Tuesday, June 30, 2009
However, in the real world of Broadway, it's not so easy. Take for example the latest adaptation/cultural popular subject to soon be on the Great White Way: Spider-Man, Turn off the Dark, the musical.
Okay, on the surface, we have a lot of good things going for it. Firstly (and just announced) Broadway veteran Alan Cumming will be playing the Green Goblin. Despite the obvious tittering usually accompanied by his last name, Cumming is already notorious for taking on edgy and morally twisted roles (Cabaret, Threepenny Opera, et al...), so I am sure he will capture this role with finesse.
Also, in the times of economical downturn and an equally downturned Broadway (see Rock of Ages), this show is looking to be the most expensive show ever staged in history with millions already invested. Although an expensive show could just mean an expensive disappointment.
And finally, spearheading this operation is totes brilliant director and costume designer, Julie Taymor. Taymor stunned audiences with her stage adaptation for the Lion King (being the first female Tony Award winner for Best Director) and also with her visually stunning movies Titus, and Across the Universe. I am personally very confident in her ability to defy expectations.
However, we must now look at the few red flags I see. I'll just go though them quickly... almost like a Band-Aid being ripped off.
1. Even Rachael Woods as Mary Jane
2. Music and lyrics by U2's Bono and The Edge
3. A still yet-to-be cast Peter Parker/Spider-Man
4. A debut that keeps getting pushed back
5. No opening night date announced
So these things could be a great thing... or a disastrous. I guess only time will tell.
Where a 7-inch long sandwich might be cause for orgasm with Plus One Austin. I require something a little more.
Seriously, my inner show queen and tech geek are fucking the Jesus out of each other right as I type this. Liza wigs and wireless routers flying all over the place. The dorkiest, showtuniest load I've ever blown.
If you know ANYTHING about Musical Theater, and/or ANYTHING about the Internet, you will LOVE Web Site Story.
Seriously, you will. I guarantee it.
Bravo to College Humor for coming up with something SO fucking brilliant!
What a sandwich! After Justin posted about the ad campaign for Burger King's BK Super Seven Incher, I got simultaneously aroused and hungry (which happens a lot, actually...). So with a fellow gay coworker (shout out, Frank!) in tow, I decided to venture out to my neighborhood BK to experience the magic of the cock burger in person.
However, the new phallic delight has not hit New York Burger Kings as of yet. As I stood in line trying to figure out what to get instead (I even considered the Burger Shots, thanks to you, J), I suddenly realized that I was really upset about not being able to have the seven incher. I had even planned to not have dinner in case the calorie count was way above what is acceptable. That ad did exactly what it was designed to do: it really made me want to go into Burger King and scoff a giant burger hero sandwich.
But then, as bloggers tend to do a lot, I started thinking about effective advertising, and not just for large corporations, but for smaller things to. Most notably, personal ads. Now, if you live in New York and happen to be of the homo-persuasion, you have more than likely come across one of the many fag rags around, i.e. Next or HX. If you venture into the back of these, you will be see various ads for "body work", "escorts", or "models". I put these all in quotes, because they all basically mean "prostitute."
However, these ads do nothing for me. Mainly, of course, because I don't pay for sex, but also because they're so boring. If they were more like the Burger King ad, then maybe I would find a new expensive past time.
So I did all these guys a favor. I have made my own ad, and I'm giving anyone who wants to use it complete creative freedom to alter for their own needs. Enjoy.
Austin, I recall in one of the five THOUSAND weeks you posted here that we got into a conversation about our love of fast food. Well, I figured you'd be the first to try this thing out... and I wanna be a part of that experience.
And, because I like calling out suggestive advertising in blatant, awkward ways, I will say that Crispin Porter & Bogusky (BK's ad agency) is clearly telling men that the BK Super Seven Incher is essentially a big, fat, plump, beefy cock that their girlfriends will want to deep throat because their peckers are no doubt tiny, shriveled and possibly infertile.
"Fill your desire for something long, juicy, and flame-grilled... Yearn for more after you taste the mind-blowing burger that comes with a single beef patty, topped with American cheese, crispy onions and the A.1 Thick & Hearty Steak Sauce."My commentary:
1. That must be ONE GAZILLION calories! Each one of them delicious, no doubt, but still...
2. That fat beef dick is so not fitting in the girl's mouth.
3. Is that a girl, or a blow-up doll? She looks dead or horrified. Clearly women cannot handle all of this manly Grade V meat.
4. The copy says single beef patty, but in the picture, it looks like there are two of them stacked up (unless the elongated beef is folded over itself).
5. I love crispy onions. Someone should tell chefs everywhere to employ them more in their cuisines.
6. I want a bite of this. Austin, perhaps when I return from LA you and I can split one with 8 of our friends, forcing us to only have to purge twice apiece to fit back into our Diesels.
7. They recommend a medium fries and soda. Come on Burger King, I realize you watched Super Size Me, but ain't nobody ordering the Giant Cock Whopper with a medium fry.
8. I'm really fucking hungry now. I'm gonna go get some lunch.
Monday, June 29, 2009
As your last post talked about the Island of Fire, I was wondering why we don't got out there more often. Is it the money? Although expensive, one can spend less out there if you bring provisions from the mainland. Is it the ordeal of 2 trains, a shuttle, and a ferry? I think the time on the island more than makes up for that. Maybe it's the fear of being half-naked for an entire weekend? Well, in my case, I'm half-naked all the time.
No, I think the main deterrent from going to Fire Island is finding a place to stay. We all have friends who have quarter, half, or full shares on the island each summer. However, it seems that everyone else wants to stay with them as well. So it's hard to get in if you're not super close to this fortunate person.
However Justin, I think I came up with a plan. Let's build a JustinPlusOne house. We can make it the most magical of all the Fire Island mansions. For starters, we should build it out in the middle of the Meat Rack, equidistant from the Pines and Cherry Grove. This way, it can stand alone as a special home. Also, we can put it pretty high off the ground so we don't have to worry about lewd and lascivious activities going on the jungles around us.
Obviously, you would live there all summer long, Justin. You can do your Internet thingies from there and promote the night life. Also, since it was my idea, I would live out there as well... or least have a bedroom specifically for me. Then, whoever was co-blogging with you would stay in the guest room. They can bring their gay stories from the far off island of Manhattan to entertain and inspire. The week is up, though, and they're out.
