I survived it. I was sitting at work at 6 and then I remembered, oh you made tentative plans to see either: a) a sexual/political one-man show in the Village or go check out the opening of Deitch's "Garden Party." I decided to ditch the show and go for the opening since I wasn't sure how long my eyes would stay open anyway.

When meatcute met me, it was a mob scene. Hundreds of people trying to get their chance to roll down a 40-foot hill constructed for art purposes or shed their white undies to hang in a tree. A Yoko Ono piece is in the exhibit, so when a limo pulled down the street and stopped in front of the gallery, I was hoping for a sighting, but didn't catch a glimpse of anyone but a gaggle of hipsters (help me out here: a murder of hipsters? an exhaltation of hipsters? It's gotta be better than a herd of hipsters) aching to be noticed, and noticed some more (there's a great article in this month's Harper's, by the way, by the "founder" of flash mobs and his intention of it to be a critique of hipsters and their need for deindividuation).

After a quick and yummy dinner in Chinatown (I remembered how much I love salt pepper squid!), I decided to meet up with Ben and his friend Jeremy. They were doing the after parties for the Armory Show. I got into Glass, a bar in Chelsea that has a two-way mirror in the bathroom so that the people on the street can watch as you wash your hands. It was open bar, which even meant Red Bull was being handed out gratis. That got me going.

So then we tried to love the SCOPE art fair's party at the Hiro Ballroom at the Maritime Hotel. It was my first time there and, oh my lord, what a beautiful space. But, holy damn, what an annoying party! It was full of—you guessed it!—hipsters. Now I'm understanding why there is this aversion to all those cool twentysomethings. It really does kill a vibe. The hip-hop blaring, we booked it, and Jeremy decided it would be a good idea to go to G. Wrong. It's been years since I've stepped foot in there and, good golly, how oddly packed (did I know it was an Asian/Black cruising ground?).

Didn't stay there long. Somehow we ended up at Baracuda. And somehow, whenever I go there, it becomes a VERY long night. Gee whiz, but Friday was long.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Tryin to throw your arms around the world

(For some reason the chorus to that U2 song is stuck in my head. Some strange dream that I'm failing to recall?)

Yesterday marked my second full cycle at the paper, but it feels like I've been there already for months. I remember that feeling; I had it previously, too. It's this weird time warp that you enter when you work for a publication: You're looking forward weeks in advance, dealing with the present and putting the past (which was just a week ago) WAY in the past immediately. I think it ages you in a way that has yet to be determined.

Guillem came and went, purportedly having an amazing experience in St. Louis with the opening of his play. Perhaps there will be a repeat?

I skipped lunch yesterday so I could also leave work early to hike it uptown to see my honey off to JFK. He left for a spring break school trip to Paris, south of France (Tolouse/Marseille) and Berlin. I gave him instructions to have FUN and not be too nerdy of an architecture PhD while on the Continent. We'll see how successful he is on both of those counts.

That left me with no excuse not to attend the 15th anniversary party for Genre. It took place at the new club element (which is in a former bank) down in the E. Village. I am one of the last to check out the place so it was my free excuse to do so. Plus free booze and bubbly always makes me happy.

Had a great conversation with someone who matters in the power structure of the publications (I think) which made me feel good about my position at the paper but, otherwise, I was getting that pretentious, earnest, "I wanna be a big shit" vibe that seems to permeate most of these sorts of events. No, in fact, it seeps into most situations in the city.

That's why I prefer to associate with nice, normal, FRIENDLY people who don't need to have their egos stroked. I understand masturbatory impulses and all, but the physical ones are much more pleasant than all that psychic wanking going on in a room. Please, just get over yourself and have a good time. I'm not going to come all over you with attitude, so please don't get me all sticky with yours.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

a star is born

I finished my first full cycle of the paper last night. But that's not the big news.

The big news is that Guillem is in town. He arrived late on Monday so, although we were both tired, I went down to the CUTE little flat he has down at W. 71st and got our catching up out of the way. Don't you just love when you haven't seen someone for a while and it just seems like you pick up where you left off.

Of course now he's a big time soap opera boss, making the big bucks. Plus, he's in town just as a stopover on his way to St. Louis. You see, his play was translated into English by a guy out there and is having its US debut this weekend. So he rearranged his hectic life and is heading that way to see it.

I had lunch yesterday with him and Walter and, at the end of the meal he gets a call and we find out later he's being interviewed for a piece in a Spanish paper. "Oh, yes, I'm just walking in Manhattan now with some friends. You want to chat about my play? My ideas? My art? Of course! Dahling." He's being awarded things left and right. The man is in demand. G. the star! Ah, I knew him when.

There's plenty more to blog about but it'll have to wait. I'm now spending so much time editing and writing for money, that I just kind of balk when I think of doing it here. But I'm sure I'll come back to the fold soon enough.