We're So Happy Sketch Comedy Is Coming Back. We Have A Lot Of Funny Friends Who Are Getting Tired Of Working At Starbucks.

We post this “State” classic because friendly Fagat reader Steve sent us a clip of “Old French Whore” to cheer us up while we were sick, but we couldn’t figure out how to post it. “The Jew, The Italian and The Redhead Gay” is an appropriate substitute for many reasons, not the least of which because we also live in Alphabet City (with a Jew!). But mostly we’re posting it because this week we’ve been having trouble thinking of funny ways to end up things we’ve written. This sketch is a good reminder that it happens to the best of us.

Incidentally, This Is Has Also Inspired Us To Not Drink For The First Time In 2007. That Would Be A Silver Lining, If We Didn't Like Drinking So Much.

Single gays out there - have you ever noticed that you never feel more alone than when you're sick?

See, we've had a fever all week. Even though we've been able to take some time off work, we've been enjoying it about as much as a toothy blowjob. Not only do we hate feeling shitty and getting nothing done, but we can't even do the things that make us feel happy or sexy, like go to the gym or out on the town. We can't drink, we're not hungry so we don't want to cook, and we can't even cruise on the subway because we know we look like hell.

Instead, we sit around the apartment while our roommates are at work or out to dinner, reading and trying not to incessantly masturbate. As time goes by, the fact that there is no one to come in and spoon us soup in bed (or spoon us in bed, period) becomes more and more underscored. For the first time in our lives, we can relate to how FHC feels every day (thanks for the malaria, btw).

For all of you lucky, healthy people out there, here are some fun links for your Friday: Ricky Martin says all gay singers should come out. No joke. Our tall and handsome friend sent us this hilarious video to make us feel better about our childhood home movies. Our new friends Josh & Josh pointed out that we missed the fact that this picture is actually of Josh H! And Andy points us to the new, oddly unsexy, Dolce & Gabbana campaign.

Now where's our goddamn spoon??

This Is What Happens When You Haven't Slept Around In A Long Time. You Have Nothing To Blog About.

We found this fairly innocuous story on the San Francisco Chronicle's Daily Dish website. It's about how Heather Mills asked for a gay partner on "Dancing with the Stars," because so many dating rumors have swirled around her since her split with Paul McCartney.

But Mills didn't get her wish, "Jonathan turned up and I said, 'Well, he doesn't look gay,' and I said, 'Are you gay?' And he said, 'No, I'm not, I'm married. ...' He's just a great person."

Wow, you can be a straight person and still be great?

Anyway, it's sort of a lame story, until you read the comments. Unlike the half wits who see fit to post on PerezHilton or the Us Weekly blog, the readers of the Chronicle have something witty to say:

* No wonder she's missing a leg. Every time she opens her mouth, she shoves her foot in deeper.
* "Uni-peg looking for bi dancer. -HM."
* When asked about Mills' comments, Roberts replied, "Yeah, well I wanted a partner with two legs, but what are ya gonna do?"
* Half of California wants a gay guy, Heather. The other half of California is gay.
* What a twat!

We wonder what we've come to now that we've begun to think that the mere use of the word "twat" is clever.

WHY YOU ARE GAY: Little League

When we were in AAA, we only hit the ball one time. We remember it vividly – it was a ground ball that went hopping down the third baseline. The shock of the connection that ran from the bat through our arm is still vibrating in our minds. We were so shocked when it happened that we just watched it roll away, rather than running to first base. By the time we came to our senses and began to move (for sure our father was hopping up and down and hollering at us to get a move on – luckily most of our memories are silent) it was too late. We were tagged out at first.

See, we were so bad at baseball that we consistently hit the tee rather than the ball in Tee-Ball. We were fast, sure, but we had to bank on pitches thrown out of the strike zone for us to get on base. The only things we liked about the sport were the stirrup pants. Of course, our father forced us to play, so we continued to do so for years (let’s be clear – we’re not mad at dad for making us play sports. We just needed to figure out the ones that we were good at – i.e. ones that did not involve balls).

We were so bad at Little League that we began to try to distract ourselves. Since we were completely uncoordinated, they always put us in center or right field. Out there, among the grass and dandelions (oh the dandelions!) we could pretend we were in a field in the middle of the woods – perhaps in the field from the beginning of “The Sound of Music!” We’d spin around, we’d dance, we’d sing. There are even home videos of those damning, damning experimentations. In those moments, we decided that we’d rather frolic than compete.

