‘Cause There Ain’t No Doubt I Love This Land…

On Tuesday we went to Beige, and had a really fun night. A lot of all-stars were there, including Shania R, Charlie H, Ben W, Horacio S, David M, Chris K, Paul D, and Willem D. And the evening featured the surprise return of Josh S!

The party was only marred by the presence of this German guy we once dated. When we say “once,” we mean that literally. We went on one date. Since that time, he has called us relentlessly, sent us friendster messages, dirty text messages, and left accusatory voicemails on our phone. We are relatively new to this whole “singlehood” thing, but we were always under the impression that if a date doesn’t go well, you just don’t call the person again. That way, you can avoid embarrassing conversations or wasted “coffee dates.” It’s a subtle way of letting someone know you’re not interested, so you don’t have to say to his face “You’re not good enough.”

Anyway, the German guy confronted us and yelled at us for being “so American.” This is the second time in recent history we’ve been lectured about “being American” in our dating practices. Apparently, according to a co-worker, everywhere else in the world men only date one other man at a time. So once you’ve gone on one date, you’re off limits until you’ve broken up with that person. The idea that you can date around with a few until you find someone you like best is apparently “American,” and therefore “high-priced, low-quality, and morally bankrupt.”

We apologized to the German for behaving like a true citizen of our country, and then ran away. While running, we encountered a boy we’ve been on some dates with lately. He was with a cute friend. We thought of the German, and looked back to see him sulking alone at the bar.

Then we got the cute friend’s number.

Did We Tell You We Are Ex-Lacrosse Players?

Our smart and sexy friend Adam over at GLAAD sent us this list from Truth Wins OUT, which discusses common myths about ex-gays. Our favorite one is the last one: “Gaining Weight Will Help Make You Hetero.”

“My weight started to increase, and I found little desire to keep on a strict diet and stay fashionably slim,” says ex-gay John Paulk, who is a prominent ex-gay, and also spokesperson for the loathsome “Focus on the Family.” “My very appearance was changing. I was looking less and less gay. And I was perfectly happy about it.”

Funny, to us that reads like an advertisement for STAYING gay.

And then we looked at Paulk’s picture:

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny... You can’t quit a company that’s already rejected your application.

And God Told Moses "Thou Shalt Only Wear Pleated-Front Khakis And Lengthy Braided Belts. Thy Women Shall Stick To Dowdy Sweater Sets."

While we don’t love it when journalists give attention to hatemongers like the Phelps family, we think you should check out this face-off between Fox News Anchor Julie Banderas and one of the leaders of the Westboro Baptist Church, Shirley Phelps-Roper.

It’s well known that Fred Phelps and his Westboro parish intentionally try to raise the ire of opponents, hoping to incite violence or other efforts to suppress their free speech. Then, they are able to sue on First Amendment grounds and raise money for their some doubtlessly worthy cause, like a Women’s Circle, or Boy Scout Troop.

You can tell from the moment that she begins talking that Banderas is going to go bananas. She’s not the most eloquent defender of gays, but she is one of the more unlikely. Watching Anderson Cooper get riled up by idiot conservative guests is one thing, but to see it on Fox News is quite another.

It’s like when a trick offers you a warm, dampened towel to clean the lube off you, so you’re not slimy all night. Unexpected, and perhaps a little bold – but refreshing.

Thanks to Andy for finding the clip.

And Yet, We Always Look Forward To Coming Home

This weekend, we went to visit our brother in Chicago. It’s really an amazing city. It is very clean, beautiful, well-organized, friendly, and has a handsome, healthy gay population. We had a wonderful time there. But there was something missing, and we couldn’t quite place what it was. Eventually, our New York friend Kate came to the conclusion that the citizens of Chicago lacked a certain “edge.” When pressed, though, the two of us couldn’t define what it was. After all, it’s not as though Chicagoans aren’t diverse, intelligent, and creative.

Anyway, yesterday we came home, and it was one of those long trips that involve cars, planes, trains, subways and monorails. Finally, we were sitting on the L train at 8th Avenue, exhausted, waiting for it to move, at midnight, and it was sort of empty. There were some Puerto Rican Pride Parade people passed out, the requisite homeless people, etc, and on our train were a young boy, probably age 8, and his dad. The boy was clearly eager to be out so late, and the dad was obviously antsy to get home.

All of a sudden a scantily clad girl (she was probably 16) jumped onto the train, yanked off her tube top, and slammed her enormous, hugely nippled boobs into the face of the 8-year-old boy. A friend of hers cheered and videotaped with a handheld camera as she battered them against the (understandably, stunned) boy's head for a few moments. Then she flounced off the train.

The car was silent for a long time after she left.

Then Kate turned to us. “There it is," she said. "Edge.”

No One Ever Said Mondays Were Funny.

We know we’re a little late to the plate on this one, but we feel we should say something about the hate crime that took place in our neighborhood over the weekend. Singer and drag performer Kevin Aviance (who was not in costume at the time) was beaten by a handful of young men on 14th street between Ave A and 1st Ave. They screamed anti-gay slurs, dragged him to the curb, and broke his jaw. Needless to say, this is a tragedy, and an outrage.

We live a block away from where the attack happened. It occurred within walking distance of half a dozen gay bars, steps away from the neighborhood’s largest Catholic church, and on a street that is always well-traveled (hence the publicist quote in the Times, "There were pedestrians everywhere. No one helped him.").

We don’t know more about the incident than anybody who can read the paper, but what we do know is that the residents of our section of Alphabet City are, on the whole, tolerant. It's not the safest, or most adorable neighborhood in the city, but we’ve remarked more than once that it is perfectly comfortable to walk down the street holding your boyfriend’s hand – unlike walking around, say, on the Upper East Side, Midtown, or in Harlem. Nobody stares, and nobody says anything. The families, the students, the churchgoers, the bodega owners – everyone who is in the neighborhood during the day doesn’t even bat an eye.

So it doesn’t surprise us that the two adult attackers are from the Bronx and Newark. That’s the kind of hate that you have to import.

Were You Worried We Didn’t Have Enough People Being Mean To Gays?

We have a troubled history with our faggy cousin, Gayz Of Our Lives. But we feel we must defend them in this particular situation, because they ARE family, and they have been fucked with. If we were a powerful black woman, right now we would say “Don’t MAKE me put my baby down!”

See, Gayz has been picked on by the pimply bully of the gay blog playground, I Probably Hate You. He called the residents of the fun Gayz Fire Island house ugly. They are not.

You remember the awkward kid who hit puberty first and was bigger and fatter than everyone else on the tire swings? That’s IPHY. His MO is to pick on everyone and everything around him. Sometimes he is funny. Most of the time he is just mean. And quite frankly, that’s boring.

Allow us to tell you about the time when we met dear Rocco, who writes IPHY. We were at Beige, with our friend Dylan. This fat guy in a football sweatshirt (yes, you read that correctly) came up and introduced himself. He expected us to know who he was. We did not. He said “I write this blog called ‘I Probably Hate You,’ it’s very popular.” Not with us. “I write about you and Hot Boy Posse sometimes,” he said to Dylan, somewhat eagerly. “I thought you’d hate me.”

Dylan, completely nonplussed, shrugged it off and said it was nice to meet him. Rocco, all in a tizzy because he didn’t get a reaction out of Dylan, kept coming back to talk to him. Eventually, it became clear that Rocco was awkwardly seeking his approval.

So we later went to read what he said about Dylan and HBP, and it was pretty harsh. All in all, classic bully maneuvers. Be cruel to others, when all you really want is to be popular. Hey, who does that remind us of, lately?

Which brings us to our conclusion: In the gay bar of life, the Bush Administration is the fat guy in the football sweatshirt.

Jon Stewart For President

Several important things happened today in Gayland:

1) The proposed anti-gay marriage amendment was defeated in the Senate. This was obviously going to happen, but increased support this time around was touted on the part of conservatives. The right seems to forget that Republicans, even more than Democrats, hate frivolous legislation and wasted resources. If they knew they were going to lose, why the reckless use of everyone’s time? Even red staters can see through this ruse.
2) Jon Stewart eviscerates anti-equal marriage writer Bill Bennett. You really have to watch it.
3) Macy’s in Boston removed two male mannequins, draped in a rainbow flag, from their store window after pressure from conservative customers. The display, which started as a fun advertisement for Boston Pride, remains with a gaping space where the models stood before. The empty, needless remaining space is a far better testament to our exclusion - and victimization at the hands of bigots - than two plastic dummies could ever be.
4) Ryan Reynolds dumps Alanis Morissette, allowing millions of gay fantasy engines to rev up again.

