Oh My God. Betty White Has a Club Song

This should be a joke. It REALLY should be. Or maybe it IS a joke. Betty White IS a funny lady, right? At least I gathered that from watching Golden Girls.

Joke or not, facts are thus: Betty White has a single. A CLUB single. Ten bucks goes to the FIRST DJ who plays this at a party. You'll need video to back up the proof. Because I won't believe you otherwise.

I'd LOVE to see gay men rocking out and lip syncing to this number. Really I would.

Betty White is STILL HOT (so she raps, with auto-tune). It's along with some club vixen named "Luciana" who may just become a celebrity because she did a duet with Betty White.

Listen. Download it. Work out to it. Get your DJ to play it. I dare you.




- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

A Hot Meth Mess: A +1 Guest Post

The following post was written by a Justin + 1 reader who wishes to be kept anonymous. I will make it so. 

In case you haven't realized, Crystal Meth is one of the stupidest fucking things you could EVER get involved with. It seems to me that today's younger gay generation is not interested in this lethal drug, but I may just be detached. 

Either way, if you're considering taking a kick of Crystal, take a look at this story before you do. And if you've tried it already, read this, and then ask someone to help you stop.


Your life is worth A LOT more than the high you'll get from meth. Seriously.



I spent about 2 years addicted to crystal meth. During that time, my life gradually deteriorated to the point where I was unemployed and living in a $400-per-month squalor. It happened gradually, of course. First not having a job, then having to give up my apartment and find a place that was the absolute minimum that would keep me off the streets. By that point I was "drying out" but the time between quitting drugs and when I was able to actually go and apply for jobs (the "withdrawal" period) was the roughest I've ever had it.

And of course, in these circumstances, I felt what it was like to be unemployed and poor. And I have to say, it's a lot more than that little online game, SPENT, takes into account.

So what are some of the things I remember about that experience?

- Couldn't afford to renew my driver's license, so driving anywhere was being constantly fearful. I basically DIDN'T drive except to go to job interviews.

- Couldn't afford clothes, and for a brief period after I lost my "nice" apartment and before I found the crappy apartment I had to move into, I spent about 2 weeks living out of my car. Living out of my car meant almost all of my possessions got ditched. By the time I was able to do interviews, I had one (1) set of "nice" (read: remotely professional) clothes. Which needed to be washed... in a coin-operated laundermat.

- Couldn't afford contact solution or related accessories. Couldn't afford to get new glasses. So had to go to interviews either faking it (i.e. unable to see properly) or wearing visibly damaged "back up" glasses.

- Many times, I didn't have money for gasoline, but HAD to go to a job interview. I would deliberately over-draw my debit card at the gas pump, because it was literally my only option. THIS IS HOW debt escalates, because people have to make decisions like this. Overdraw Fee: $20+. I would try to drive a lot, and refill multiple times in the same day, so that I could get the most out of my overdraft fee.

- Started losing sleep because the apartment that I was in was infested with bugs. No sleep means looking visibly "rough" at job interviews, as well as slower reaction times and generally seeming not "with it". Complain to the landlord? Slumlords don't care.

- All I could afford was cheap food, which means food that is terrible for you. It's hard to maintain a perfect body when you have to eat pasta every night because it's cheap and filling. LOL

Now, I was lucky, because at the point when this happened (early 00's) I already had an amazing education under my belt, and so I was worth a "risk" for an employer. At interviews I was ALWAYS asked "Why 2 years since your last job?" and I used some kind of "trying to find myself and a new direction in life" line --- who knows if they bought it.

But I cannot even IMAGINE the chances of becoming re-employed if I hadn't had the education and work experience under my belt BEFORE I had this happen to me. There would have been almost no chance that a company would take a risk on me. Not in my bedraggled suit, broken glasses, red eyes from sleeping in a crap apartment.

It was definitely an experience... I guess I can honestly say that I'm "glad" it happened at least in one sense: having those memories ABSOLUTELY gives me a broader perspective on life now, as a result.



So yeah. Save yourself the trouble and skip the Crystal, boys. I am happy to report that the anonymous writer of this story is alive, well, and employed. He looks GREAT, too. But you might not be so lucky. Stay clear. Stay smart. Stick with the lighter stuff.

If you've already got a Crystal Meth problem, talk to someone you trust. Ask for help. You don't have to fight it alone... but it's better to start the fight today, and not later. Each day is one day harder. You have my love, and support. You can do it. So do it.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

How Many Twinks Does It Take To Kill a Mouse?