On the weekends, when there is no blogging going on, we would throw gay-normous parties that would rival even the strongest of Tea Dances in the Pines. The lowest floor of the J+1 house would feature a dance floor and full bar. The bartender, of course, would also double as the live-in butler and occasional sex slave. Let's see if Steven Tylor O'Connor is available.
Oh Justin, can't you just see it? Can we make it happen? Can we?
How was YOUR Pride? I have to say it's odd for you write a full post about Pride and yet not tell us a lick of what you did. Was it that shameful? Did you do something illegal and or amoral? Did I maybe capture said activities on photo, video, and microfiche?
Yes, yes I did. You can pay me back by taking back that shit you said about me before. Even though it's true.
For example, Austin couldn't see me this weekend because I was not in New York City. Rather, I snuck out on a 6:37 PM train from Penn Station, transferred to another train in Babylon, rode a van through Brookhaven, hopped a boat across some body of water, and rode a llama on top of an elephant guided by three mute sherpas... all to get to Fire Island!
It was my first time on the Island of Fire this past weekend. This is a shameful fact to admit because I grew up on Long Island as a gay man. I went to the clubs where people talked about going to Fire Island. I still never went.
1. At first I didn't realize Fire Island was a place. I thought it was a party. People said "see you at Fire Island next week!"
2. After that I then assumed that Fire Island, because it had the word "island" in it, was far away - like by Hawaii or something (don't mention the fact that I lived on Long Island, at the time I was pretty, not smart.)
3. After that, I just had all the rotten luck of not having any friends who went to Fire Island, and I can hardly enter a bar or party by myself, let alone a big, gay island.
Regardless! After 27 years of no-Fire Island, I finally made it! The trip using the forty means of transportation, through hale storms and pouring rain and lightning leaving spiderweb cracks in the sky, had me imagining myself on a trip to some gay version of Hogwarts. (The fact that Prisoner of Azkaban score came on my iPod certainly helped.)
I was picked up by best friend Jeremy, and stayed with him and best friend Paul as well as their 6 housemates in the Pines. We did everything there is to do on Fire Island. Sip n Twirl (also known as Slip n Hurl... how college!). Pavilion. The beach. The store with $22 flip flops. The burning hot boardwalks that made me buy the $22 flip flops. The nude beach (where, much like all nude beaches, those who are nude are never the ones you want to see nude).
The rooftop decks. The pools and hot tubs. The place that serves Starbucks coffee (including an advertised drink on the wall that neither "barista" knew the place offered). The table outside of the market where they sell Baydance tickets (I found one of the men selling it to be a friend of a go-go boy I know in New York... small gay world indeed). The barbecues and the drinking and the drinking and the drinking.
Fire Island, if you've never been, truly is a magical, gay place. When I approached it on the boat, a rainbow was literally shooting up out of it and to the sky. Houses are completely random there, all this modern architecture with odd angles, large windows and strange floorplans. Even better, the whole thing resembles Star Wars' Ewok village, except moved to a sandier locale. I can only imagine the number of people who died or destroyed their face (worse than death) as a result of stumbling across the already shoddy planks tens of feet above land criss-crossing all over the island. Especially because there are no streetlights anywhere.
But in the end, I had a truly fantastic time, and hopped a boat back to the city at 9:50AM on Sunday. I was back in the city by noon plus, and walked myself (unintentionally) to the parade route. Because it was so gorgeous out, I walked against the parade and waved to friends marching within or watching and enjoying from without.
A truly fantastic Pride and an awesome Fire Island cherry-poppin' experience. So many many thanks to Jeremy, my host, Paul, my co-host, and all of their lovely housemates. Also to blog (and real life) buddy (and 2-time alum!) David, who I crashed into within my first five minutes on the island, and spent much of my weekend with.
Guilting me, Justin? Don't you know I am practically gay married to a Jew? Your goyish-attempts at the guilt trip makes me laugh. Let me tell you, readers, Justin-sightings are a rare commodity these days. When he's not jet setting across the country, he's so busy these days with promoting parties and hanging out with go-go boys that it's hard to catch up. And when I do ask him to hang out, it's always on one of this "off nights". So then he resorts to trying to guilt me into coming to Musical Mondays at Splash (as you have all witnessed) because he knows it's the only time that he can hang out. He sort of sandbags all his social time to Monday, so I know that there are others of you he uses the same tactics on. I'm on to your game, J.
But that being said... Yes, here I am back as the first 4x Alum! And happy to kick off Gay Pride Recovery Week! It's the week after all the gays kill their livers and brain cells with alcohol, drugs, sex, and lack of sleep. It's a week of wondering why we were so proud in the first place. It's a week, that personally, I find very interesting to observe. It's sort of like the day after Christmas... except that you have no toys to play with (or maybe you do *titter*).
So I would hope to hear lots of Pride stories from all of you. Email them to me and maybe we can get them into a post. I think it's fitting for the 40th anniversary, no?
Happy Pride Recovery Week all! Let's raise our coffee cups to the sky as we remember the times we had this past weekend.
You also may know him from having sex with him at some point in your life; I wouldn't rule out that possibility.
If you want to see his other weeks, check them out here, here and here:
Austin comes from the Upper West Side, which he fled to with his super hot boyfriend, leaving me and the Upper East Side flat.
Austin ALSO had better come out to Musical Mondays tonight to sing and drink madrases with me, because if he doesn't, he won't see me for 2 weeks since I'm flying off to Los Angeles Thursday morning.
Ya hear that, Plus One!? TWO WEEKS! Imagine the gaping hole in your heart and soul that will be left when my long absence face fucks your very BEING.
Yeah, it'll be that bad. You'll cry blood. And no one will think you're pretty any more.
This is all to guilt you to come out tonight. I hope it works.
Everyone say hallo to Austin and give this bitch the proper welcome he deserves, because, really, he's the only thing I can call fierce without shuddering from my use of that word.
Friday, June 26, 2009
If you haven't seen my films, I hope you'll check them out. But more importantly, I hope you make an effort to support openly gay artists - filmmakers, writers, musicians, actors and even bloggers. Seek out books by gay authors, go to see a gay movie in a theater (if you can), read and comment on blogs like this one. We need to support each other and our community, because no one else will.