As If Puberty Wasn't Bad Enough As It Is.

Do you remember when you first knew you were gay? (For those of you who are not gay reading this – imagine another independent development, like the first time you realized your own political opinion, as opposed to parroting what you’d heard your parents say while listening to NPR). You were probably in your tweens, or later, because before you were too absorbed in learning about the world to really think about yourself that closely. In that, you were probably lucky.

This Village Voice article, about a 5-year-old boy who identifies as a girl, is fascinating. At age 2, he told his parents: "I want the fairy princess to come and make my penis into a vagina," he said. And you thought you were precocious.

We’ve never been really able to wrap our heads around the whole transsexual issue, because we don’t really relate to it much. So articles like these, which present the issue in a balanced light, are helpful. It helps see how people who don’t have a lot of exposure to gay people might feel about our own issues.

Also, for the rest (ok, most) of you NOT interested in reading about a gender variant five-year-old, there’s an educational slide show on the left side of the Village Voice website, which will teach you all about that cocktail waiter at Mr. Black who wears no pants.

This Is Almost Funny. But Then, Somehow, Not.

We used to take time out of our day to point out the ridiculousness of ex-gays on the FAGAT guide.

But then a lovely and intelligent straight friend of ours forwarded us this video clip.

And we realized – why should we bother when they’re doing a better job than we ever could?

And We Didn't Think It Was All About Gay People, Either

We were reading our latest “Interview Magazine,” and we came across a Q&A between Hugh Jackman and “X-Men: The Last Stand” director Brett Rattner. First let us just say that we really liked “X3,” and if you go see it, wait until the end of the credits. But anyway, this exchange between Hugh and Brett snagged our attention. It’s about John Palermo, Hugh’s former assistant, current producing partner and manager, and all around megawatt hottie:

Rattner: I saw that when we were dressing you for the X-Men movie, John Palermo was like “Those jeans are the ones.” He just knew.
Jackman: Once I put them on, I’ll know. But he can just tell.

Sometimes homoerotic subtlety just really makes our Friday.

I Cried When I Had No Shoes, Until I Met A Man Who Had No Feet. And Then I Laughed REALLY Hard.

Last night we met Amy Sedaris for the first time. She was at NewFest, the LGBT film festival in New York, where the first screening of her movie “Strangers With Candy” was held. She had walked to 34th Street from her West Village apartment, in the pouring rain, along with the film’s director, Paul Dinello. She was understandably soaked when she arrived, but remained completely chipper. She informed us that, yes, she was still selling cupcakes (she was up at 7 am yesterday filling an order), and no, she will not say whether she or brother David is the funnier sibling.

Reports are that the movie is hilarious, and according to Dinello, not too many changes had to be made to get the movie past the issues that caused Warner Independent to drop it.

We have nothing funny to say about this, so we’ll leave you with a poem from the TV show, which our old roommate was wont to recite at innappropriate times:

"Packing a Musket", by Jerri Blank.

When you work from your home and johns call on the phone, you're a call girl.
When you walk 'til you limp and give a cut to a pimp, you're a street whore.
When they're beggin' you please to get down on your knees near their groinage,
excusa me, but you see, don't you touch where they pee without coinage.

When I straddle and squat, to show you my –

-Oh! We forgot! In person, she really does have that twitch.

We Apologize For The Offensive Picture, We Realize Some Of You Read This At Work

Sometimes the Republican spin cycle is really amazing to us – especially when it is sudsing the gays. Take a Washington Times story from yesterday, which was linked on Drudge. The headline blared: “DNC Chair Dean Suggested that Opponents of Homosexual "Marriage" are Bigots.”

First of all, we love the scare quotes around “marriage.” Like we’re talking about gay “competitive sports,” or something. But second, you have to look at what Howard Dean (who we don’t necessarily love either, for the record), actually said:

"At a time when the Republican Party is in trouble with their conservative base, Bill Frist is taking a page straight out of the Karl Rove playbook to distract from the Republican Party's failed leadership and misplaced priorities by scapegoating LGBT families for political gain, using marriage as a wedge issue," said Mr. Dean. "It is not only morally wrong, it is shameful and reprehensible.”

You’ll notice the word bigot is never used anywhere. What Dean said, and we agree, is that right wing leadership is using incendiary issues like abortion, gay marriage, and flag burning to try to distract their conservative base from the deep flaws in other elements of their policy. Which is an excellent point. By forcing the general public to face the gay marriage issue before everyone is appropriately educated, Republicans are robbing LGBT families of a chance to fairly defend themselves. It’s not about our problems now, it’s about theirs.

Because they realize this is a good point, right wing writers like Matt Drudge and the Washington Times’ Greg Pierce have taken the NEXT page from the Karl Rove playbook, and twisted Dean’s words to sound shrill, close-minded, and hysterical. Which thereby robs them of their logical weight.

If only the Democrats were as good at this skill. Then every time a conservative shrieked “the gays want to destroy traditional marriage!!!” the headlines could say “Republican Panic Spreads from Immigrants To Gays. Are Low Income Families, Jews Next?”

We'd Even Settle For "Conviction's" Stephanie March

We were watching the gay marriage appeal hearings in New York today online (Queerty has the link) and we were frustrated by two things. First of all, the streaming was bad so you couldn’t really make out what was happening. And second, the dowdy attorneys on our team weren’t nearly as eloquent or attractive as we’d hoped. Have all those hours of watching “Law and Order: SVU” given us the wrong impression about lawyers? We had sort of imagined that our counsel would be like an Anderson Cooper meets Dylan McDermott from "The Practice." Is that too much to ask?

Sometimes we wonder whether we’re focusing on the wrong issue.

If You Called A Gay Bar “The Grundle,” Would It Still Be Just South Of The Bundle?

So we noticed a very familiar sign in the window of a bar only one avenue block away from our house last week. Even though The Cock moved into The Hole on 2nd Avenue last year, it looks as though it will at least spiritually maintain a presence on northern Avenue A. COCKtail appears to be the name of the new joint, and according to reports it is smaller and cleaner than its ancestor. We can’t wait to, um, test it out.

But it really makes you wonder: Is there a limit to the amount of graphically named gay bars one neighborhood can handle? With COCKtail, Dick’s Bar, and The Cock (in the Hole), the East Village is pretty much full up. And is that kind of thinly veiled explicitness really necessary, anyway? If we wanted to get the point across, we might as well call them: “A Place Where They Sell Stella Artois And You Can Check Out Other Men,” or “We Have Plenty Of Lingering Eye Contact, But You’ll Be At Home In Two Hours, Drunk, Looking At Internet Porn,” or maybe just “Sticky Floors, Sticky Faces.”

Or, as Margaret Cho pointed out when thinking of renaming Edinburgh’s “CeCe Bloom’s” tavern, why not just call it, “Fuck Me in the Ass, Bar and Grill?”

Hatred Causes Wrinkles. But Then Again, So Does Smiling. Hm.

We feel the need to coin another term here at Fagats. The phrase for today is: "Irrational Gay Hatred."

Irrational Gay Hatred, or IGH, is a phenomenon that has been around for years. It's when two gay men dislike, or even loathe, one another, for no logical reason. The gays will bristle when in one another's company, but will of course act very pleasant on the surface and exchange a lot of air kisses. They will dispense catty gossip about one another, and exchange passive aggressive remarks, but when asked will say "What are you talking about? I think whatsisname is great. I just love his enthusiasm when he tries to pull off horizontal stripes!"

IGH is similar to when two women meet one another and inexplicably share an immediate hatred. Have you ever noticed that? Isn't it weird? Well, we do it too.

Possible roots of Irrational Gay Hatred can be a shared fag hag, shared an ex-boyfriend, or even a common group of friends. It rarely occurs between gays who know one another well; it's usually relegated to gays who have only met a few times. We begin by marking our territory ("Oh, how do you know my friend Mike?"), then we quietly size one another up ("Oh, those Diesel sneaks are adorable. I totally noticed them on the sale rack at the store last time I was there!"). Finally, of course, comes the silent judging ("...").

When the two gays get to know one another, the sentiment usually passes. But as soon as we let down our guard with one twink, another one comes along. Just beware, because "Irrational Gay Hatred" can become "Irration Gay Hair-Pulling" quite easily. And nobody likes that.

Do Any Of Us Realize How Crazy We Actually Are?