It's that time again! Here's your monthly rough cut sneak peek at the next story in my 5-book Gulliver's Travelers series.

This scene puts three of your fave characters: Todd, Servando and Rowan in a showdown with one of the most horrifying beasts in Manhattan: a mouse! It's an excerpt from Book 4 of the series, Todd's Major Meltdown.

I take a SLIGHTLY lighter angle in this short story, and it will be on sale this November for $2.99.

Get your sneak peek, and then check out the other two Gully short stories now on sale, Brayden's Sweet Revenge and Marty's Big Break. Chase's Neverending Night comes out in October. Oh, and if you're WAY gay late to the party, check out the novel that started it all: Gulliver Travels.

Oh, and you can get all sorts of sexy Gully information (including a full gallery of gorgeous gay guys wearing nothing but their Gullies) over at GrabGully.com


EXCERPT FROM GULLIVER'S TRAVELERS BOOK 4: TODD'S MAJOR MELTDOWN

Servando and Rowan live in a studio apartment in the 30s, on 10th Avenue. They adamantly argue that this is still part of Hell’s Kitchen, even though no one will agree with them. Technically it’s Clinton, or, as Brayden has said, the taint of Penn Station. Hell’s Kitchen exists, as far as most gays are concerned, between 44th Street and 53rd Street, between 8th and 10th Avenues. Ironically, this area includes all of the neighborhood’s gay bars. Priorities, I guess.

On any normal day I’d walk to the boys’ place to get some fresh air on my way, but they’ve been blowing up my phone every five seconds, and so I’m in a cab. 9th Avenue is filled with early Saturday morning traffic, which is basically a few scattered groups of disheveled gay boys in oversized sunglasses, hunched over from hangovers and either enduring walks of shame, getting coffee, or dropping off their laundry. Most of them I recognize, and would have enjoyed chatting with if it weren’t for the fact that I have to go save two of my friends from near death by rodent.

My lacrosse stick is in the seat next to me. I haven’t used it since Junior Varsity in high school, but I hope I still have the skills to snatch Mickey up, before he disappears again and comes back with reinforcements.

Since I’m in the car for a few minutes, I have Shane on the phone so I can simultaneously deal with THAT bit of drama. Efficiency is key when you’re expected to help everybody.

I feel like I’m in that old Root Beer Tapper video game, where you’re running from bar to bar and making sure that every customer has a tall cold one. They drink and get pissed if you don’t get them a new one the second they killed off the last one. And if you throw a new one too fast, that ends up on the floor and they get pissed too. The customers in my version of the game are Irwin, Shane, Brayden and Servando, and Michael Porcelain and they’re drinking like it’s their job. And here I am, running from one to the next, pulling the draft handle and flinging the mug…

Shane has already filled me in on his story: This morning, Brayden was caught looking at this guy he was dating’s phone, and that guy then dumped him and peaced out. Called him crazy, too. Which only makes Brayden even crazier. I wouldn’t care too much about the trials and travesties of Brayden’s dating life, since they happen about as often as commercials during prime time, except Shane rarely sounds the drama alarm like this. This is a big deal. This tantrum beats out all the other ones Brayden’s ever thrown. Even worse, Brayden’s most recent ex happens to be one of my DJs; thanks for that added level of complexity, Bray.

“Do you REALLY think he’s in danger? Because if this is just Brayden being Brayden, I have a lot of problems to deal with today, and he’s not close to being one of them,” I say, looking out the window. The sky is getting cloudy, which isn’t a good sign. Not too many clouds, but New York City rarely jokes around with weather. If it went through the trouble of bringing out the gloomy gray, it’s probably planning on using them.

“No boo, I’m totally serious,” Shane says, sounding legitimately worried. “He trashed our living room and I walked in on him screaming at nobody.”

Okay, that IS pretty crazy. Even for Brayden.

“Jesus, is he still there?”

“No! That’s the problem. Bitch ran out of here before I was done putting all the books back on the shelf.”

“Is he responding to texts?” I ask as my cab approaches the intersection of Servando and Rowan’s place. “Have you tried calling or emailing him?”

“All of it, boo. No response.”

“Fuck a duck. Okay, I have to help Rowan and Servando kill a rat. Or a twenty foot-tall monster, judging from the way they’re freaking out about it.”

“You’re helping them kill a rat?”