It's been real.
I'm sorry to hear about your sleep problems. If there is one thing I've never had a problem with, it's sleep. Because I work a tiring day job, and then have all of 2 hours before working an overly-active night job (promoting, natch) I often find myself running through the day fueled by Red Bulls and Iced Quad Venti Soy Caramel Macchiatos.
Once my body goes horizontal, it greedily grabs at whatever few hours of rest it can muster before having to get up and do it all over again. On weekends I'll often sleep straight through to the afternoon. I snooze on the subway to and from work. I am putting in significant time and practice to learn how to sleep standing up like a horse.
But it wasn't always this way. Once upon a time, when Justin was but a wee lad, his overbearing parents thought it wise to force him to bed at 8PM. This was in elementary school. I had a set bedtime and would be sent there against my wishes. Of course I was always a nocturnal creature, before I had the chance to actually exercise that lifestyle. And so I would lie awake in bed from 8PM til past midnight.
I tried everything to fall asleep. I had a subliminal cassette called "sleep like a baby" which was filled with waves, music, and apparently some dude whispering "GO TO FUCKING SLEEP." Of course the problem was that it was a cassette. And so when the side ended, I would have to get up from bed and flip the tape. I gave that up and moved to listening to the classical radio station. But for some reason, I mentally programmed myself to get sleepy when I heard the tone they played at midnight, just after an orchestral flourish, and just before they read the headlines and op-ed page subjects from the next morning's New York Times.
Luckily now that I'm all growns-ed up, I can live my life as I please. This includes staying up to ridiculously late hours. When I'm out, I don't get home until 3am or later. Even on my two nights in a week, I often don't retire until about 1:30 AM. I just do better at night. I'm more alive. And the exhaustion I experience from tablespoons of sleep ensures that, again, when my head hits the pillow, I am out until something loud and obnoxious stirs me.
So for all of you waking up this morning, stretching and thinking about how good you slept last night - realize how lucky you are.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
I remember being in fourth grade, practically hysterical in the second floor apartment of my then best friend, Kostas. My backpack full of pajamas and clothes for the next day in his room just down the hall. His house always smelled like feta or honey, as his old world Greek grandmother was constantly cooking.
I was sleeping over for one reason: Kostas had HBO and that night would be the broadcast of Michael Jackson's Live in Bucharest concert. The show featured his biggest hits, and he threw the thousands and thousands and thousands of concert goers into a screaming, crying, frothing frenzy with every note and move. At times I would hop to my feet to do my best impression of his spin, or his kick. But I was smart enough to never attempt the moonwalk. It was sacred; he was the only man who could pull that off.
A year later I tried my best to dress as Michael from that concert - the black jumpsuit with the shiny golden chest plate/ codpiece. It was a disaster and I remember practically bawling at the embarrassing sight. My cousin Kristin, on the other hand, had been smart and opted for Black or White Michael Jackson, which was really just the black pants and that white shirt.
And then there was the time that Barbara Walters went to the Neverland Valley Ranch. I sat, eyes glued to the TV as she hopped on the ferris wheel with MJ. I watched this with bitter memories of years before when I dropped to my kitchen floor in wheezing hysterics because I had not won MTV's Neverland Valley sleepover contest, despite hitting the redial on my family's chunky cordless phone over and over for three hours.
I had Thriller on cassette. Ditto for Dangerous. When technology rendered tape players obsolete I bought all of his albums on CD so I could listen to them at home, and then in my dad's Jeep when driving my friends around Long Island.
In college, whenever Michael Jackson came up on my iPod on shuffle I would walk with just a bit more attitude in my step. Because I was THAT cool. Sometimes, when no one was around, I would break out a little spin or that kick again. Like before, I never attempted the moonwalk. Years later I still was not sure I could pull it off.
I won't talk about the child molestation cases, or the allegations. Could they have happened? Sure. Did they? I don't know. And, frankly, that would be Michael's business. He gave me years of music and attitude. He inspired and thrilled me. Just seeing him trash that car during the superbowl music video was enough to make my father consider restraining me so I wouldn't try dancing on his Volvo.
And just like that, Michael is gone. Everywhere they are showing a slightly creepy, slightly foreboding image of the King of Pop, cocky and flashing a peace sign at his onlookers. Just before his big comeback tour. The dreams they had of bringing him back to the stage.
He may have left the public eye, but he never left my heart. Now he is cemented there forever.
Goodbye Michael, thanks for years of music and memories.
Had a similar experience on the set of "3-Day Weekend." The wonderful Derek Long had just filmed a full-frontal scene and we were moving on to getting his close-ups (of his face). I said he could put some pants or underwear on if he'd be more comfortable, and he just shrugged. "They've seen it already, what's the point?" Great attitude.
We actually had so much nudity on the last film that when we made the new one, which is a family Christmas comedy called "Make The Yuletide Gay," the (straight) sound guy and first AD were both jokingly asking when they'd get to see snake on this production. Apparently we've provided them with more exposure to male nudity than in all their other filmwork combined!
So anyone going to see "Make The Yuletide Gay" expecting nudity will be disappointed. But it's all about family and acceptance, which is more important. Right? RIGHT? Can't wait to see it with audiences again at Outfest in Los Angeles and QFest in Philadelphia, and at festivals all over through the fall.
But no snakes. Sorry.
Luckily, the photo I received is indeed Go-Go Rowan, stoned off his face (with an adorable smile awwww isn't he precious!) and a still-unnamed snake.
This is, of course, his response to my post two days ago of Go-Go Stephen and his new puppy Tucker.
Now, Rowan said that he has no photos that prove he has a soul. I think I disagree, there's a very gleeful look in his eyes in this picture - again, something human. I dig it.
But snakes are gross and slimy and scary keeeeeeep away thanks!
If you've never had the opportunity to see Rowan work his dancin' magic, check out this video I put out recently. It shows some of Rowan's talented pole work (god everything i write sounds like a porn description!)
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I've never heard of this boy, perhaps you have? He's apparently a go-go boy who dances like he's in the beginning tremors of a seizure.