So there are a million different kind of gays in this city, and we all have different needs and different goals. Yadda yadda. But if there's one thing we have in common, it's this: we're looking for a man. And for most of us, that man has several things in common. If we were to write Santa to ask for the man we all want, our letters would probably all sound a little like this:

Dear St. Nick,

We need to talk about that outfit...

[Sorry, allow us to skip ahead a bit]

I am looking for a man.

I want this man to like me, so much that he will agree to live with me. When I get home from work, he will be in the house, wearing a cute outfit. His smile will make me smile, and it will cause me to forget the stressful day I had from work. Sometimes, he will cook me a yummy dinner, or have opened a nice bottle of wine.

All I really want from his is companionship. I want a man who will always make me laugh, no matter what the situation. I want a man who has cute outfits that I can share. He should be smart, handsome, and athletic. It wouldn't hurt if he liked to go out, too. See, I'm looking for a man who is the life of the party - who is so fun to be around on a night out, that my friends email me the next day and say "Wow, that guy is just amazing." Who everyone meets and thinks "Where did you find that guy? He is the best. I am jealous." Because then, at the end of the day, we will go back home together, and I will be able to say that he belongs to me.

He should be sexy and fun, but is also my best friend. The kind of guy who you don't want to see once or twice a month for a wild time, but the type who you wish was around every morning when you woke up. Someone who is always in a good mood, but can understand when you're not. Because I've looked around Santa, and I can't say that there are many guys that fit this criteria. I've had trouble finding one, and I've begun to wonder whether there are any of them in the world, at all. Can you help me? I didn't even get mad last year when you didn't get me the fabulous duplex apartment on Perry Street that I asked for. Throw a bitch a bone.

Love,

Gays Everywhere

Well, dear readers, I'm gonna be honest. Santa can't help you - a perfect man is something you have to find on your own. BUT, if you need a HINT, I can maybe help you out. I know a guy like that. In fact, I test drove him for two and a half years. He was my roommate. He just moved out this weekend. Now he lives alone on the Upper East Side, and maybe soon it will be someone else's turn to be the lucky guy. Hopefully, for his sake, you'll put out a whole lot more than I did. But if you really want to know where to find the perfect boy, I'd keep your eyes peeled in the vicinity of 69th and 3rd.

I will miss you, A. You were the best roommate a gay could ever ask for. Love, F.

Headline Writer Cuts To The Chase... Almost

Wow, this article did not turn out to be what we expected at all:

“Penelope Cruz Turns Gay Man Straight ... Almost”

We wish that headline writer worked on more stories. For example, a better header for a recent Us Weekly article we saw would have read:

“Ian Somerhalder Gets New Beard.”

Remember How Fat SJP Looked In The “Sex And The City” Episode About This?

It’s that time in New York again. When the citizens of this great city flock to our version of the “beaches” to watch the ships go by. When tight white pants with flared bottoms, neckerchiefs, and sailor caps are acceptable on straight men. When “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” becomes “HEY EVERYBODY! I GOT FUCKED BY A MARINE!”

That’s right… It’s Fleet Week!

What strikes us about this annual celebration (of form-fitting polyester blends) is that sailors actually show up at gay bars. Not anything grotesque or obvious like Beige, but we’ve seen them duck their heads into Nowhere Bar, or lurk, out of uniform, at Barracuda. And we’ve certainly seen them strutting themselves down 8th Avenue in the early evenings, which, for a man in uniform, is akin to walking stark naked through The Ramble at midnight.

See, we’ll do anything to sleep with a sailor. And we don’t just mean us here at Fagats. We mean all of New York City, especially the gays.

But here’s the thing – the Navy won’t accept us into their bunkrooms, but we’ll stain our duvet cover for them any day. What gives? It’s a one-way valve that we have, for years, been trying to make work both ways. Will we ever be successful?

Normally, in this political climate, we’d say probably not.

But then again, if there’s one thing we gays are good at, it’s shoving ourselves into one-way valves.

A Word About Short Shorts.

There has been much ado made about the New York Times’ devotion to bathing trunks lately, and just how short they can go. We, for one, didn’t really have an opinion for a long time. We wear shorts all the time during the summer, and have never thought twice about it.

But in the past year or so, we’ve come across an interesting phenomenon: gays who don’t wear shorts. Many men, fag or otherwise, don’t wear them as a rule. Even if it’s hot out. Sure, they might throw on a pair of old college lacrosse shorts to go running or play basketball (HA! Imagine gays playing basketball), but board shorts? No way, Jose. Cargo? Nope. Seersucker? Not even in P-town.

And why this fear of short pants? Two words: chicken legs.

Gays, who spend so much time toning their upper bodies, often are frustrated by the difficulty of growing quads, hammies and calves. So they give up. After all, you barely notice them in the bedroom, so why bother? Just keep ‘em under wraps for the rest of your day. As a result, many of us have oddly skinny legs.

But now that bathing suits are getting shorter, what are those gays going to do? This could be a serious problem. What happens if we go all Euro, and box-cut boyshorts become the norm? Will everyone need to add an entire hour to their already crowded gym routine of chest presses and lotion applying? Will beach bunnies begin comparing calf implants?? Will everyone start waxing their LEGS as well as their chests??? WHAT IF OUR LEGS GET SO BIG WE HAVE TO GO BACK TO PLEATED PANTS, PEOPLE?!?!


The New York Times: Causing Gay Panic Since 1851

PS – This is hilarious.

We’ll Go See It For The Dialogue

We have, for a long time, been wondering whether John Cameron Mitchell’s long-hyped sex movie would actually be made. For a while it was entitled “John Cameron Mitchell’s Untitled Sex Project,” but now it has the slightly mysterious title “Short Bus.” In college, we were in a student film with one of the prospective cast members. We asked if he felt uncomfortable having sex on screen. He said it wasn’t about sex; it was about “communication.” We noticed he didn’t make the final cast – perhaps he needed to work on his oral skills?

Then we ran into JMC over the holidays at a formal party at a friend’s townhouse. We were wearing a sweater and jeans, and he was wearing a flannel shirt and corduroys. Everyone else was wearing suits and gowns, so naturally we spent the evening hanging out. He said everything was going well but they hadn’t had much luck finding a distributor. Sounds like things haven’t changed. While JMC seemed like he was made of gold after “Hedwig And the Angry Inch,” we’re not sure this project sounds as well-crafted, or will have as much, um, staying power.

But it does remind us... When we were in middle school our next door neighbor was in a wheelchair, so we would ride the short bus on the way to school. The bus would go from neighborhood to neighborhood, all over our little town, picking up all of the handicapped kids and some of the kids who lived nearby. There was a kid named Cory on the bus, who was severely handicapped in several respects. The un-handicapped high school students quickly discovered that if they all whistled, Cory, who was probably 18 at the time, would think the bus was full of birds. He would begin clapping, which would get the bus driver angry and get Cory in trouble.

We think a movie about THAT kind of short bus would be much more compelling.

We Apologize To The Eight FAGAT Guide Readers Who Do Not Work In Our Office

Our co-worker Patsy informed us that we don’t write about her enough on our blog. So here goes.

A series of haikus, devoted to Patsy:

Thin, smart and pretty
Like a tall drink of water
Except with vodka

Always there to laugh
To cry and to lend support
And sometimes to punch

We like “The Goonies”
“Ducktales” and “Saved By The Bell.”
Not “Say Anything.”

This one time we sang
“Downtown” by Petula Clark.
People were staring.

We learned from Patsy
That revenge is a cold dish
Served best with champagne

A New York legend
And she is just twenty five
We get drunk at work

She likes this fat guy
Who is not nearly worth it
Against our advice

“Hag.” It rhymes with “fag.”
And the word “Booze” sounds like “schmooze”
That is our whole life.

We love you, Pats. Stoli Bolli?

See The Cat? See The Cradle?

So we visited the Scientology Center in New York today and took a tour from one of their reverends. When we walked in, we were immediately struck by the fact that everyone was walking around smiling. Naturally, we felt completely alienated.

We were shown promotional videos (lots of bright colors, soothing music, and ridiculously impossible imagery like minority children running through open fields of grass), and given a lecture. It was really something, certainly too much to describe here.

But we did ask our guide (who is relatively high up in the organization) about the Church’s policy on homosexuality. The marriage, the family, and procreation are very important to the religion. In addition, celebrities like Tom Cruise and John Travolta are often rumored to have joined the religion to curb those impulses, so it seemed like an obvious question. But our guide was stumped. It made us wonder whether the Pope ever says things like "I don't know." He stammered and said that Scientology didn’t really deal with sexuality.