“Yes. Happy Saturday. Keep me posted. If you don’t hear anything after I’ve killed Remy, I’ll send out a search team. Also, try calling some of his girlfriends if you have their numbers. Okay?”

“Okay boo, thanks.”

The cabbie pulls up to the curb, I swipe my credit card and leave him a 30% tip. He thanks me profusely for my generosity, considering how little he had to drive me to get to my destination. I nod and smile. I over-tip everybody. Probably because before I found myself in this place of financial security and gay fame, I was a waiter at a shitty chain steakhouse on Long Island during college summers. I had my fair share of being stiffed by cheapskates and verbally abused by insensitive assholes. So I’m always super-nice to those who provide services, and tip them generously to make up for the fuckwads they have inevitably been dealing with for the evening. Go-go boys, bartenders, pizza delivery guys, baristas, doesn’t matter. It’s my own bit of social charity. A couple extra bucks to cheer everybody up.

Servando and Rowan’s apartment is at the back of the ground floor of a four-floor apartment building made of faded bricks next door to a shuttered pizza joint. I hold the buzzer for their apartment and wait. There is a click as the microphone turns on and all I hear is:

“TODD! HELP! PLEASE! HELP!”

There’s another buzz and the door unlocks. I enter through the double-glass-doored vestibule quickly so I don’t get stuck in-between locked entrances, pass the staircase and wall full of mailboxes, jog down the narrow hallway of cracked and peeling cream-colored wallpaper, to the last apartment on the far right of the hallway. The hall smells like someone’s dinner from last night, just the highlights of some meat that were able to cling to the walls before giving up the ghost. Even if I didn’t know where the duo lived, it would have been easy to find them with the help of the screeching that echoes all the way to the entrance. Have they been screaming like this all morning? That’s one brave, or deaf, rat.

The boys’ door is wide open, and the apartment looks like a tornado ripped straight through it. Abandoned breakfast plates with scraps of egg whites on a small side table, glasses overturned next to them. Copies of NEXT and GOOTH and ODYSSEY magazine open and facedown all over the floor like a flock of dead, gay birds. A dildo inexplicably lying in the middle of the floor. Servando is dancing from one foot to the other on top of a folding chair, his longish black hair ragged and sticking out in all directions. Rowan is backed into the corner on top of the bed they still share, even though they’ve been broken up for over six months. Both are in their underwear, like two go-go boys magically transported to someone’s home, rendered confused by the sudden change of location.

“Good morning, boys. How’s everything?” I ask, bouncing my lacrosse stick in my right palm with my left hand.

“Get it Todd!” Servando screams, pointing in a variety of directions, like the mouse is teleporting back and forth across the room.

“Where is it?” I ask, clearing the door and slamming it behind me with my ass, cutting off the critter’s possible escape routes. Okay, this might be a fun way to start my day after all.

“You think I know, bitch!?” Rowan yells, like I’m the one who released this creature into their home. “Probably plotting his next attack! Ugh I hate New York! We never had rats in Wisconsin! I’m gonna move back home!”

“Funny, because you’d think they’d be all about the cheese,” I say over my shoulder, casing the joint and monitoring closely for any sort of movement. “Now shut up. Both of you queens. Maybe we can hear him.”

Servando and Rowan clam up, their hands on their mouths, their eyes bugging out. The silence is wonderful, something I haven’t enjoyed since being ripped out of sleep an hour and a half ago.

“Why are you two in your underwear anyway? Afraid of him crawling into your pants?”

“EW! I didn’t even think of that!” Servando shrieks, going up on his tippy toes.

“We were…”

“You were about to fuck, weren’t you?” I ask, knocking a garbage can away from the wall with my lacrosse stick. Nope. No rat.

“And what if we were?” Rowan asks righteously.

“Nothing,” I say, opening cabinets in the studio’s connected kitchen area. “Not that it’s weird that ex-boyfriends of a half-year still live, sleep, and fuck together.”

“Don’t judge us!” Rowan says, pointing.

“Especially at a time like this!” Servando adds.

But of course I’m judging them. I have since we all became friends. Rowan and Servando are one of the world’s greatest unsolved mysteries. They broke up over a year ago and yet they still live together, still do everything together. Including sleep with each other. I wonder regularly why they don’t just call it quits and be boyfriends again, but asking either of them this question is useless, they always have some strange reason for doing whatever it is that they’re doing. On the other hand, while it makes zero sense, it’s a far better situation than Brayden’s. He can’t hold down a relationship for longer than a week and a half, and has a Must Kill list as long as a gay directory of Manhattan.