"He tends to dance in fits and jerks, his arms stiffly at his sides except when he suddenly draws one hand up towards the side of his face. He moves around a lot when he dances, his legs following his upper body, which spasms rhythmically to a beat slightly different than that of the music."No thank you. I'll stick with my twinky go-gos with their casual pot addictions, pet snakes, and new baby puppies.
Max might also be an artist.
"His "zine" is Scorcher, a compendium of his autobiographical porn stories. He also writes a blog, This Is Fag City, and a monthly horoscope column under a pseudonym, for "a free New York publication" whose name he won't reveal. He is also a performance artist, a singer, a songwriter and an accompanist."He can certainly give my productivity a run for its money. Even though in the article I read, he doesn't seem to really be doing much besides getting drunk, falling down stairs, and begging Zachary to treat him nicely in print.
I can tell you this: he lives in Brooklyn, which already makes me cautious. I don't like that borough. Once upon a time I universally detested all places reachable by bridge and/or tunnel from Mannahatta. I have since grown to adore Astoria. To date, I still despise Brooklyn.
Anyway. Max Steele, this celebrity I have never heard of, is "profiled" in a new article penned by my pal Zachary Woolfe, in the latest edition of The Awl, which is some type of an online pub with a really creative, sorta drugged out "about" section.
Zachary and I worked with many moons ago back when the both of us had pseudonyms and took it to the gays by making fun of their funny profiles or photos on Manhunt for the blog Hunters and Gatherers. And in his article, he followed Mr. Steele around from party to meeting to party to back of a cab where he's making out with some other gay guy.
Indeed it seems like Zachary went through hell - just read the article and feel the Hipster-induced coma that begins to overtake you around the time Max takes Zachary to a pot-smoke-choked magazine meeting. Seriously, people like Max Steele MAY BE THE REASON why I refuse to spend more than the least amount of time possible in Brooklyn.
Does Max ever come into NYC? It doesn't seem like it. The closest he gets in the article is Sugarland, which is apparently a "tourist trap" gay bar meant to give New Yorkers a taste of Brooklyn. Well let me tell you this about Sugarland. I went once and it was so Brooklyn that I could barely get drunk in peace, and basically ran, screaming, back to the train en route to Hell's Kitchen hoping that the egos and button-collar shirts would save me from all of those piercings and creative smatterings of facial hair.
So indulge, won't you? Take a scary trip to Brooklyn, and spend a dreadful 24 hours with Go-Go Boy of the Damned, Max Steele. And then thank Zachary. It's because he spent a full day with Max that we may thankfully never have to.
Check out the article, "'Almost' 'Famous': 24 Hours with Max Steele".
Justin, I just read your article on Theater Anxiety Disorder - brilliant! I, too, notice when something goes wrong in a live theater show, such as the prop being left on-stage accidentally, only to be casually scooped up by a true professional in the next scene and quietly hidden away. When I saw "9 to 5" in Los Angeles, the timing of the sets swooping in was off throughout the show and I cringed every time. Of course, I cringed through that entire mess of a show, but that's another story.
Speaking of messes, last night I saw "Phantom" in Las Vegas. Not "Phantom of the Opera" - no, this is the 95-minute version designed for Vegas audiences and named just "Phantom." If "Opera" was in the title, it might have scared off the tourists. Somehow, at 95 minutes, it still seemed like the longest musical ever. The actor playing the Phantom would have been voted off American Idol in week one for his hilarious overacting, but the crowd gave him a huge standing ovation at the end. No accounting for taste, I guess.
But the sets - the chandelier assembling in mid-air, the boat cruising across the stage - were pretty impressive. With all the movement and potential for disaster, you would have been a nervous wreck, Justin!
What did you think of the Bret Michaels tragedy at this year's Tony Awards? (I say "tragedy" because he survived - kidding!)
P.S. Four days in Las Vegas is WAY too long, even if you're visiting with family.
While I am not a tennis fan, I must admit that I have often ended up watching it. My ex-boyfriend was a huge fan of the groaning, squeaking, bouncing bouncing game and I would often find myself subject to it. He even took me to the US Open once looking down from our seats made me dizzy for crying out loud.
I am, however, a fan of a sport. Well, a sport is probably not accurate. I am a fan of SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT. That's right, I'm talking professional wrestling. Now, before everyone flips out, allow me to say that I use the term lightly. I haven't watched wrestling (or TV, for that matter) in months. Promoting, day job, life in general has seen to it that my precious wide screen TV lie fallow.
But, if there were any sport for me to watch, it is the WWE. I could write about it for hours, but I'll spare the lot of you. Suffice it to say - I do NOT watch it for the men in tights sweating all over each other. If it were that easy I could just flip on a Bel Ami and call it a night. No, I am there for the unbridled faux violence. I thrill at every chair shot, scream at the TV when the ref doesn't see an illegal double team.
Once upon a time I might defend myself by saying that TV ratings and audience numbers show that I am not alone in this fandom. But then I went to a few live events and got a look at the audience and the ten or so teeth all 8,000 of them shared and... well... I like wrestling and that's all I need to say.
To all of you naysayers I must ask - have you ever given wrestling a legitimate shot? I mean, really given it a shot? Take an evening - let's say Monday - and watch WWE Raw. Or DVR Smackdown on a Friday night. And watch it from start to finish. Follow the story lines, listen to the mic work, watch the intensely edited video promos. Some of the most talented TV people in the business work for Mr. Vince McMahon (CEO and owner, bee tee dubs) and it shows.
Wrestling is, in the end, a man's man's soap opera. They borrow storylines from pop culture and history and literature, and then dumb it down with women in bikinis and guys drenching each other in beer.
In other words, you might just have some fun if you give it a chance.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
So let's move on to one of my favorite subjects - tennis. It's Wimbledon time, and I am hoping that Roger Federer wins the title to give him his 15th Grand Slam title, breaking his current tie with Pete Sampras. (Are there any other gay tennis fans out there? It's definitely the only sport I follow. And I think the greatest thing to happen to the sport was the decision to let the men wear sleeveless shirts. Brilliant.)