We pressed the issue, and eventually got him to concede that while gays are allowed to join, if they WANT to stop liking men, the Church has WAYS of making that happen. In other words, they have a cure. Since Scientology techniques are all about improving your life, it follows that one such improvement would be ridding yourself of the handicap of loving members of your own sex.

We were, understandably outraged. Who did they think they were, discriminating against us just because of our sexual orientation? Thank goodness we also have Catholicism, Judaism, Islam, and Mormonism to fall back on.

…

In case you were wondering, yes, we are already drinking.

These Posts Make Our Sex Life Seem More Exciting Than It Is

We’ve just discovered a new website.

It’s a blog that reviews underwear and related accessories like jock straps, spandex, and penises. Warning to our older brother, who is the only straight man who reads this sight – you probably don’t want to click on that link. But it is very illuminating, among other things.

We’ve come face to face with a plethora of new kinds of underwear recently, and we’ve decided that you people need some advice. For example:

On a recent date with a handsome young man who is related to a prominent conservative senator, we were surprised to discover that he wore an orange thong. Like, a banana hammock. Grape sack. Kiwi container. Made of some sort of non-flexible lycra. We were aghast.

After the encounter, instead of calling the boy back, we spent time considering his choice in under-apparel. We decided that aggressive underwear is perhaps NOT your best bet for a first hookup. For example, if you’re a gogo boy (you know who you are), maybe save your performance costume for later in the game. It can be alienating, and even alarming. If you’ve waited for three dates to take your pants off, why blow it by wearing underwear that makes you look like a stripper? And plus, thongs are never flattering on any real person. Not even you, Damon. They’re barely flattering on that guy from the “Tarzan” TV show who models on all the Calvin Klein Underwear boxes.

Don’t pretend you don’t know who we’re talking about.

For a first underwear encounter, it seems like one should try and find a middle ground. We’re not saying give up and go with boxers. There’s room for a little creativity. Some square cut briefs, perhaps? Maybe a boxer brief with a little color? Ain’t nothing wrong with plain old tighty whities, either.

But just like using hand lotion as lube, a using a pair of socks to clean up, or using your teeth in any way - the use of a thong is definitely not a crowd-pleaser.

Can you tell we really have nothing to write about today? This is getting pretty grim.

Breaking News: Gays Suckers For A Pretty Face

We feel the need to talk about Dangerous Muse, because lately, we’re the only ones haven’t been.

Dangerous Muse, for those gays outside of the NYC-LA gay orbit, is a technopop "band" of two with an inexplicable level of success after only three "songs."

Now, we recognize that Furey, the band’s lead singer is very good looking and well-liked (even if he lies about his age). We understand that after the wild success of the Scissor Sisters, twentysomething ‘mo culture is yearning for a gay mainstream dancepop follow-up. And we appreciate that Muse makes a pretty story and an even prettier photo montage (we hear their latest shoot lasted 17 hours).

But we just DON’T LIKE THEIR MUSIC. Check them out on iTunes and we guarantee you’ll agree. Sure, they’re widely downloaded on the dance chart. But their sound is probably best described as “mid-nineties computer synthesizer meets enthusiastic tequila karaoke.” Their two songs are poorly produced and have lagging beats. So why are they so popular in our community? Why are all the fagblogs RAVING about them? (And what is that fucking guitar/piano instrument that other dude is always playing? Speaking of Jem and the Holograms…)

The answer is clearly because everyone already knows them. Our people are drawn to celebrity like moths to the flamer. So they want Dangerous Muse to be a success, so they can say incredibly, well, GAY things like: “Oh, have you heard about Dangerous Muse? It’s my friend’s new band and they’re at the top of the iTunes chart.” Or, “You’re just hearing about Dangerous Muse NOW? Furey was sucking my cock when he was thirteen years old.”

There are so many struggling and talented gay artists. It’s such a shame we need to gather around the flashiest, rather than the best. That doesn’t happen in the straight world.

That being said, we’re OBSESSED with Paris Hilton’s single. OMG! LOL! Viva La France!

Try As They Might, British Filmmakers Just Can’t Ruin Literature As Well As Americans.

We were surprised to learn that the BBC has adapted Alan Hollinghurst’s “The Line of Beauty” into a miniseries.

The book centers around a boarder named, aptly, Nick Guest, who stays with the family of a wealthy MP. What’s gotten the Brits all in a tizzy is the fact that Guest, in the midst of a cocaine-fueled bender, dazzles Prime Minister Thatcher by dancing with her at a party. If you know Hollinghurst’s writing (The Swimming Pool Library, The Folding Star) at all you can probably figure that Guest is gay, and the book concentrates on the house of cards he builds around himself to convince him and everyone else that he is loved and accepted. We won’t tell you what happens, but needless to say, there’s a fair amount of heavy breathing.

What surprises us about the fact that they’re making it a series is that NOTHING REALLY HAPPENS in the whole book. What’s great about it is the way that Hollinghurst writes about people and how they interact. It’s like being stoned and watching a polite conversation where you notice the little giveaways in people’s intonation and delivery. The analysis is charming, but hardly translatable to the screen.

That is, we were surprised about the movie until we saw pictures like these:



And we realized – a cloudy drama of manners, full of tousle-haired boys with soft bodies in short trunks, and a cameo by Margaret Thatcher?? In the UK, that’s pornography!

We Won’t Even Get Into Jams and Jelly Slippers (Not That We Had Any)

We are very busy and important today, so let us direct you to a funny Slate column that ruminates on the gay gay gaeity of He-Man. When you think about it, pretty much everything about him is homotastic. Make sure you check out the links – “Brokeback Snake Mountain” is especially priceless.

Upon further consideration, pretty much everything was gay about childhood in the 80s. AC Slater’s wrestling outfits? Brad and Ted’s romance on “Hey Dude”? Neon, well-accessorized Trapper Keepers? Lion-O’s eyeshadow? Shirtless underage slime sessions on “You Can’t Do That On Television”? Everything about Pee Wee Herman??

No wonder we grew up to be so truly, truly outrageous.

Oprah Pretends To Defecate Like The Rest Of Us.

Yesterday Oprah had the cast of “Will & Grace” on her show. The appearance was notable for several reasons. To begin with, whenever we see Eric McCormack, Debra Messing, Megan Mullally and Sean Hayes, we are struck how NOT FUNNY they are in person. Amazing what good writing can do. Also, as the Malcontent points out, Oprah asked Eric about being a straight man playing gay, but notably did not ask Sean Hayes the same question. Hayes has never commented on his sexuality either way, and unsurprisingly Oprah wasn’t going to go near that mess. Hayes made a joke to change the subject, about pooping, and thereby introduced our favorite part of the segment.

“If you’re ever going to meet somebody and you’re intimidated,” Oprah admits, “you think ‘they poop too.’”

This harkens back to our younger days, when we used to date girls. Whenever we brought a new one home, our brother, to torture us, would say at the end of a lovely evening “Hey, just remember, she poops too.” Um... Thanks for making us gay, bro. Now not only do we think girls are gross, but now when we date people, we end up pretty thoroughly checking their plumbing.

The talk show host went on to make a very good point:

“Isn’t a poop so freeing?” she asked, to applause.

You know what else is freeing, Oprah? Coming out of the closet.

Elitism, In Its Many Forms, Makes Us Horny.

“Conservative” Dartmouth elected its first openly gay student body president this semester.

We think this story is funny for a couple of reasons. One, Dartmouth may have vestigial right-wing institutions, but on the whole, the student body there is about as conservative as Tara Reid at an open bar. The student body voted overwhelmingly Democratic in the past few national elections. And two, if this were at Brigham Young, or Liberty, or another university where discrimination was written into the charter, that would be one thing, but somehow the headline “Charming Gay Is Popular At Ivy League University” doesn’t really knock our socks off. After all, this is the school that recently trumpeted the achievements of their gay All-American lacrosse goalie.

We’re not sure how we feel about this new marketing tactic on the school’s part. But then again, we suppose “Dartmouth: We Don’t Have Black People But We Do Have At Least Two Homosexuals” is an improvement on the old slogan, “Dartmouth: You May Not Have Gotten Into Princeton, Harvard Or Yale, But At Least You Don’t Have To Go To Brown.”

David Blaine – Not Magical After All.

We were very excited to watch “Magician” David Blaine drown last night, or at least hold his breath for 9 minutes, and were quite bummed to be treated to neither success. As we sat with our roommate on our couch during the stunt, flipping through New York Magazine’s 100 Influentials list (her boss was on it, ours was not), we wondered what record WE would like to break.