I shush the boys again, and go back to slowly tip-toeing around the apartment, crooking my head, as if that’ll make the little fucker easier to hear. I wonder if there even IS a rat. Maybe they just thought they saw it. This place is a mess – underwear and clothing all over the place. It’s like me and Gully’s room in the frat house back in college. We both grew up and learned to put our shit in drawers and cabinets. Apparently Servando and Rowan have yet to reach that point of maturity. In hindsight I should have brought Señor along. He’d find the mouse if there was one. Probably kill him with his Beefaroni farts, too.

“Todd?”

“Shut the fuck up!” I whisper at whoever tried talking. Because I think I hear something. No. I DO hear something. It’s a light crinkling noise, like some asshole in a Broadway theater obnoxiously opening a candy wrapper despite the pre-recorded announcement that told him to cut that crap out before the show started. The sound is coming from the bathroom. Switching on the bathroom light would be too much, and probably scare the thing away, so I grab my iPhone and fire it up in the direction of the noise, creeping closer to the john.

He (or she) appears in the small beam of glow from my phone. He’s in the corner by the toilet, up on his hind legs and scratching excitedly at a discarded toilet paper wrapper. Sorry, little buddy, no food’s in there. He’s barely larger than a muffin, and sorta cute in that anthropomorphic children’s movie mouse type of way. Still, I wouldn’t want him running around in my apartment, either. He needs to be disposed of.

I hold up a hand behind me to keep Servando and Rowan shut up, and slowly, carefully walk closer into the bathroom. It’ll have to be a quick attack, perfectly aimed, or my stick will crash off the toilet, or the wall. One wrong move and the fucker will fly out of the room and wreak havoc for the rest of the day. And while it might be fun to chase after him, I have too much else to take care of. All those other Root Beer Tapper customers, crossing their arms and turning red with little anger squiggles coming out of their heads. Order up!

I raise the lacrosse stick halfway off the floor and take a swipe, my teeth clenched.

Perfect shot! He’s caught right in the netting and confused.

“Sorry little buddy, that’s the end of your rodent rampage,” I say, smiling.

“You got it!?” Rowan or Servando asks from the other room. “Did you kill him?”

“Ew no, bitch, just imprisoned him. We’ll put him outside so he can go back to the sewer with all of his gross friends.”

I get down on one knee and start to drag the lacrosse stick closer to me. I’ll need to slip something underneath the opening so that he can be transported back to the streets where he came from. His cousins and parents in the 1 train station must be worried fucking sick.

The little furry thing looks at me as I get closer, its tiny eyes fixated on me like it’s not sure what’s going on.

“Time to go home, little buddy! How’s that sound?”

Its tiny mouth opens far wider than I could ever imagine. I blink. A warped screech the likes of which you’d hear coming from a monster in a Japanese horror flick comes out. Then I scream. Then Rowan and Servando scream. We are all screaming, and I’m running away from the bathroom, leaving the trapped, screaming thing stuck in my lacrosse stick’s netting.

And my phone, not wanting to be left out, rings. Another emergency, I’m sure.

“Are you going to get it out of here!?” Servando screams as I sprint out of their apartment.

“Fuck that shit! You figure that out yourselves!” I yell back. “And bring me back my lacrosse stick when you’re done!”



- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

Unemployment: Now in Scary Game Form

Just kidding. Being poor isn't fun. Of course, "poor" is a relative term. You may scream you're poor because you can't afford an expensive dinner, or a new season's threads. Or you may say you're poor as you spend spring break at home because you can't handle the fare for a trip to Cancun.

But when it comes to being UNEMPLOYED - that is a whole different kind of poor. And it's a pain that many are suffering from. Though it may be hard to see this hardship when you're living in NYC. Especially in gay-fabulous NYC.

Around here, everyone seems to happily go out to dinner, drink in Meatpacking, grab the hottest new shirts in Soho, and grab the latest Apple gadget the day it comes out.

But, of course, that is inaccurate. Unemployment in the US is currently at 9.1%. That, of course, is the REPORTED rate, which means that there stands to be many more unreported unemployed. So, basically, 1 in every ten legally employable adults cannot find work. Fuck, that's scary.

But if you're reading this blog post, chances are you're all right, since you have Internet access. Unless you're using public library Web, which I learned a lot of folks without the money to pay for service do.