Poor dad. Even though he never said anything into the microphone, you can practically hear his thoughts as he zooms in on us way out there, skipping merrily in a circle.

“Damn,” he probably thought. “My son is GAY.”

Being A Gay Blogger Has So Many Perks! Like Being Able To Work In Your Underpants. Except Nobody Wants To See A Nerd In Underpants.

We get a lot of junk in our Fagats Gmail account (come on people, let us know what you're thinking!). Every once in a while we get some fan mail, and then, once in a blue moon, we get a piece of genius.

We just got an email for a website that sells pearl necklaces for men. The company is called "Circuit Party Jewelers" (tagline - "Life isn't always a party - celebrate the moments that are"). Now, occasionally we joke about how gays used to like to wear their mother's pearls when they were young. But frankly, we've never had any interest in wearing them as an adult. But after seeing these babies, we are really excited for them to hit the streets:Pearl necklaces that look like more like the sexual act than the piece of jewelry! What could be more amazing?

Sex With An Ex Of Your Ex. A Problem Only Gays Could Invent.

First of all, a belated thank-you to everyone who made it to our birthday party last week. We had a very fun time - several people hooked up, the police were called, and one boy fell down the stairs and got a black eye. Nearly all of our friends came, and also some random scary people who wandered in from the PATH on Christopher Street. And thanks to Dylan for bringing many of the Varsity Gays to round out the group!

But one odd thing happened. One well-meaning friend of ours brought a cute boy to give to us as a "birthday present" (common practice among late twentysomething gays). As we were introduced, our friend said, "Happy Birthday! Here's your gift. Isn't he cute?"

As the night went on, we didn't take advantage of him (though he was indeed cute), and eventually we passed out after everyone left. The twist in the story (no, the gift of ass wasn't it) is that we later found out that we and the boy had a longterm ex-boyfriend in common.

This is a thing straight people never have to deal with. The ol' "wake up in the morning, see a picture on the wall, and realize that you and the boy in bed with you have probably popped the same back pimples" routine. Should we be used to it by now? Should it not bother us anymore? Because it still gives us the willies. Sex with an ex of your ex? Is that the gay way?

We're just not sure we're ready. Maybe on our 27th birthday. Barrett Foa, call us in a year!

New York: A Little Bit Gayer Just In Time For Our Birthday.

So last night Elton John was everything we wanted, and more. He played some of his greatest hits, and some of his more obscure songs. Bill Clinton introduced him, and Whoopi Goldberg later came out on stage with (a peculiarly punchy) Robin Williams. He didn't perform any duets (not even our karaoke go-to), but just let his voice and piano stand for itself. He closed with "Your Song," and dedicated it to New York City.

We saw Pierce Brosnan in the audience shaking his hips, and we spied Kiefer Sutherland getting rejected by security outside of the VIP section (as you would imagine, Jack did NOT take it well). We said hi to Clinton backstage, were ignored by David Walliams and got snapped at by Sharon Osbourne. Our favorite celeb sighting, however, was "Will & Grace's" Eric McCormack, who was sitting a few rows ahead of us. He spent the last few songs standing in his chair, playing the air drums, which we used to think was the only thing more embarrassing than air guitar. We were proven wrong, though, as his air drums quickly turned to air piano.

Quite frankly, we were never really sure if we believed that he was straight. Now we do.

The Only Thing We Love More Than Articles About Ourselves Are Articles About Baby Polar Bears.

We have to go to bed soon, but we could not let the Hell's Kitchen New York Times article go unrecognized. (Don't even get us started about THIS.)

In Under the Rainbow, (apparently straight) writer David Shaftel touches upon a subject we've been dealing with for years. Apparently, some gay people live in Hell's Kitchen (or NoChe, Hell's Kitchenette, Hell's Kitty or Hellsea. The gays are so good with nicknames!). We've been wrestling with the idea that HK might be New York's new gay mecca, but this article settles it. If it's in the New York Times, it must be LONG over.

Despite all that, we loved the article, and not just because of the overeager graphic designer who stuck the random rainbow below the dek. We loved it because it is centered upon a boy we know, Addison S., though his roommate Justin O., was mysteriously left out. We loved it because it called Addison's friends "young, modish" gays, and his hair "rakish." We loved it because it had a photo of a shirtless man with the words "porn bingo" in the caption, and because it called HK "less a scene than simply a neighborhood."