There’s clearly no amount of eating, jumping, fucking, pogo-ing, dancing, sleeping, growing, hemorrhaging or frottaging that we could perform that hasn’t already been done more extensively. So we had to get creative. What about the World Record for Most Intense Hatred Of A Fleetwood Mac Song? Or World Record For Amount Of Cute Shirts That Looked Good Until They Got Washed? How about World Record For Longest Period Of Not Fucking?

Eh. We may be good at things, but we’re willing to accept that we will never be the best in history at any one particular thing. It was only a matter of time and vodka sodas anyway...

On A Related Note, We Have Begun Trying To Find Pictures Of Ourselves Where We Look Straight

The datalounge has a funny forum today about photos of celebrities looking gay. Not gay celebrities, particularly, but any ones who look faggy in a particular image.

Some of the pictures are funny, some are lame, and an inexplicably large number of them are of “CSI: Miami” star David Caruso.

We were trying to think of our favorite recent gay celebrity photos (the Ricky Martin beach photos are the all-time high water mark), and then we realized it was definitely a tie between every single recent photo of Nick Lachey.

So Why Is Everybody Stressing Over This Thing? I Mean, It’s Just Plastic…

Today the Pretty Boy’s Club has hit upon a topic that we have been considering for a long time. That is, the issue of “A Gays.”

An ex of ours recently attended a packed houseparty in Washington, DC, and noticed that the crush of boys was actually putting a physical strain on the floor of the apartment. Apparently DC architecture isn’t designed to withstand hordes of men with cartoonishly overtoned torsos and underdeveloped leg muscles. It was one of those parties where the cream of the city’s crop was in attendance, and he turned to one such handsome friend and said “If this floor collapses, the B-List DC gays are movin' on up to the A-List.”

In DC there is an A-list. In New York, there are “Gays To Know.” The difference probably comes from the size of the population. In DC, the A-list is a group. But in New York, there are too many gays and too many groups for there to be one reigning clique (sorry HBP). It’s like going from a small middle school to a huge, anonymous feeder high school. So out of all of those myriad groups, there emerges a class of GTKs.

Examples of GTKs, who are almost exclusively known by one name, include: Dylan, Drew, GoGo, Richie, Traver, Jasen, Charlie, McCabe, Benjamin, Damon, Sparrow, Prabal, Richard, Furey, Fabian, Warren, Luigi, Horacio, and JonJon. There are some two-namers, too, like: Will M, Andrew F, Martin M, Sam S, and Zach E.

Does anyone outside of our community know the GTK’s? Doubtful. Are you DYING to be one of them, anyway? Probably.

But let us warn you – with fame comes consequences. Like, for example, Matthew H’s penis is bent at a right angle.

Would we know this if he wasn’t a GTK? Doubtful. Is he going to be pissed we’re writing about this on a blog? Probably.

We Would Never Be Able To Do What They Do. We Haven’t Remembered Anything Since 2002.

We would like to take a moment and give a shoutout to all of our gays who are studying for law school finals right now. LL, Charlize, Tom O, Dean C, Nick H, and most importantly, our dear and soon-to-be departed roommate Aishwarya. Good luck you guys, and keep on studying! Go Go Gadget Con Law!

For those of you NOT in law school, I highly recommend you check out our roommate’s blog and the coverage of LibraryIcedCoffeeMeltdown5/3/06. Follow the entries with pics of a spilled coffee cup. It’s a conflict that has captured the hearts and imagination of an entire esteemed law institution.

Read it (especially the enthusiastic comments), weep, laugh, and reminisce about the days when phrases like “book collecting,” “running out of time,” and “public library” made you think of more than just how dreamy Jake Gyllenhaal was in “The Day After Tomorrow.”

Let’s Just Hope More Print Journalists Don’t Follow This Guy’s Example.

When we wrote a couple of recent stories about Clay Aiken-outer John Paulus for work, we befriended Michael Lucas, who invited us to take a tour of his film studio someday (it’s in Times Square – who knew?!). We thought to ourselves “Oh, wouldn’t that be a funny story to tell our friends.” And then we forgot all about it, and never called him to take him up on the offer.

Until we read THIS towleroad post, about Details writer Mark Simpson, who was covering those members of the 82nd Airborne that appeared in gay porn. Here is an eyebrow-raising portion of his coverage, concerning his visit to the set of their porn studio:

“As I sat on the sofa watching Jason and Carl perform while I hid behind my notebook, Dink started suggesting, first in jokey fashion, then more seriously, that I join in. "Just for ten minutes or so. It would be great for your story."
I laughed it off— "Oh, I couldn't, I'm English, after all." But soon the guys too started egging me on.
"C'mon, man," Jason implored, like someone inviting you to arm wrestle or to a drinking competition. "Show us your uncut English cock!"
And almost before you could say "God save the queen!" I was stripping down to my foreskin.
…..
We went through the gay-porn "foreplay" repertoire in almost every Rubik's Cube possibility. But it felt more like horseplay than gay sex.

This made us wonder: if you appear in pornography as part of a journalistic effort to really get to know your subjects, does that make it any less seedy?

We’d have an answer for you, but we keep getting distracted by Michael Lucas’ hold music.

What Good Is Drinking Alone In Your Room? Come Hear The Music Play…

We met Liza Minnelli again last night, at the premiere of “The Drowsy Chaperone.” Now, we’re do not count ourselves among the gays who obsess over Judy, or Bette, or Ethel or any of those musical theater divas. But we have to say, Liza is really a piece of work, every time we see her. Last night she was running around the afterparty at Tavern on the Green, leaning on a young gay like he was a human cane. “She was unbelievable!” she screamed at us, in reference to Sutton Foster’s star turn in the show. “When she was there, she was THERE!”

Of course she was, Liza.

Our favorite part of the night was near the end, when she sat at a table surrounded by young homosexual admirers, loving every minute of it. She was babbling nonsense, of course – we wouldn’t have it any other way. In front of her on the table was a big water glass full to the brim of ice and liquid. At the end of the party, she instructed her main gay to drink all of it before the two of them left – but he forgot. Could it be alcohol? But Liza’s on the wagon! How would we ever know?

Thankfully our friend, who IS one of those gays who obsess over Judy, Bette, and Ethel, grabbed the glass, chugged it and quickly deduced that it was white wine, on ice.

That’s our girl! Class all the way to the liver-failure grave.

Maureen Dowd Was Also At This Party, Being Awesome.

Before the below-mentioned party, we had the pleasure of attending the White House Correspondents Association annual dinner. It was very crowded and exciting (George Clooney was there! And someone named Henry Kissinger!). The president was hilarious, Stephen Colbert bombed, and Mayor Bloomberg told us to stay away from his daughter, Georgina. (Whatever, she’s fierce and we love her).

Later, we attended the Bloomberg afterparty at the Macedonian Embassy. The party is best described as Washington Media Elite meets Failed Alcoholics Anonymous, meets Midnight at the Oasis. Anyway, there were clumps of flirty fags everywhere. At one point we actually said aloud the sentence: “God, look at those gays by the bar, they’re totally cruis – Oops, that’s Bill Hemmer!”

We kept catching RNC chairman Ken Mehlman’s eye, probably because we were continually sending baleful looks in his direction. Eventually left our friends for a moment, and accosted him.

BIGMOUTH: Hi. I wanted to introduce myself. I write for [redacted] and I’ve reported out some crazy stories in my time. But it’s funny, I’ve never been bitched out by a publicist more than when I was bitched out by [White House Deputy Spokesman] Steve Schmidt, when I was reporting a story about whether or not you were gay.

KEN MEHLMAN: I’m not gay.

BM: It just struck me that his anger over the issue was innappropriate, given the subject matter. It shouldn’t have been something to get mad or offended about.

KM: I didn’t tell him to get angry. I wasn’t angry. The reason I didn’t answer the question is because there ARE a lot of people on the committee and in the campaign who are, and they said ‘If YOU answer, we will all have to.’”

BM: I wish your office had returned our calls so we could have had this conversation then.

KM: Well, it did do a number on my dating life for six months.

So there you have it. Angry, tall gay meets duplicitous, short RNC chairman. Did we further any understanding? No. Did we continue to receive lingering glances for the rest of the night? Yes.

Sigh. Small victories.

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

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Oh, What A Night!

RSVP Cruises, the gay cruise line (not to be confused with Rosie O’Donnell’s “R” Family Cruises – this one really is a drifting orgy), is floating rumors that Christina Aguilera or Mariah Carey will perform on their Caribbean trip.