Do you think YOU could handle being unemployed? You could guess and wonder, or you can try SPENT.

SPENT is a game that gives you a TASTE of what it's like to be on unemployment. The game is a quick, interactive diversion that may actually leave you with some thoughts and possibly some desire to help others out in need. It's also very educational. Definitely helped me put some shit in perspective.

I was able to survive 28 days unemployed before I ran out of money. Of course I imagine I'd survive even less if this were real life, and not a game. Also, I was thinking strategically. And, in the end, I'm sitting here in an air-conditioned office clicking the mouse on my computer. Big difference.

Be strategic when you play, but also consider the situation at hand. This is some scary shit that I am both thankful I don't have to deal with, and sorry that others have to deal with it.

Take SPENT for a spin, and pass it on. Maybe even donate some cash to your local nonprofit.

PLAY SPENT NOW

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

Totally Tyler Has Kissed Your Boyfriend!

Yes, yes, yes. I wrote a book for gay men. But I'm not the only one!

Enter Totally Tyler. A super-popular gay blogger originally from Atlanta who went ahead and wrote Your Boyfriend & Other Guys I've Kissed: The Tails of Totally Tyler. Sound salacious? YOU BET!

AND it's non-fiction, so you know it's both steamy AND true! Which is the best kind of gay writing when you're in the mood for something to get you going.

I grabbed Totes for a few hot minutes to talk about his new hot read. Take a gander and then grab a copy of Your Boyfriend & Other Guys I've Kissed over at Amazon!

Your book is called "Your Boyfriend & Other Guys I've Kissed". Explain the title, and what readers can expect.
The title is cheeky and suggestive- I've had a lot of crazy dates and I've kissed a lot of boys. The book is a compilation of short stories about my dating experiences in Atlanta, with a few stories about my family thrown in, just because I didn't want to look like a complete slut and also because my family is adorably kooky and entertaining. I've changed names and certain details to protect the innocent but really, it was just something my publisher made me do to avoid getting sued.


What inspired you to write this book?
I'm always touched when people tell me that they enjoy my blog because they can relate- even chicks and straight guys. Everyone has gone on a bad date or had an embarrassing moment like farting during sex or calling out the wrong name. As corny as it sounds, I like the fact that people will read my book and know they aren't alone in their search for love. And, I'm told getting published will get me laid more often. Is this true?


Kiss and Tell! What's the worst hook-up you've ever had?
Oh God, there's so many. One guy stole my monthly transit card, another guy stole my pants. One guy fell asleep while driving me home. Another guy made out with a drag queen when he thought I was in the restroom.The worst, though, was a guy that wanted to put peas, carrots and roast beef in my ass like it was a crock pot or something.


And the best?
Despite the sexual shenanigans, I'm a romantic at heart. Recently, a meandering twilight stroll through Central Park, a simple candle light dinner and an attentive, charming generosity was all it took to get me. He didn't even need poppers.


How is Gay Atlanta different from Gay New York?
Interracial dating is more accepted in New York. There's a slower pace of life in Atlanta, which I sometimes miss. In New York, it seems everyone is rushing around, kissing with one eye open, looking to see if there's someone better around the corner. Men in New York cruise each other in the locker room while men in Atlanta cruise each other in line for the all-you-can buffet at the Golden Corral. Nothing is sexier than a sneeze guard.


Tell me about your blog, and how it connects with this book.
The blog was an accident. I had written a letter to a friend about a bad date. She suggested posting the letter on MySpace- this was back in 2005 when My Space was relevant and not owned by Justin Timberlake. I posted a series of bad date stories just as a way to stay in touch with close friends, and before I knew it, complete strangers were reading and I developed a following. The blog is about my life as a single gay man, but there's so much more to being single than dating. When I'm not writing about blow jobs, I also write about my job as an event planner, my friends and my family.


Who are some of your favorite authors, and why?
I love humor writing. David Sedaris always tickles me, and I just finished Chelsea Handler's latest. She's a riot. Right now, I'm in the middle of Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why, about teen bullying and as soon as this interview is finished, I'm grabbing Gully!


What's your secret to kissing someone else's boyfriend?
Vodka helps. So does a lack of morals.


This is marketed as your "first" book. What's coming next?
I plan to go on a mini-book tour. I'll definitely visit Atlanta to flirt with some ex-boyfriends and indulge in Chick-Fil-a. Beyond that, the next three books are already written. I've also began to outline a script for a television series. Of course, I'll continue blogging and perhaps dabble in vlogging if i don't eat too much Chick-Fil-a.