In my humble opinion, Roger Federer can claim the title of Greatest Player of All Time thanks to his recent French Open victory, giving him a career Grand Slam. If he wins Wimbledon and surpasses Sampras in total Grand Slam victories, I don't think you can argue that Federer is the greatest. He is perfection on court, he has a great all-around game, and he is incredibly consistent, having reached 20 major semi-finals in a row. And he seems like such a nice guy - check out his latest video update on Facebook:
Anyone care about tennis? Any thoughts on Federer's place in history?
As for women's tennis today - I could not care less. Boring players, odd ranking system, obnoxious grunts. If Serena isn't playing, I'm not watching.
Everyone, I would like to introduce you to two very important people. This right here is Stephen, one of the go-go boys I work with at Splash on Thursdays and Dirty Pop on Sundays. That furball of cuteness supreme is his new dog, Tucker.
I love this photo for a few reasons:
1. Tucker is so cute that I'm literally depending on an oxygen tank to remain conscious.
2. I love photos of go-go boys as the people they really are. People look at Stephen and think "oh, he's a go-go, an over-sexed, non-stop party head."
Well, he might be those things, but he also enjoys snuggling down with Tucker here.
3. Go-go boy and puppy sounds like an excellent subject for a watercolor painting. Any artists in the house?
I now challenge my other go-go friends - Dylan, Rowan, Evan, Ryan... submit your own adorable human photos. I'll feature them here, too.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Having fun visiting with my partner's brothers, though I am always amazed to think that while we have been together for 15 years, almost everyone in my partner's immediate family has been divorced during that time. And yet, we're the threat to the sanctity of marriage. Hmmm... Wonder what would have happend in California if divorced people had not been allowed to vote on Proposition 8?
Too late in the day to start in on politics. Tomorrow, I will take up the most important question facing our planet - is Roger Federer, in fact, the greatest male tennis player of all time? Post your thoughts, and I will tell you whether you are correct or not.
Yes, I am writing my first blog entry from my suite at the Venetian in Las Vegas. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love coming to Vegas, but this time, it wasn't even my suggestion. I'm here with my partner Rod (we just celebrated our 15-year anniversary, thank you very much), his brother Russ, and his other brother Randy and his lovely wife, Jennifer. Randy and Jennifer wanted to visit Las Vegas, and that was a good enough excuse for us. Actually, free tickets to "Phantom" is enough to get me here, but visiting with family is a better one.
So do I hit the nightclubs in Vegas? Drink heavily? Act like an obnoxious tourist? No, I sit in front of penny video slot machines for hours on end. Star Wars machines. Star Trek. Monopoly. If there are enough pretty colors, I'm hooked. And I'm noticing a theme in the newer machines - Wizard of Oz, Village People's Jackpot Party, Fire Island, Xanadu. Yes, Vegas wants the gays and isn't afraid to offer a bonus game set to "YMCA" to get us. Works for me. Worked for me until after 2 a.m. this morning, which is why it's taken me so long to get this first post up.
I want to thank Justin for pointing out that I am, in fact, NOT Robin Williams. I am also not British singing sensation Robbie Williams (though I get phone calls for him quite often, especially since he moved to Los Angeles). I am not model Rob Williams from the TV show "Manhunt" - you all remember "Manhunt" don't you? Of course, you do. And I am not the Rob Williams who hosts a radio show and recently got into trouble for saying things he shouldn't have. I wouldn't even know who this radio host is if I didn't Google my own name obsessively. But that's another story.
I'm off to find a nice cup of tea to help me wake up. Hopefully that will help my postings make more sense later on. Probably not, but it couldn't hurt.
Thanks for reading! More later...
This week I am pleased to welcome to Justin Plus One Rob Williams. I know, at first I was all psyched to be co-blogging alongside the star of Mrs. Doubtfire and Patch Adams, then I found out that this was ROB Williams and not ROBIN Williams.
Turns out that it's okay because THIS Rob Williams is ALSO involved in film. Coming to us live and in living color from the City of Angels, Rob Williams is a filmmaker for Guest House Films - a company that has taken home numerous awards for their productions.
As a maker of movies (so what if they're only 2 minutes long and feature go-go boys!?) I am ultra excited about this week.
Enough from me - let's meet Rob!
Los Angeles, CA
My Site/ Sites:
What I might post about:
Movies, television, tennis, relationships, politics, the joy of watching fat babies laugh on YouTube and/or the meaning of life.
What I love:
Making movies; playing Star Wars video penny slot machines in Las Vegas; watching tennis for two solid weeks, four times a year, during the Grand Slams; TiVo; and my partner, Rod.
What I hate:
People who don’t know the difference between “it’s” and “its”; people who don’t use their turn signals when driving; people who owe me money; people who use religion to justify hatred and discrimination; actually, people in general.
My Last Word:
I’m a geek and a homebody who is lucky enough to have found my true passion in life (making movies) after toiling in the drudgery of public relations for way too long. And I have trouble sleeping, so if I yawn during our conversation, it’s nothing personal.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Well what an off week Justin and I had. However, I'm glad to be back on the blog and posting. Good to have some normalcy sometime. Then again, I don't know what's sadder. The fact that my regular life is normal or the idea that being a Plus One is normal for me. Then again, is there really a normal? If every day and everyone is different, I don't see how a norm can exist. But I digress...
As I wrap up this, my third week of tenure on Justin Plus One, I have been touched by the story Justin shared in his last post. So instead of typing up some witty, self-indulgent tripe as I am known to do, I'd rather leave you with a thought to carry you through the weekend and hopefully further.
Care about others.
It's a simple thought. It's one that I need to be constantly reminded of. When we live in a city like New York (or any town, really), it's so easy to get caught up in our daily business. Wake up, go to work, grab a beer, go home. Repeat. However, how often do we step out our routines to really see the people around us. We all hurt. We all experience failure. We all have obstacles in our life that sometimes seem so overwhelming, that we don't think we'll ever come out on top.
But what if someone took the time to just offer some encouragement. Buy a cup of coffee. Or just a simple, "how are you" that you actually mean. Sometimes, at least in my experience, can really brighten you up and make things look not so bad.
Be that person.
Readers, I hope that you have an amazing weekend. It feels good to the first 3x alum, and I hope to continue making history with Justin on J+1. Next time, we really gotta do something special, J.
Until next time: Keep reading, keep commenting, and keep caring!