While this may be the most stupendous selling point ever, we’re wondering what’s going to happen when the inevitable letdown occurs: 2,000 fags ain’t gonna be happy when they find their Xtina has been secretly switched for the American University a cappella group, “Treble in Paradise.”

We wonder if it’s possible to cheerfully snap when your fist is stuck up your own ass?

We Will Officially Never Get Any Work Done Ever Again, For The Rest Of Our Lives.

Google Idol has launched “Google Idol: Gay.”

There is only one mediocre entry so far, but we anticipate a lot of specialness to be generated by this site. The wonder that is GIdol:Gay, though, is even surpassed by “Google Idol: Kids.” I mean, what will they think of next? Creatine-infused Vodka?

The best entry is the Australian entry of “GIdol:kids” of the Dixie Chicks’ “Earl,” in which “Katy, Nanna and Poppy” enact the revenge murder of a wife-beating hillbilly. Nanna and Poppy appear to be grandparents. Katy seems to be about eight.

Clearly, much like Kylie Minogue, some things are just too gay to be American.

Why We Can Never Quit Our Job

We were recently on the phone with a very famous pre-op tranny hooker who runs an escort service in the square states. The highlights of our hourlong conversations were her side chats with a John who was trying to find his way to her house. ("NO HONEY, YOU TAKE A LEFT ON MACDOUGAL!") Once he arrived, she said she would call back in twenty minutes ("TIME ME, I DARE YOU!").

Sure enough, nineteen minutes later she called us back. ("HONEY, I'M A PROFESSIONAL.")

But our favorite part of the chat came earlier, when we overheard her giving her client directions.

"Oh, baby," she said, as an afterthought, "I will SWALLOW if you stop by a Starbucks and bring me a grande latte."

God Bless Fucking America.

Ex, hex, schmgex.

In light of recent events in our lives, we think it’s time for another FAGAT Guide Rule.

See, we’ve had a lot of ex boyfriend issues in the past couple of weeks. Last week, we re-connected with our most recent ex for the first time in months, because he has our toolbox, and we needed it back (that is not a euphemism, surprisingly). Then, on Friday night, we received a text telling us that our first ex boyfriend met our second ex boyfriend at a party, and were introduced by an even more recent paramour. That’s a chilling bit of information to receive in 160 characters or fewer.

And then on Sunday, our most recent ex’s CURRENT boyfriend appeared, picture and all, in the New York Times Sunday Styles. Granted, the coverage was mocking, but still.

Obviously, this gives us a lot to talk about. So we’ve been violating a basic rule of gaydom, which is to not talk about your exes incessantly. In an effort to help others, and ourselves, we’ve decided that our third FAGAT Guide rule is this:

Talk of ex-boyfriends, husbands, or lovers, is strictly banned until the fourth date with someone new.

The third date barrier is an important one. After that, you’re technically required to explain that you don’t want to see a boy anymore – before that, you can simply stop calling. Also, the third date is traditionally the one where the clothes come off, but let’s face it, that rule is a vestigial heterosexual construct. So it makes sense that on the fourth date, when everyone is on more solid footing, you can bring up your dating history.

You don’t want to wait for too long, but you want to be at a place where you can laugh about the fact that the guy you’re seeing has an ex nicknamed “JumboJet.” After all, you have one with the Spooneristic sobriquet “Dino Rick.” Hahahaha. Life is so funny. Thank God we got that conversation over with.

Waiter, can we have another glass of Pinot Grigio, please?

There Was Music, And Wonderful Roses

We went to the opening night of “The Threepenny Opera” at Studio 54 last night. Yikes.

First of all, we sat next to “Uncle Jesse” himself, John Stamos, who had himself pranced that stage as the MC in “Cabaret” a couple of years ago. He kept fidgeting, sending text messages, looking around, waving to people in the audience, TALKING, and acting like an all-around cokehead eight-year-old in Sunday School. Maybe he learned it from watching Mary Kate.

Second of all, the play is really a trip. It stars Alan Cumming, Cyndi Lauper, Jim Doyle, Ana Gasteyer, and Nellie McKay. We know the last girl was once a pop star, but we can’t remember what one hit was her wonder. (“I’m Like a Bird?” “What If God Was One Of Us?” “I’m A Bitch?” Who fucking knows?) Things we noticed about the performance: Alan Cumming’s package was uncomfortable shoved down the right leg of his tights the whole time, Madonna’s babydaddy Carlos Leon can’t act, pre-op tranny penises shouldn’t be shown on stage, and sometimes, Cyndi Lauper doesn’t really just wanna have fun.

Afterward, we chatted up the cast. Ana Gasteyer told us all about how boring her life is now that she has to spend three quarters of it warming up (“Wicked” was harder, she says). Alan told us about a movie where he’s playing a straight guy in love with Heather Graham, who is playing a lesbian. Woah. And Cyndi, who we confronted about being at Starlight over the weekend, blamed everything on Alan.

They had all gone to our friend Bianca’s birthday party a few weekend’s ago, where the theme was “Rock and Roll Circus.” Alan told us that they all had a great time, but as they were walking in the door, Cyndi turned to him and whispered:

“Can you imagine going to a birthday party where you’ve lived through the theme?”

We will never forgive our parents for having us during, instead of before, the 1980s.

She’s Not So Unusual, After All

Last Saturday we stopped by our neighborhood gay bar, Starlight, and were treated by a pair of celebrity sightings. First, we spotted Alan Cumming in the back room, sporting his “Threepenny Opera” mohawk. As usual, he was surrounded by boys.

But what was more surprising was the appearance of the 52-year-old Cyndi Lauper, who made her way slowly through the crowd to the back, making eye contact with as many gays as possible – as if to say “Yes, this IS Cyndi Lauper that you’re looking at.” Either that or “I see your true colors.” It was subtle.

We remarked to our drinking companions that it reminded us of the scene in “Soapdish” when the Sally Field character goes to the mall in Pyramus, NJ, when she’s feeling down and out, because all of the housewives over there still adore her. If you were an aging diva having an off night, wouldn’t YOU go to a gay bar, the last place you were still loved, where you would be showered with unmitigated adulation?

It’s kind of like when Ricky Martin plays in Canada. Or when George Bush appears on Fox News.

And He Bought A One Way Ticket Back To The Life He Once Knew

Have we told you about one of our favorite weekly web visits yet? Models.com picks a new tweenage catalogue star every week and featured him or her. Our favorites are normally the ESL 16 year-olds from Eastern Europe, who say things like “My favorite thing about America is Whitney Houston. And astronaut ice cream!” But this week we take exception for American born-and-raised, cornfed whiteboy Trevor Davis. Why? Check out his Q & A:

Favorite things: Playing sports, animals and hanging with his best friend.
Favorite food: Pizza
Favorite music/band: Outkast
Hobbies: Sports and working out
If you could bring one thing to NY from home it would be: My best friend Nick

Ah, Trevor. You’ll like having Nick around at first. But then the work days at Rent-A-Waiter will get longer, nights will get later, and pretty soon you’ll be stumbling home from Fabian Basabe’s house at 6 am with a new coke habit, $1,500 in your wallet and eurotrash manstink in your every crevice.

And then good old Nick, who seemed like all you ever wanted when the two of you would play Frogger at Ol’ Uncle Winkie’s Pizza Parlor in Yardley, Pennsylvania, is going to be waiting for you at home, angry, overweight, and unfabulous. And then the fighting will begin, and the rending of ironic t-shirts, and the gnashing of veneers.

Welcome to the big city, kid.

This Is Perhaps A Little Personal.

Check out this craigslist link – written by a woman trying to get a man to like her. What’s amazing about it is that not only is this woman describing traits that most gay men would enjoy (“I can wake-up, shower and leave the house in 30 minutes flat. And I still look cute and kissable,” “I love sex … but I’m not going to jump in the sack with you because you have a penis. Still, please have a penis.”) – but also, the man she is seeking, the masculine, straight-acting, steak-eating, hiking, no fuss man’s man, is secretly the guy we all want in our beds.

So here’s the question: If so many of us want to be the easygoing, fun guy to who lures in the sporty, macho, low-key guy… then why do we fake-tan, avoid sports, gunk up our hair, spend hours making sure our trendy jeans hit our cute sneakers at just the right angle, pluck our eyebrows, purchase superfluous belts, worry about the way polo shirts hang at our waists, carefully manage lower belly hair, use multiple facial products, and avoid baseball caps like the plague?

The woman in this craig’s list post is doing her best to accommodate the guy she wants to date. We have the unique ability to be exactly LIKE the man that we think would be perfect for each of us.

So why do we all look the same?