If you could have this adapted to TV, Film, or Theater, which would be best, and why?
I think a television series would be best- there are so many stories to tell and so many layers of character development to explore. Of course, it'd have to be on cable and Vin Diesel would play me, obviously.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

A Gayer Glance at Peter Pan is Flying Off-Broadway

It seems like we've taken every possible look at Peter Pan that we could, doesn't it? From Finding Neverland to Hook to musicals, plays, and cartoons, we have never quite left the boy who wouldn't grow up alone.

Thank heavens we haven't. Because the upcoming limited engagement Off-Broadway rock opera Peter & I may be the most interesting piece of art to stir up the classic story yet.

Taking flight Off-Broadway from October 6 - 16, this edgy (and gorgeous) rock musical turns the camera around to the tale's source material. Except, this time, we're not looking at the verbose Mr. Barrie. No, we're looking at one of the little boys that inspired the character of Peter Pan.

The boy in question was Michael Llewellyn Davies. And he may have been gay. And he may have killed himself in a suicide pact with a male lover while in Oxford. Or he may have drown, and caused his lover to drown when he tried to save him.





Rehearsal footage of the cast singing "I'm Not Scared"

Much mystery remains, and I'm looking forward to seeing Peter & I explore every last shady and strange bit of this story. The fact that Peter Pan and Wendy, the fictional characters, also somehow play a part in this rock opera only ramps up my excitement.

The creative team has this to say about the piece:

Peter and I is a new contemporary rock musical about Michael Llewellyn Davies, the inspiration for Peter Pan, or “The Boy Who Never Grew Up.” The piece explores the clash between fantasy and reality; the inertia that is a tragic necessity of our everyday lives, but also threatens to take over our dreams. The beauty of this piece is its ability to give new light to the characters we know and love; the humanity and depth behind the fairy tale.

Become a fan of Peter & I on Facebook

Peter & I stars Aynsley Bubbico (TV's GREEK, How I Met Your Mother, Jersey Shoresical), Chris Dwan, Ben Hart (Avenue Q), Geoffrey Kidwell, Emily Padgett (Rock of Ages, Grease), and Jared Zirilli (Wicked). Book and lyrics for Peter & I were written by Matte O'Brien who will also direct the show. Music was composed by Matt Vinson. Amanda Morton (16 Days) is the Musical Director for the piece.

Oh, and my brother, the unbelievably talented Jared Zirilli is in the show as well! So there's even more excitement for you.

Oh, and Peter Pan has always been my favorite fairy tale character. Because I never want to grow up. And I look good in green. And I regularly smoke peace pipes with Indians.

I'll be seeing the show, and I recommend you do the same. It has some of the most gorgeous harmonies I've heard in a few years. Reason enough to see a musical, if you ask me.

Buy your tickets to Peter & I right here.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

FLAMING SADDLES: The Wild West is Coming to Hell's Kitchen!

Yippee-Ki-GAY, MOTHERFUCKER!

Normally a gay bar opening in Hell's Kitchen is not a note-worthy event. Because I swear that Hell's Kitchen has more gay bars than it has gay men. Industry, Therapy, Bar-Tini, Vlada, 9th Avenue Saloon, Ritz Lounge, John Blair's upcoming Mega-Club. Yup, no shortage of places for a boy to get boozy.

But I have to say: FLAMING SADDLES has caught my eye, pardner. It's a gay Wild West Saloon! Kinda like a Coyote Sexy or something.

Also novel: food service! Therapy, to my knowledge, is the ONLY gay bar in HK to offer food. And Flaming Saddles here has burgers and chili and all sorts of fattening thing that gay men SAY they don't eat, but totally eat. They also have a few spelling errors in the printable menu, but I won't hold it against them. Cowboys are too busy having shoot-outs to run a spell-check.

Here's what the creative cowpokes in charge have to say about the venue:

Howdy Pardner! Welcome to Flaming Saddles, the new kick ass Country Western Gay Saloon, where our Bad to the Bone Bartenders strut their stuff & aim to please. You best pull yourself up by your boot straps, put on your Tight Ass Jeans and boot scoot and boogie on over to the Wild Wild West Side of NYC. Saddle Up for a Yippee Ki Yay MotherTrucker of a Night!