We found it interesting that they trotted out the idea that HK's lack of a "cruising spot" like the Big Cup was to its detriment. We wonder - isn't that a good thing? Shouldn't we be glad that new gay 'hoods don't need a place where people go to look for sex? Can't we just live calmly like normal people, in a safe place?

And this, we thought, was the best part:

“My boyfriend and I will hold hands and walk arm in arm down Ninth Avenue,” [Brian] Orter said, “but we won’t do it down Eighth or 10th. It’s still kind of sketchy.” Even on Ninth, he finds the picture mixed. “We’ll walk down Ninth between 43rd and 53rd Streets holding hands,” he said, “then after 53rd, we’re like, ‘Ooh, doesn’t feel so good over here,’ so we’ll stop holding hands.”

This is something very real that we can relate to. From block to block in the city, it sometimes feels good to hold hands with your boyfriend, and sometimes it feels scary. We have always been aware of this, and we try to force ourselves to hold hands with boys no matter how uncomfortable we feel. Sometimes it's the little acts of bravery that are the most important.

We can't wait for the Times to tackle other pressing gay issues, like Post Coital Cleanup and Dance Floor Erections!

Sir Elton Defends Homos, Makes This Homo Very Happy.

Okay - linking to this article is really just an excuse to tell all of you that we just got a VIP ticket to Elton John's 60th Birthday concert on Sunday! Just before our own birthday! We don't care what anyone says - we have loved Elton for as long as we listened to music. Last year we saw him perform at a benefit, and when he sang "Philadelphia Freedom" we nearly squirted.

See, when we were very young, our brother tricked us into joining Columbia House in order to get himself two free CDs. We ordered our first six free discs, and they included Melissa Ethridge's "Yes I Am," Bryan Adams' "Waking Up The Neighbors," The Cranberries' "Everybody Else Is Doing It So Why Can't We," "The Bodyguard" soundtrack, and finally, Elton John's "The One." It may just be his worst CD ever, but we loved it, and then we discovered his older albums and were hooked for good.

Mmm. That last paragraph may have been a bit too self-revelatory.

To Fishwatch, On The Occasion of Bigmouth's 26th Birthday.

Dear Fishy,

We're getting old. Unlike you, who are still a dewy young flower poking your blossom out into the sun (you're always poking that blossom, aren't you?), we are showing signs of age. You were born in the great gaybie boom of 1982. We, who were born in 1981, however, are already past our prime. Just look at us: Britney Spears, Rachel Bilson, Jennifer Hudson, Anna Kournikova, MTV.... We're basically all washed up. Our moments in the sun have turned into sungrown melanomas - because as loath as we are to admit it, this year we turn 26.

As we've sagged through the last year, we've noticed some changes we want to warn you about. Our tolerance for hangovers has steadily declined, as has our tolerance for general idiocy, and lint. We obsess less over getting laid, and more over getting a dog. (Okay, we still obsess over getting laid, but we think getting a dog will help). Masturbation has become like "Law & Order," still fascinating but in the end repetitive and predictable. We don't care if people notice when we lean to fart. Our hairline has begun to ebb. And when we date men, we strangely find ourselves wondering what our parents will think of them, and how they will look no more than two inches away from us, eyes one the same level, in the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations section.

Getting old is fucked up.

But Fishwatch, we don't want you to be afraid of growing up, as we once were. One day soon you will turn 25, and then, a year later, you too will be forced over the precipice into the craggy ravine of adulthood. 26, after all, is the age at which you are no longer a child. By then you will probably realize that anyone under 24 really isn't dateable, no matter how much lightly he bounces when you throw him onto the rug. Because a lot happens in the years between when we were your age, and now. We've had over 100,000 visitors at the Fagat Guide. We've dated at least 5 really handsome and smart men, and hooked up with at least 25 who weren't necessarily as handsome or smart. All of that, combined with the wear-and-tear of age, has made us wiser, kinder and inexplicably chunkier in the lower back region.

So Fishwatch, we will pass on into adulthood ahead of you, carving a path of broken hearts and mended hernias as we go. Don't cry for us - we are no longer afraid.