So, if you haven't seen Up yet, I'll forgive you ignorantly. Do NOT admit you have not been to see this movie (especially if you opted for, say, The Hangover, instead). Just quietly sneak out the door and go see a matinee with the old folks and soccer moms. I'll wait for you to get back.
Anyway, as if the story of an old man going on an adventure to honor the dying wish of his wife wasn't heartwarming and tearjerking enough, Pixar goes and does something in REAL LIFE that's just as touching.
The family friend of a dying child cold-called Pixar's offices and guessed her way through the phone tree to a live person, then pleaded her case: the child desperately wanted to see Up, but was possibly days away from death and too sick to travel or sit in a movie theater. The next day, a Pixar employee arrived with a DVD of the movie and sat with the family while they watched it.Sure it doesn't seem like a lot, maybe. But it touched me really deeply. That, in this world of "we'll contact you via email in 5-7 business days" and such, that the large company living alongside the giant mouse could so quickly dispatch an employee with a DVD to screen the movie for the child... wow.
Seemingly small - didn't take much to do. But man oh man that is yet another reason why I love Pixar. It speaks to their brand - human, understanding, willing to take risks and break rules.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I have seen people lose their jobs and struggle to find new ones. Many of my actor friends are having impossible times landing roles in regional theaters that they once would have no problem getting into because people with Broadway credits are auditioning for said roles, because there are no parts on Broadway to be had.
It sucks really. It's kinda like when you get the spins after a few too many madrases (the favorite drink of you, I and Plus One Alum Chris Ryan!) You lie there in bed, opening your eyes and staring at the ceiling hoping they'll go away, but never quite sure when they'll pass.
Same with this right here.
Then again, there are good things that come as a result of this recession, too. Good things for people like me who save their money frantically and stow it in a bank account, refusing to touch it. To us go cheaper and better apartment opportunities, knock out sales at everything from restaurants and sex parties to clothing stores and massage parlors.
But still, it's certainly here. What's weird is that in NYC you don't really see it. Restaurants seem just as packed when you pass by. However, there's that bitter -oh shit- moment when that busy restaurant you always pass suddenly, and without warning, shutters for good. That's happened a number of times on my precious (and your former) neighborhood, the Upper East Side.
It may look crowded still, but those people are eating less. Those packed crowds only come during the peak times that we pass, and then are gone. You see more friends packing up and heading back to Canada (this has happened) because they can't find work, or to Astoria or Brooklyn, which, really, is worse than having to go to Canada, I feel.
And so I've been living slightly recessionistically - I'm saving even more money in case I should, for some reason, lose my job. I'm finding ways to get free booze instead of paying for it. I went into nightlife so I could enjoy my evenings and meet new people without forking the cash out for it. Granted my salary hasn't dropped, but I'm living like it has.
Let's consider ourselves lucky that we haven't been hit, and be extremely observant and protective so that, if we do get hit, we're ready for it.
Justin, I must say that the commercials you showed in your last post left me feeling confused as to whether I should laugh or be horrified. In addition, it also reminded me of my feelings for this recession.
Now, I've seen the news. I read the papers. I listen to Obama. I know what's going on in the economy. However, I'm either very fortunate or blissfully unaware, but I nor anyone that I know has been personally affected by this recession that we're in. I have not felt the effects of this downward facing national economy.
Granted, I work in higher education (which, along with health care, is one of few markets still thriving), and my boyfriend and our friends work mostly in the theater industry (which is always either slim pickings or extremely lucrative with not much gray in between). My family is in Mississippi, a state that is impervious to recessions or depressions because it's already perpetually-depressed state.
So, I apologize to anyone who has lost jobs or is in dire straights due to the fallout from the Bush administration, but I now find this recession to be rather funny. This is mostly due to the fact that everyone I know is using it as an excuse to be cheap. How many times have you heard some money-related statement immediately followed by the phrase, "We're in a recession, after all." I'm even guilty of it, and I make more money now than I did before the economy took a nosedive.
In fact, I feel we play even harder now that we're in a recession. Or maybe we just appreciate it more because we're aware of the money we're spending. Either way, this time period does seem to a time of partying, if just a lower key. After all, you can't spell "recession" without "recess".
Now if only I can get in on that stimulus package...
Have you ever heard of Wilkin's Coffee? Well I haven't either. But it turns out that if we don't drink it, we might be brutally beaten/maimed/and executed by a muppet that sounds like Kermit the Frog.
It's even more unfortunate that I don't think Wilkins Coffee exists any more.
Brilliant advertising, this. It makes me wish our ads were more violent and hilarious. (Muppet on Muppet violence is THE BEST!) It's also impressive that they were able to get their key message out: "Drink coffee or a muppet will slay you." in ten seconds. Very impressive. See what happens in these ten-second spots where WILkins kills WONTkins (because he doesn't know of, or doesn't quite like Wilkins Coffee).
In addition, an interesting anecdote about the video where the non-Wilkins muppet gets shot in the head:
Steve Whitmire, the voice of Kermit since 1990, recently visited the Savannah College of Art and Design and shared with us an interesting story about one of the Wilkins commercials. Apparently, in one of those local markets, the spot where Wontkins gets shot in the head from a mysterious arm that appears to his left aired for the first time on the day JFK was assassinated. Of course, it was pulled after complaints, even though no one could have seen that coming, not by a long shot.We need to do this again. Get muppets to threaten consumers into buying things. Or use death threats couched in humor to get a point across. Perhaps we can have Mac kill the shit out of PC. I love John Hodgman but that could actually work nicely.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Coming to you live from Chicago O Hare where I can hardly contain myself. Hey - Austin - you know what I realized? We've come full circle. Remember the first time you were a Plus One and you disappeared off the face of the fucking earth for two days and I had no idea where you were?
Turned out you had a crazy travel adventure... you were forgiven but not without a beating to teach you a lesson of course.
Well now I've had MY crazy adventure. Who would have known that going to an interior design trade fair would involve car crashes, long lost meetups, showtunes and madcap hilarity? Well I guess I should have, as nothing I do is ever boring. Hell, a trip to the library turns into an orgy, a murder spree, or both (yikes).
So I guess we're even (but you can still beat me if you like.)
Anyway, just a quick post: my newest video which I worked LONG and HARD (pun and pun) on for Splash's Campus Thursdays. In this edition, the gogo boys take to the pole - hope you like!