It Was Really Only A Matter Of Time Before This Happened.

Gay rights opponents have started PFOX, a group that mimics the group P-Flag (Parents And Friends Of Lesbians And Gays). PFOX, which stands for Parents and Friends of Ex-Gays, is a group for people who believe that homosexuality can be cured, and who feel that they can best support their gay loved ones by trying to get them to kick the habit. It’s like they took members of our team, put bad makeup on them, and made them cheer for the other side.

But, see, what the Misfits don’t realize is that the Holograms will always win in the end, no matter what twist the episode takes, and no matter what happens to Jerrica.

And that’s all we have to say on the subject.

Unsurprisingly, Lesbian Badminton Players Are Often Offered Special K.

An interesting thing happened to us last night during our league bowling tournament.

Every week we and other teams from publications across the city gather at Leisure Time, the bowling alley in the Port Authority, and compete, drink beer, and compare ironic t-shirts. Leisure Time is really amazing, because not only do they give you unlimited towers full of beer, but they also have this cheesy announcer who asks trivia questions. He wanders the alley with a microphone, wearing tight black jeans and a blazer with the sleeves rolled up, and he offers up free hours of bowling and other prizes for those who pay attention.

Yesterday, in addition to $1 Kamikaze shots, he offered our team Crystal Meth.

It was very subtle. He passed by our team (and admittedly, we do have a few fags on the roster) and was making some announcement about the cheap shots. Then he pulled the mic away from his lips, looked at us and another gay member of our team, and added “and perhaps a teeny pinch of Crystal Meth?”

There was a sparkle in his eye. We were stunned, to say the least.

We later investigated, and it turned out that other bowlers were surreptitiously offered cocaine – but only the GAYS were offered Crystal.

There’s a social message in here somewhere, but we’ve been having marathon unprotected sex with multiple anonymous partners since after bowling, so we can’t be bothered to find it. See you on Casual Encounters!

Gay Bloggers Just Want Nice, Rich Lawyer Boyfriends.

Recently, Vividblurry made the controversial point that “All cute gays are secret psychos.”

We’re not sure what to make of this hard and fast rule. It made us think. We certainly know several men who live up to the standard…

But it inspired us to come up with our own list of offensive gay truisms that we’ve heard over the years. Some we agree with, some we don’t – but all of them have some basis, somewhere, in real experiences. Here goes:

1) Unnattractive gays are the most likely to believe that straight men are hitting on them.

2) Short gays are more muscley and try harder in bed.

3) English boys are pudgier. Irish boys are punchier.

4) Good karaoke singers are good bottoms.

5) Approximately 50% more gays say they are models than actually are.

6) German boys are serious and aggressive in bed. French ones are just slutty.

7) Minority gays don’t like to date members of their own race/religious group. This does not apply to Asians.

8) For most gays, intelligence isn’t a factor when choosing a mate. Hair is.

9) Europeans are more likely to rim on the first date.

10) Stage actor queens are bottoms. Film actor queens are tops.

11) Black gays are notorious liars.

12) Gay men over 40 can only date gay men under 30.

13) New Yorkers will fuck on the first date. Texans will masturbate next to you.

14) New Englanders give good cuddle. Californians give good head.

This one, though, is our favorite:

15) You’re only as hot as your last fuck.


Discuss?

Well, It IS Better Than Cybersex, Because At Least You Can Text With Just One Hand.

So we’ve been receiving a hefty amount of dirty text messages on our cellphone lately.

We do not solicit said dirty text messages, in fact, we don’t even think we’re the kind of person who particularly LIKES dirty text messages. But here’s a sampling of some of the ones we’ve received recently, all from different sources. NOTE – none of these people are our boyfriends, nor are they even people that we are actively dating.

From last night, a string of three from a random drunk acquaintance we ran into at a party:

“I would love to get in the sack with you as I am as good as they say.” “I could be a falcon star.” “I am a good top and bottom.”

Mmmm. Ok. We’ll take your word for it. Over the weekend, this ones popped up, from a friend from out of town: “Just had a rain shower… dripping naked.”

Not so dirty? How about this one we got last week, from a boy we met during the Republican National Convention in 2004: “Hey, remember me? I am coming to NYC soon. Wanna get together? BTW, how hung r u?”

Um, what?

Or this, from another out-of towner, which we received out of the blue while in the car with our mom: “Are you hard right now?” When we texted back “wtf?” he replied “Well, I was thinking about fucking ur tight asshole just then.”

Oh, of course.

In recent months, we have received dozens of dirty text messages. From friends, acquaintances, lovers, strangers. Is dirty texting the phone sex of the 21st century? Or is this just one final nail driven into the coffin of intimacy?

And, more importantly, are we freaks that the use of textspeak like “u” and “r” immediately makes us lose an erection?

Queers! They’re Just Like Us!

200 gay families are scheduled to attend the White House Easter Egg Roll, wearing rainbow leis to identify themselves, but otherwise attempting to blend in with the rest of the “normal” parents.

We have to say, we’d like to see a lot more of this kind of political statement. It reminds us of Rosie O’Donnell’s documentary about her “R Family Cruises.” The doc, which was screened on Showtime this week, has been criticized for whitewashing the gay families depicted – for turning our sexuality, normally outrageous and spicy, into something vanilla. We disagree with this criticism. There are MORE THAN enough opportunities for us to show off our flare, and what makes us different. Gay pride parades, gay television, gay rallies, gay bars, the Barney’s Warehouse Sale, etc.

But if we’re going to make a stink about how we want the same rights to have families as everyone else, at some point we have to start reaching out to the people we’re trying to convince and show them: “Hey, while we are proud of what makes us different, our families are going to show the SAME kind of love and support that yours do.” If we want our families to be like theirs (legal marriage, legal adoption, legal inheritance), it’s really important to prove to them (and to ourselves for that matter) that these traditional forms make sense for us. So thanks, Rosie, we hope more people will follow in your footsteps.

And as for the Egg Roll, we don’t know why gay families didn’t think of this earlier. Looking for sparkly candy and rainbow dyed eggs in the midst of a well manicured Rose Garden? Those little gaybies have been training for this moment since they were born!*

*By “since they were born,” of course, we mean, “since their $20,00 hand-selected Ivy League donor egg was inseminated in a tube with the mixed semen of their two dads and injected in the uterus of a $5,000-a-month surrogate.”

And After The Spanking, The Oral Sex!

Okay, okay. We realize we’ve been terrible about posting this week. You may punish us now, as much as you please. Preferably by spanking.

But to earn back your trust and love, here are some lovely blind items for you to chew over for the weekend:

What macho-dumb star of a super-popular teen franchise has a reason to keep quiet about his love life? The sexy sidekick has been surprisingly successful at keeping his long-term boyfriend out of the public eye?

What matinee idol should be more careful about who he takes home after a night at Bungalow 8? One of these days word is going to get back to his (married!) action star boyfriend.

Which primetime drama star was perhaps a foot too far out of the closet when his new show hit the big time? Tabloids are inching closer to breaking his gay identity…

Which super popular ensemble drama features a closeted gay star? He’d have better luck if he dated more low-profile hunks…

Which aging A-lister would have better luck keeping his homosexuality private if he stopped hitting on cute young reporters? The gropey glad-hander can’t keep his paws to himself, even at public events!

Which rising star, who is the son of a Hollywood heavy hitter, is telling everyone who will listen that he’s “just looking for a nice boyfriend”? Is he being brave, or just trying to get attention?

Which pop star pulls male models from the audience for backstage dalliances? His story may be old news, but he can still pull fresh meat…

Which powerful hip hopper is hiding more than just insecurity behind his sultry spouse? Rumor has it they both turn blind eyes to each other wandering ones…

Well It's About Tittyfucking Time

A potential candidate in the 2008 presidential election has come out in support of gay marriage. Russ Feingold’s Legislative Assistants are probably already sending their resumes to HillPAC, but we think this is a bold, and necessary move. Will it rule him out as a winner? Probably. Will it draw fire from other Democratic candidates that foes will try to bog down with hotbutton issues like Iraq and abortion? Definitely. And that, for better or for worse, is a good thing.

But what’s more important is that Feingold is a serious candidate for president who will make a lot of news, and who will break ground for future presidential candidates. We don’t expect the next president to push through the legalization of gay marriage, or even the president after that, really. But we DO foresee a situation in which candidates who take this stand won’t have to make it the main issue of their platform. If Feingold follows through on this, chances are the media will bill him as the “gay marriage” candidate, no matter what spin he tries to put on it. Certainly Fox News will. But after him, citizens of the US will have a hard time getting so worked up about it because they’ll be more used to the idea.