Except about the hairline bit. That scares the poop out of us.

Love,

Bigmouth

We Almost Tried Out For This Once But Didn't Want To Be Bound By That Restrictive Contract Considering How In Demand We Are...

We feel like we should comment on “somehow made it to the Top 10 of American Idol” contestant Sanjaya Malakar, since he, like us, is (1) Indian (OK, partly) and (2) a singer (OK, not really). There might be a third thing we have in common, but this blog doesn’t out people, especially when they are in high school, OK? (But the hula dancing was a bit much).

Anyway, as much as we want to root for young Sanjaya, we too are curious how he has survived two weeks so far considering he is just not all that great at singing. (It must be the hair). However, as unsettled as we are with him giving Indian boys who sing a bad name, we are not about to give up food. Unlike some people.

Yes, a girl has announced on youtube that she is going on hunger strike until Sanjaya is eliminated. We hope for her sake he stays on for at least 3 to 4 more weeks. Was that mean? We've never said this blog isn't that.

WHY YOU ARE GAY: The Land Of Make Believe

Now, everyone in America watched Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, didn’t they? Most kids had different favorite parts. Some liked the fun videos, like the one that explained how to make orange crayons. Some liked the parts when Mr. Rogers did household chores, like feed the fish. Others liked just the parts where he was chatting with the camera. We used to really relate to the part where he’d smoothly but prissily put on his bright zip up cardigans. What a fagatron.

But no doubt the gayest part of the show was the Land of Make Believe. Do you remember it? When the little trolley would leave his living room and go through the tunnel to the wonderful land of puppets and people? Admit it, when you were little, you had your own land of make believe, where you could escape from bullies, big brothers, and moms who didn’t understand the importance of sharing pearls.

Man, was the Land of Make Believe queer. Until Xerxes in “300,” fussy King Friday was the reigning queen of camp. “Butt Spelunker, I presume?”

You probably related most to Daniel Striped Tiger. He was a just little bit shy and withdrawn, like you, but he was also the wisest little boy in the Land of Make Believe. His voice was high pitched and fey, but his gestures gentle. When he had something to say – people really listened. Isn’t that all you wanted when you were young? For people to listen and understand you? To be young and cuddly forever? To live in a clock?

And Lady Elaine, the curator of the Museum-Go-Round? The sparks of faggotry burning inside each of us were fanned by her prickly campiness. If any of you young drag queens have anyone to blame for your misinterpretation of the eyebrow, it’s Lady Elaine. Those pursed lips! The perpetual bossiness! The overuse of rouge!

In the movie of her life, she’d clearly be played by Glen Close with a hand up her ass. And what could be gayer than that?

Fishwatch, Aren't You On Spring Break? Can't You Post? We're Too Busy Cowering In Terror From Flirty Straight Girls On The Strip.

So you know we're from Maine, right? No? Well, anyway, yeah - we grew up by a rocky beach outside of Portland. It was somehow both beautiful and plain at the same time. We loved everything that came along with it - but we didn't realize some things were missing. We went to only one Bar Mitzvah when we were thirteen, for example, and the two black kids in our entire public school were twins and only technically halfrican.

In our home state, stories like this are few and far between. Basically, a rich coastal heiress ADOPTED her lesbian girlfriend to ensure smooth inheritance and property sharing. Maine, despite having queer havens like Ogunquit and Portland, doesn't have advanced protection for gays on that front. Yet adults can adopt other adults.

The couple broke up, and then the heiress died, and now everything's up in the air. It's going to be a big case (we know this because it was one of the most emailed articles in the New York Times!) and both sides don't even seem to know what's going to happen.

We can't wait to hear how it turns out. Because the question of whether or not to adopt the men we have sex with has really been keeping us up at night.

We Feel Bad That We Didn't Post Today. Oh, Wait, No We Don't, Because We're In Vegas!

We love Las Vegas. It's like the world capital of camp. We decided when we get older and marry rich, we're going to open a big gay casino bathhouse here and call it Gomorrah.

But we were flying all day and couldn't blog. Which prevented us from directing you to The Malcontent's March Gayness bracket, where you could have voted for us (or friends FHC's, Vividblurry, or Aatom Bomb). Not that we had a chance - we were up against Towleroad in the first round. Since Andy was probably the top seed, clearly we were ranked pretty low. (Meanwhile, did we tell you we're leading in our office March Madness pool? Go Go Gadget Gayness!)