What in the world is going on with this Spencer and Heidi mania? Everywhere I look, they are there with the latest stunt of awfulness that they have stumbled into. The worst thing is that I have been purposely trying to avoid them on all levels. I never watched The Hills or I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. Everything I needed to see of those shows I could catch on The Soup.
Through all their spoiled, self-entitled and vacuous behavior, people were still giving them the benefit of the the doubt by assuming it was all an act. However, as time goes by, it's becoming more apparent that they are actually are the attention-whoring and greedy brats that they portray.
Take a look at this clip from the Today Show. Al Roker isn't afraid to just tell them like it is, and reveal them for the complete morons that they are. Also, I don' think they were expecting the clip at the beginning of the show.
Al Roker later predicted the fall of their celebrity, "That [behavior] grows old very quickly, and people grow tired of it. There are people who’ve actually accomplished things, people who are known for their great works. Just because you’ve been on a show where you just behave badly doesn’t mean you’ve accomplished anything."
Since I'm currently on the Roker bandwagon, I hope he's right.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Jealous? You should be. However, after spending an excruciating 1.5 hours on this masterpiece, I realized that I'm at work and that I should have been actually productive. But I already know that I'm a procrastinator, and I'm good at it.
I sometimes wonder if it's a medical condition. How come some people are way more productive than others? Why do I spend an hour getting ready to do 5 minutes of work? Why will I clean my entire apartment just to avoid getting started on a project? Why do I wait for my cats to claw my jeans into shreds before I feed them?
Fortunately, I've learned recognized this condition in me, and admittance is the first step on the road to recovery. Right? So I found this book that's going to help me with my procrastination. However, instead of reading it, I just surfed YouTube for half an hour and found this:
So, fair readers, you may ask "why is Justin in Chicago?"
Or you may be asking "who the crap pretended that the Mile High Club could actually exist," as Plus One (x3!) Austin Helms questioned in his previous post.
Well, I'll tell you! I'm working on a funtastic, super-de-duper social media project for a client. And you can all have some fun with it. The product, as was reviewed by blog buddy (and Plus One Alum) Pat Sandora over at ABlogAboutThings, is a paint that turns ANY surface into a whiteboard.
It's pretty awesome.
Even MORE awesome was my crazy social networking idea. It's simple really - we have an illustrator here at NeoCon. When you tweet a drawing request to @mdctabrasa and I will see to it that within a short period of time, you will receive a re-tweet with your picture request personalized just for you!
Even better, your photo will also be featured over on our web site GoBeyondtheWhiteBoard.com
Here are a few of the best photos that have been requested so far - love them!
Two pandas in top hats engaged in a fierce logrolling competition.
It's just a lot of fun... and it's only going on a few more hours until Twitter shuts down (stupid Iranian unrest!) So get your requests in NOW!
Wow Justin. Chicago just doesn't seem to suit you. On top of that, it seems as if it's out to kill you--whether by car, weather, or pizza (but as for the latter, what a way to go). And sorry about the one post. I was hoping to get a little back and forth action. But as usual, you only want to take and never give. When you get back, we simply must work on your reach-around.
But all your talk about travel got me thinking about a topic that I think is basically an urban legend. However, it's talked about so much and even portrayed in the entertainment industry, that I think people think it actually happens. Personally, I would love to be proved wrong. I am talking, of course, about the Mile High Club.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sexually ambitious. I think I would consider myself just shy of an exhibitionist. I enjoy engaging in some sort of sexual act in places where I might get caught--movie theaters, dressing rooms, bathroom stalls, your mom's bed, etc. However, I have never done anything on an airplane. I don't even see how's possible.
Let's assume said sexual act will occur in the airplane lavatory, right? Well for one, it's always a big production when anyone goes to the bathroom. You have to parade in front of all the other passengers, and everyone knows where you're going. In addition, there are usually like 3-5 bathrooms on a plane, and it seems there is always a line. Or at least there's someone just starting at the "Occupied" sign just waiting for it to go off. Also, the door are always where everyone can see.
Secondly, those damn flight attendants always know what's going on during the flight. I think they even have a special training to prevent this sort of thing. I think it goes: a) learn the safety demonstration, b) practice your nice, but firm voice, c) always carry change for the booze, d) at all cost, keep horny couples out of the lavatories.
And lastly, just look at the size of these bathrooms. I believe they're even smaller than porta-potties. Of course, I do love a challenge. However, it would seem that most exciting part of having sex in there would just be to figure out the angles. Once you actually get to the sex part, it's like you've already decoded the puzzle. At that point, I think you just finish because you're already there.
As you can see, I've been turning this over and over in my mind like some sort of busted engine with a dead battery (the mechanic reference were for my lesbians--holler!). The only possible solution I could come up with was to attempt it during an overnight flight. However, I would love to hear some stories from all of you. Anyone out there had a successful or (possibly more entertaining) unsuccessful Mile High Club anecdote to share?
Monday, June 15, 2009
My most sincere apologies for being so silent today (and for the fact that much may be the same tomorrow). However you must understand! I am not in New York, in fact I am in Chicago. I have been here since Saturday and will be here until Wednesday. It is why I called Austin in to blog - I needed someone who could hold down the fort while I was away.
Of course he held down said fort by spreading malicious rumours about me (the british kind, not the American kind... just more classy that way). But you take what you can get.
Anyway here are some things that have happened to me since I touched down in the windy city:
1. It's not very windy, but it has been very rainy.
2. It had not been two minutes since I told my friend (who I used to stalk in college) that I was happy to be in a town where I didn't know anyone, that I crashed into two people that I knew.
3. Chicago Deep Dish Pizza is horrifying. I had half a slice and it was like I had drank a gallon of Bisquick.
4. I almost died as a result of a high speed car chase between a car robber and a line of police cars. Seriously, a car vaulted up a sidewalk not ten feet from where I was standing. It lost a tire that flew by me. It then sped away before being taken down by cops.
5. I spent all day tweeting for a client at The Merchandise Mart - which is this horrifyingly massive structure filled with things interior design. In case you don't know me I don't pay attention to interior design. I am a minimalist (aka, the coolest name I could find that basically says I don't give a shit about design and I'll be over here at Electronics Boutique while you walk through Pier 1.