Two quick things: why is it that I came up with Yippee Ki GAY? Come on, boys! Also... motherTRUCKER? Let's be profane. We're a gay bar. You know boys will be riding each other like stallions either there, or to their nearby apartments.

These small issues aside, I'm still hella excited to check this place out. Always happy to have a new watering hole in the hood.

The grand opening of the bar is on October 3rd, and you can bet I'll be showing up in my cowboy boots and ten-gallon hat. (I own neither of those things).

Side idea: They should have glass ten-gallon hats filled with vodka. Think about it.

Check out the bar! They have a Flaming Saddles website and a Flaming Saddles Facebook already. Not much action on either just yet, but you can expect a ton of fanfare as we get closer to opening.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

I'm a Criminal!

Today at work I received a menacingly white envelope, inside of which I found an exceedingly long piece of paper.

DEAR MR. LUKE

WE ARE A DEBT COLLECTION AGENCY AND WE WILL COME AFTER YOU IF YOU WE DO NOT RECEIVE PAYMENT IMMEDIATELY AS DUE. WE ARE OBLIGED BY THE GOVERNMENT TO INFORM YOU THAT, SHOULD THIS PAYMENT NOT BE MADE...

And then blah blah blah blah blah.

How exciting! I feel like Bonnie and Clyde, rolled into one gay blogger. 

Well, I thought. Isn't this strange. I found it strange because I never don't pay bills. My credit cards hate me because I don't really use them for CREDIT. I just use them for convenience. I always pay my bills early, and in full.

And how much money was this horrible thing I hadn't paid?

Forty five dollars.

Yup! That's right. FedEx went ahead and sent debt collectors after me for the sum total of $45 unpaid dollars. Clearly a debt dodging of this caliber must be dealt with using the utmost force.

And I wonder... was it really worth it, FedEx? How much did it cost you to get those mean men on the phone so they could locate me and send me this letter threatening to come after me? How much of the forty five dollars will remain?

And even funnier: how was it that the debt collectors were able to find my address and send a letter to me, and yet you obviously could not, since you to date have YET to send me a bill for whatever this was? Which is why I haven't paid it?

Next question: did the debt collectors bother to take a look at my credit? And see that, no matter what type of bills I rack up, be they in the hundreds or thousands of dollars, I always pay them in full, early, and have never incurred a penny of interest in all my life?

What, did you assume I just decided to go hog wild and IGNORE a bill for $45? Was I feeling spicy and ducking from this heinously horrifying charge?

And finally, if I did NOT pay the bill, and ignored the debt collection agency... then what? Would they have to come find me at my apartment to take back what it's worth to settle said debt? Are they going to take two DVDs from my living room? Maybe a bottle of Stoli from my kitchen? Forty packs of gum? They can take one of my sneakers, if they like.

IT'S FORTY FIVE FUCKING DOLLARS, MORONS! Why not try sending me a BILL and watch me PAY it. Have your debt collectors send my CORRECT address to you so that I can go ahead and pay the bill that you have apparently sent enough times (to what I guess is the WRONG address) to incur the summoning of a debt collector?

This is amazing. I am picturing a stubbly, overweight, cigar-chomping guy at a metal desk in a Stetson hat. He has an ulcer and an ex-wife who never stops bugging him for alimony. He sees on the top of his desk his next assignment: an almost-thirty-year old New Yorker who's hiding from paying FORTY FIVE DOLLARS. He must be dealt with.

Will he come find me? Will I try to outrun him? Where will this adventure go next? I hope it ends up with me diving off a dam into the water below as he tries to grab me, with me swimming away cackling wildly.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

Goodbye, New York City

It's been a weird week for me, and not in a way that has anything to do with my life, job, or otherwise. Well, it has to do with me, but I guess you could say in an indirect way.

A number of my friends and acquaintances are leaving New York City. All of them have been here living and breathing in the city for two or more years, and poof! All of a sudden I'm getting calls, emails, texts. I'm seeing tweets and Facebook updates.

People are packing up and leaving Manhattan.

And it's weird.

Where are they going? Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Miami, France. And yes, people come and go in New York City, I'm aware of that. It's a very fluid and impermanent place to live. Fresh-faced dreamers step off the planes, trains and automobiles every day and prepare to tackle this city. They want fame. They want fortune. They want an education. They want excitement. And then every day people leave. They get married. They get new jobs. Things get too expensive.