Meanwhile Elton and Celine are both on vacation this week and we are one PO'ed pansy.

Anyway, if anyone knows gays here, let us know. We need to make friends. The kind of friends that enjoy business suites at Caesar's Palace with king-sized beds, RainShower shower heads, and flatscreen televisions next to the jacuzza bathtub. You know that kind.

We Used To Be Annoyed That "Out" and "The Advocate" Came Wrapped In Opaque Plastic, But Now We Wish All Our Mags Came That Way...

A conversation we just had with Condé Nast Publications:

FW: Hi, so my New Yorker started going to my sister’s apartment for some reason.
CN: Did she move?
FW: Yes, she used to live in my apartment and so filled out a change of address form, but she said that the actual magazine label had her address on it, it’s not a post office sticker.
CN: Hmmm...well it looks like the post office told us to send all the magazines there. I can go ahead and fix that. Do you get anything else besides the New Yorker from us?
FW: I think just Vanity Fair.
CN: So who gets Architectural Digest?
FW: Oh yeah, that’s me too.
CN: And Men’s Vogue?
FW: Yes, that is also me.
CN: Details?
FW: Riiiight, yeah, that’s mine.
CN: But regular Vogue, that is your sister's right?
FW: (silence).
CN: Hello, sir?
FW: Um...no it’s mine.
CN: Ooookaaay. Would you like to gift it to her?
FW:.....No.
CN:. Alright......I’ve gone and changed all the addresses back to yours.
FW: Thanks.

HELLO MY NAME IS: "I'll Sleep With You For A Job At ABC."

Last night we went to the National Gay and Lesbian Journalists Association Headlines and Headliners benefit at the ABC News studios in Times Square. That's a lengthy way of saying we spent the evening hanging out with a bunch of fags in suits.

When we walked into the room, they were awarding this cute high schooler with a journalism scholarship for college. The MC explained that the boy's proud mom had heard about the scholarship competition and entered him, at which point, the kid grabbed the mike and said, "In my defense, I was very busy watching 'Project Runway.'"

Oh, the places you'll blog.

Anyway, when we entered a few people turned around to see us come in and gasped. We gave a winning smile. Then Charlie Gibson, who had entered immediately behind us, brushed by. Oops.

We go to this event every year, but we must say, this is the first time we've ever had fun. We ran into a bunch of old friends, and made some new ones. We got hit on by a handful of elder gay statesmen, and we caught up with fag hag extraordinaire Rita Cosby. Were really bummed that we didn't see Natalie Morales, who until last night was our hero (that hair! that smile! that secret confidence that comes from knowing that you are one day going to assassinate Meredith Vieira!).

But then we found our NEW hero, gay CNN anchor Tom Roberts. Holy. Fucking. Shit. What a hottie. In a room full of well-groomed men with surprisingly good skin, he put everyone to shame. That hair! That smile! That secret sorrow that comes from knowing that your sexuality will prevent you from ever getting to the networks!

Anyone know who he's dating? We need to find that person and sic Natalie Morales on him.

Hill Also Undecided On Whether Upturned Collars Make Her Look "Dykey."

We've been rooting for Hillary Clinton thus far in the pre-dawn hours of the presidential election (well, Bigmouth has. Fishwatch no doubt has a much more educated and nuanced stance. Bigmouth just wants to see more pearls behind the podium), but her latest move has really given us pause.

Hill, when asked whether homosexuality was immoral yesterday, said this:

“Well, I’m going to leave that to others to conclude.” She added, “I’m very proud of the gays and lesbians I know who perform work that is essential to our country, who want to serve their country, and I want make sure they can.”

She later in the day issued a statement saying she was against the hateful statements of Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman General Peter Pace about gays being immoral. But the mental pause, in which she was either too tired or too unsure to calculate what answer would be best for her polling, is obviously what's upsetting here. She might as well have said, "well, we haven't written that talking point yet."

We're all for our president being a cold, calculating bitch. But we also want a president who actually believes in some things, even some controversial things. Even George Bush would have had an honest answer to that question.

We're sure this, like everything that happens so early, will get buried by events in the months to come. Most people will forget, but we have a feeling the gays will remember. Many of us are one-issue voters, and if there's another Democratic candidate who stands squarely with us, no matter how many HRC dinners she goes to, she won't win the vote.