Anyway, that's the big Justin update for tonight! So sorry I didn't post earlier and I will take great pains to post tomorrow to keep the mojo going.
But hey! Austin! Just one post? What the fuck is up with that? You should be ashamed. When you wake up tomorrow morning you will find a horse's head in your bed, and your boyfriend missing (and no, I won't godfather you, I actually am practicing a spell that turns boyfriends into horse heads).
Now I know many of you are already wondering why in the world I could possibly be invited back after only 2 short months. Well, dear readers, I did you a favor, put myself in your shoes, and did some thinking of my own. Scary, I know. However, I have chosen the top 45 reasons that you may believe was the reason I may have come back as the first ever three-time alum. It's the stuff that tabloids are made of. Also, I will neither confirm nor deny each statement:
1. Justin and Austin are sleeping together.
As is the way with relationships, we tend to show favoritism to those whom we are physically or emotionally involved with. The new mistress gets the recently-available secretary position. The sexy Latino yard boy gets the best glass of lemonade. The quaterback's girlfriend gets head cheerleader. It could be that J_1 is no different. In fact, it could be that he has slept with ALL of his Plus Ones. The one timers are the equivalent of one night stands. Those who return must be REALLY good in bed. It's possible...
2. Austin has a dirty secret on Justin.
As everyone knows, being a Plus One is an esteemed and highly sought after position. Those who write on this blog gain instant success and power in the gay night life community. It could be that Austin just wants to stay on top of his game and is resorting to blackmail to get his way. It's very Gossip Girl and appropriate to our lifestyle.
3. Austin has something that Justin wants.
On the flip side of these speculations, it could be that Justin wants something from Austin. Using his immensely popular blog as a tool, Justin could be using invitations to blog with Austin as a way to get on his good side... lure him in close... make him feel like one of the team... Then, when you least expect it, BAM!!! Justin drains his bank account. Or Austin's boyfriend is stolen. Or Austin's pet rabbit is stewing on his stove top. It's not that implausible.
4. Justin and Austin are in cahoots for plans for world domination.
Perhaps, you may be thinking, JustinPlusOne is all just a clever front for something much, much deeper. Using this blog that only Justin seemingly operates, Justin and Austin are secretly plotting behind the scenes to disable the major world governments and seize control of the country's coffers. Using these funds, they will then hold the rest of the world hostage as they bend the laws to their every whims. Now all cute boys will be forced to stay in shape and shirtless. The not-so-cute boys will go through state-sponsored plastic surgery. Women will be imprisoned and only used for their reproductive capabilities... Don't laugh. It could happen.
Okay, I do have the other 41 written out, but I think that's enough for now. Besides, the rest all deal with something sexual or down-right pornographic, and I don't think you want to read all that. But every single one is possible and may or may not be true. I'm a man of many mysteries... and Justin is just as equally, if not more shady...
Wouldn't you agree, boss?
Also, as I will be a corporate whore this week, working a convention in Chicago for a client, I may be a bit scarce during the daytime hours. So be gentle to the lad. Show him the love. And get bitchy whenever he registers an opinion that you disagree with.
Austin “Piledriver” Helms
Upper West Side, Manhattan, New York City, New York, USA, North America, Planet Earth
My Site/ Sites:
Previous weeks on J+1:
March 30, 2009
December 21, 2008
My Best Post from last time:
This was really just a culmination of our entire conversation for the day:
My Worst Post from last time:
I don’t have any regrets… Okay, well maybe this one:
Why I came back to Justin Plus One:
Huh? What? Where am I again? This isn’t the Huffington Post?
What I might blog about this time:
Broadway, television, sex, extreme gaydom, Gay Rights Movement, movies, naked sports
What’s happened to me since the last time I blogged:
Well geez, it’s only been two months (first 3-time alum, heeeyy!!)! But let’s see… I got a new apartment with my boyfriend (now in the Upper West Side!). I threw a kick ass Tony Party. I met a few famous people. Plus, I may or may not have started a rumor involving Justin, myself, 4 Korean go-go boys, Rush Limbaugh, and a Chihuahua named Sanchez.
(note from Justin: it wasn't a rumor, stop hiding from the truth!)
One More Last Word:
I’m considering recreational, prescription drug-use, so this week should be interesting…
Friday, June 12, 2009
I'm a huge Fleetwood Mac fan and their albums Tusk (!!) and Rumors are on my regular listening rotation. Well, last night's concert was particularly focused on the hits (and, for Rumors, pretty much the entire record was played, except MIA Christine McVie's big tunes). It's pretty remarkable to look at this band's six full-length studio albums (I do not count 1980's Fleetwood Mac Live or 1997's reunion The Dance) and marvel at just how many songs we know by heart from this band. Nearly every song was greeted with a cheer of recognition - and there were more than 25 on the setlist!!
In their early 60s now, Buckingham and Stevie continue to play out their school-kid crush melodrama out on each other despite a break-up that happened nearly 30 years ago; Buckingham's young child and (presumably secure) wife were in the house (he dedicated the sole Tango In The Night track "Big Love" to them). For two and a half hours, my childhood soundtrack was played by a group of senior citizens in decidedly lower keys, decidedly slower twirling, and it was pretty terrific. The absolute highlights for me were Stevie's "Storms" (first tour ever - they have now performed all five of Stevie's songs from Tusk live in concert over the years!) and "Gold Dust Woman".
Watching the pair work the crowd was a study in contrasts: Buckingham is clearly the idiot savant who is also decidedly more neurotic and desperate for love; he's also had a lot of therapy and meanders in his monologues about songs being mere "echoes" of the past. Nicks, on the other hand, is a legend, pulls in the crowds, and knows it; she's barely breaking a sweat. And when the two gypsies DO interact on stage, it has the spontaneity of an "American Idol" episode. Still, when she started wailing away on the show closer "Silver Springs" (cut from Rumors, but featured on 1997's The Dance and now a huge concert hit for the band - revenge must taste like cherries, Stevie!), it is quite easy to clutch the person next to you and remember loves lost and hope for the love just down the road.
Mick and John McVie just look happy they're getting paid.
What's with those dangling balls, Mick?!?!
Thursday, June 11, 2009