PLUS, did you know he’s single? And Jewish?? Hags, start your engines!

The Gays Won't Even Pretend To Read It For The Articles.

So Hugh Hefner just announced that he’s thinking of extending the Playboy brand to include gay publications and merchandise, using Britain as a test marketplace.

We think this is a great plan. Not because the world could use any more gay porn (well, it COULD, but we’d rather focus our hopes on getting more of things like “equal rights” and “2-for-1 happy hours”). But because the boys in the UK just don’t care about their bodies.

We went to see “Mama Mia!” with an ex in the West End last year, and we were aghast at the fact that all of the shirtless male dancers DIDN’T HAVE VISIBLE ABS. We were agog. Flummoxed. Bewildered. They didn’t even wax their chests!

This obviously violated a cardinal United States rule: If you appear on screen or on stage without a shirt, you must have a great body. Hello! Remember that scene with the naked Bob Hoskins in “Mrs. Henderson Presents”? That would NEVER happen in an American film.

So go ahead, Hef. Inundate those Brits with centerfolds of dudes with shaved assholes. Give ‘em an extra channel of all sixpacks, all the time. Maybe then, one day, years from now, when we visit the thumping mecca that is the G-A-Y nightclub in London, we will be confronted by the beautiful, perfectly sculpted, tanktop wearing, techno-loving, ‘roid abusing, Abercrombie sporting masses.

And on that day, we will grab our vodka soda in its plastic cup, huddle by the bar in alienation and intimidation, cover our ears from the blasting house music, roll our eyes, and think to ourselves. “At last! A place that feels like home!”

After "Brokeback Mountain," We Kind Of Hoped All Other Gay Filmmakers Would Give Up In Shame.

So last year, during the Tribeca Film Festival’s annual onslaught on Lower Manhattan, we took our roommate to see the premiere of “Adam and Steve.’ It was screened at the Stuyvesant High School auditorium, and there were more cruisey gays there than on Sheep’s Meadow the weekend before Memorial Day. (You know, the last sunny Saturday before you have to start hiding in your house so people don’t find out you’re not in the Hamptons or on Fire Island?)

"Adam and Steve" is now set for wide release. The movie is made by the people who created “Latter Days.” We thought “Days” was a cute movie that ALMOST dug itself out of the ugly cliché k-hole of “gay romantic comedies.” It was certainly the best we’ve seen so far.

So we had high hopes for “Adam and Steve.”

Unfortunately, they were quickly dashed on the rocks of reality – just like our dreams about every Julia Louis Dreyfus “Seinfeld” follow-up effort.

The movie’s crap. The characters aren’t likeable, the story isn’t believable, the writing is bad, and you end up rooting AGAINST the protagonist, Craig Chester, because he’s such a weirdo.

But Parker Posey and Chris Kattan are both very funny and do their best to contribute some good moments. Still, if you’re going to invest in a gay romance involving Parker Posey, you might as well buy advance tickets to see “Superman Returns,” in which a gay icon battles a gay arch villain over the love of a thirteen year-old boy.

Another Sex And The City Post - If Only We Had Abs Like SJP's, We Wouldn't Be Asking These Questions

Can we talk about something?

We know we’re not the first people to bring this up, but it has recently become an issue in our lives, and we need some advice.

Why do people put nearly naked pics of themselves as their main photo on friendster?

Let’s be clear – we understand the basic, immediate appeal. If we run across a friendster thumbnail with some guy with a great bod, it is more likely to catch our eye.

But is that really the first message you want to get across? Not “I’m a happy, smiley person,” or, “I’m a funny, ironic person,” or even “I am handsome.” Basically, what you’re saying is “I HAVE PECTORALS” - nothing further than that. Do straight people do this? No.

Basically, internet dating for us has been reduced to the back pages of HX magazine. Abs? check. Pecs? check. Personality? Wait - there's no box for that. A naked pic, to us, is the same as using "u" and "r" instead of "you" and "are" in a profile, or saying you're looking for "NO DRAMA."

It ensures two things: 1) that you are most likely to attract the type of people who value pecs over happiness, funniness, or personality. And 2) people who care about other things will assume that YOU value pecs above all else. Especially if you took it yourself. And Trog help you if that picture is in black and white.

The reason we ask is this: among the boys we have dated of late is a shirtless friendster. He is sweet, shy, and kind. But on friendster he comes across as a maneating, high-end hooker. We think that having a shirtless shot as one or two of several friendster pictures is perfectly fine – after all, you want to look at the chassis before you hop in and ride. But as your main pic? How about leaving a little to the imagination?

The relationship, is it turned out, eventually came down to this: Can a shirtless-friendster-pic date a clothed-friendster-pic?

And if the answer is no – which one is really to blame?

We’re Living In A Powder Keg And Giving Off Sparks

We’d like to direct your attention to our favorite new pastime: Google Idol.

We work on the docks at night, so we can’t watch American Idol as much as we’d like. But this competition gets at what we really like about the competition. It’s campy, it’s gay, and it’s all about pop music and dancing.

We’re rooting for Anthony and Katy, who can be seen here, though we give snaps to anyone willing to try to out-ridiculous the original version of Europe’s “Final Countdown.”

It makes you wonder (no, it does NOT “beg the question”) why, though, the idea videotaping yourself lip-synching to pop music seems so, well, gay. Anthony and Katy are obviously just another fag and a hag in a trailer, but what about the boys from the Texas A&M basketball team? Is there something homoerotic in singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” with your shirt off? (Is that like asking: is there anything homoerotic about grease-wrestling while listening to “My Heart Will Go On”?)

Which leads us to the next logical question - will YouTube and GoogleIdol eventually de-gay the art of the lip-synch?

And if so, what will all the drag queens do for a living? Is nobody thinking of what this will do to Ricky Martin??

And There You Were, Thinking That The Liberals Were The Biggest Bottoms Of Them All

We have a lot of faith in Sen. John McCain. In genereal, we love independently-minded Republicans (Leave us alone! We don’t get on YOUR back for sneaking hetero soft-core porn on Cinemax!). But McCain’s agreement to be keynote speaker at conservative crackpot Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University smacks of the kind of far-right pandering we hoped McCain would avoid in anticipation of the 2008 election. This bums us out.

We are very naïve, and we know it. But we couldn’t help but hope that the center would emerge as a force in the upcoming presidential election, to balance out the maniacal right and the hysterical left.

That is, until we were watching a Sean Cody double anal locker room orgy the other day and we realized: the middle never wins.

Why? Because we’re more reasonable. And reason never wins over anger. But even so, you’ll still find us in there, standing in the center, election after election, and here’s why:

1) We just aren’t as aggressive either way. We weren’t particularly in favor of the Iraq invasion, but now that we’re there, we’re not dumb enough to think that pulling out too soon will solve anything.

2) We like trying to bring people together. We know Jack was bad for politics, but also know that a little greasing of the palms helps the world go round.

3) We appreciate that you can always plunge into an issue from at least two different angles. Our nation should obviously welcome outsiders, but only through legal and accepted channels. And you should never cede control of your ports of entry to someone you have reason to mistrust.

But what no one on either extreme side seems to remember is that everything, eventually, meets in the center. Because only those of us there, who are tugged from side to side, truly feel it. In 2008, we realize, the battle royale will likely be waged within the narrow confines of the flexible center. It is the middle - coaxed, polled, and in the end, forced to fit the current prick candidates – that will eventually decide everyone else’s outcome.

And by the time it’s all over, like always, we’ll be left battered and bruised, feeling empty and used… with another Republican president, and buckets of cum all over our face.

Hermione Granger: Future Bulldyke

A lot of gay actors get into trouble because they realize that they aren’t straight after they are already on the way to being famous. So they’re still able to be pressured by agents, managers, etc, into staying in the closet.

Which is why we were pleasantly surprised to see the myspace.com profile of Tom Felton, aka Draco Malfoy, aka “Mr. Hotpants.”

On his profile, which seems perfectly normal for an 18-year-old, Felton lists his sexuality as “bi.” We won’t get into the whole “JUST WAIT TWO YEARS, HONEY, AND THEN TRY TO EAT PUSSY” philosophy, because let’s face it, he’s pretty young and it’s pretty bold to even talk about his sexuality at that age. So bravo, Draco! Too bad there’s no way in hell you’ll stay famous when you’re an adult.

But still, Felton is really set for life. Among gays, being a former child star will get you laid almost as much as being a porn star. With an equal probability of herpes!