We still have entire episodes of "Hey Dude" memorized, lady. Us gays? We never forget.

UPDATE: Hillary just put this up on her website:

"I have heard from many of my friends in the gay community that my response
yesterday to a question about homosexuality being immoral sounded evasive. My
intention was to focus the conversation on the failed don't ask don't tell
policy. I should have echoed my colleague Senator John Warner's statement
forcefully stating that homosexuality is not immoral because that is what I
believe."

OMG! We're totally Hillary's friends!

We Think We’re Falling In Love With The Bartender In The Back Room Of Bowery Bar. For Anyone Interested, The Price Of Our Love Is One Free Red Stripe.

Last night was one of those inadvertent nights at Beige where all the people that you like show up, and all the people that you are afraid of stay home. On nights like those, it turns out to be young, drunk and fun, rather than old, sagging and creepy. We arrived to find Jimmy J and Fishwatch holding court in the back, with Nick D. and LL doing cruise laps around the perimeter. Then, to our delight, Dylan showed up (sadly sans nonsexual boyfriend Eric S.), as did Willem D., Erik B., Kristian L., Corey J., George S., Gogo M., and Monte A. de L. We also met Patrick, whose last name we don’t know, but who has somehow dated everyone we’ve ever F’ed. Call us!

Our very favorite gentle giant (well, tied with Clay P.) Justin C. then showed up, creating a stir large enough to cause one random dude to whip out his cock in the middle of the patio. This delighted us to no end. Everyone was trying to hook up with one another and the party ended at Mr. Black, which apparently has a new Tuesday party. It was a big day for our friends, as it was the first time one of us has ever made out with GoGo M., as unlikely as that may sound. In the words of LL, he’s like the Tinsley Mortimer of gay!

WHY YOU ARE GAY: Teen Witch

Last week's edition of WYAG was a little late. We're going to try to keep it on Wednesdays from now on.

Remember "Teen Witch"? It was the best in a series of girl empowerment movies that came out in the late eighties. If you ever saw it, it was probably because you picked it up in the local video store (ours was called "Home Vision") which only had shitty, faded VHS tapes and a limited selection of new releases. In those pre-Blockbuster days, you'd wander the aisles, looking for whatever movie involved the most parent pranks, teen magic or figure skating. (As opposed to now, when you wander the aisles looking for shiny new DVDs with pictures of Eastern European boys looking wistful.)

"Teen Witch" had the added bonus of musical and dance numbers, which set it apart from the pack. The above clip is probably the best, and most memorable, number.

Note the name of the song, which uses the phrase "Top That" as a euphemism for hooking up with a boy.

Funny how things don't change.

Is It Sexual Harassment If You Can Turn It Into A Funny Story Afterward?

Mario Vasquez has been accused of sexually harassing an “American Idol” employee while he was a contestant on the show. He allegedly touched himself in a bathroom in front of another guy. We haven’t always appreciated the way Vasquez has always denied being gay, despite his longterm “close friendship” with a male stylist at Warren Tricomi. Yet this seems like a very strange, very unlikely, very late accusation (didn’t he quit the show over two years ago?). We were hoping that if and when Mario did come out, if he is indeed gay at all, that it would be voluntarily and proudly – not through some skeevy lawsuit.

On a related note, we just took a Sexual Harassment Seminar at work and boy, are we sexually harassed CONSTANTLY. No one has ever masturbated outside of our toilet stall, and if they had, it would probably be at least biologically interesting. But if any of our Human Resources people ever read the interoffice memos between us and the other gays… yowza! Having gay co-workers by definition – and practice – basically means you’re going to have your boundaries crossed. (Memo to David the Latin Custodian – even if you are not gay, you can cross our boundaries any time).

We were wondering if this could potentially be a bad, thing, as there have been moments of slight discomfort at work with gay higher-ups. (Is it our fault for dressing so preppily, which for gays has the same aphrodisiacal effect as a girl dressing sluttily?) And we imagine that it could be worse elsewhere – at the Congressional Page dorm, for example, or Logo.

At the same time, if we couldn’t be raunchy with our co-workers, how would we find out about the intimate sexual proclivities of the rest of gay New York media?

And more importantly, where would we get all of our pedophilia jokes??