It's just that SO MANY people are leaving right now. One person every once in a while is a loss, but when suddenly you know ten people who won't be here in 30 days, it gets pretty strange. You feel it. It's sort of a scary, lonely feeling. The cheese stands alone, this time in the Big Apple.

And why are they leaving? It is true that New York City is a tough place to live. Money-wise, most certainly. And in this economy? It's almost like the city's an unclimbable wall from the moment you get here. Rent is expensive. Food is expensive. Living situations aren't usually ideal. People are threatening to blow us up. Jobs are few and under-paying.

I know actors who came here with dreams of Broadway, only to find themselves in full-time jobs to pay the rent with no opportunity to actually go to an audition. I know people who came for a great job, only to lose that job, and discover that the money in the bank, coupled with unemployment, won't be enough to stick around for long. I hear stories like this every day spoken through teary-eyed faces.

They're tired of New York, they say. It's time to start over somewhere else. To me that is so frightening. I am a bit of a homebody. Seriously. I put down roots and those roots grow and knot and twist and anchor me down deep. It just so happens that the "home" to which I am a "body" is one of the busiest, craziest, costliest, nutzo-est ones in America.

I don't really enjoy traveling, and the thought of picking up and moving my life to somewhere else is unsettling. To these folks who moved all the way out here, and are now moving all the way back, to you I double-tip my hat. You're braver than I am. You took a larger risk than I ever would.

Coming to New York City for me was a forgone conclusion. Having been born and raised on Long Island, just a train ride away, coming here was a nothing. I packed a few bags, knowing full well I could always head back home and get more if I forgot anything. I initially moved into a cheap apartment that my uncle rented to me. I could see my family whenever I wanted. Going home for Christmas cost a grand total of $22 for a round-trip ticket.

And because of this, "failure" or "having to leave New York City" is something I am almost protected from.

What I'm saying is that, if I were to have to "move home," I would only end up 45 minutes away from the city by train. Even if New York City were to chew me up and spit me out, I'd land somewhere by its nipple, and probably begin climbing all over again to get back.

I love New York City, and yet I hate it. It's wild and exciting, but it's also a bitch and a bastard. It never, ever sleeps, which makes it easier for it to come at you every day and try to get you out.

Is this cynical? Maybe. But it's this opinion that inspired me to write my novel in the first place. Gulliver Travels is a book about the never-ending quest for survival in New York. How difficult it is. The antagonist is none other than the city itself, which is quite a formidable foe. Especially in times like this.

To all my friends who are leaving, or who have already left, you'll be missed. I hope you come back sometime, when you're rich and successful and can just buy a loft in midtown or something. I'll also come and visit you. Again, you're braver than I ever was, and it breaks my heart to know I won't be seeing you as often as I took for granted.

But that's enough sadness for one post. Good luck to everyone. One day at a time. Wherever you are.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

Singer Eli Lieb is Gorgeous... and Skinny Dipping

Being hot and singing is not that difficult to do (please see basically any really popular male musician besides Hootie sans Blowfish and harmonica-puker John Popper).

Being hot and singing AMAZINGLY is a little more difficult. Having awesome music on top of that? Well, hey there... I'd like you to be my husband, please.

Allow me to introduce to you Eli Lieb. He's dreamy - that goes for his voice, his looks, and his music. Total Dreamy McDreamerson.

You may know him from his amaze-balls cover of Katy Perry's Firework. Or maybe not. So you should know him immediately, and biblically if you can swing it.

He has a certain Howie Day-ish rasp to his voice that makes me feel like I'm in college again. He looks like a sharper-featured Joel McHale, which makes me think of funny, idiotic celebrities and that cute little dog he carries around.

PS: Is The Soup still on? My DVR stopped recording it, and so naturally I just assumed it no longer exists.

ANYWAY! Eli Lieb has a new music video out for his original song, Place of Paradise. You get to see his pretty face, hear his pretty voice and music, and fall in love with him. I know I just did.

Om nom nom. Your turn to go head over heels.

Enjoy!

xo Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

New Rent: 525,600 Mistakes

New Roger is more dead when trying to be alive than New Mimi is while trying to die.

Many years ago, Coca Cola made a terrible mistake. They took something that was good, and pissed all over it. New Coke was thusly born. I think the producers behind Rent just did the same thing at New World Stages: New Rent is here, and it doesn't taste great, and it's barely filling.

Rent went out with a bittersweet bang. A dated piece, it bowed for the last time on Broadway in September of 2008. From that production came a very nicely filmed and edited keepsake DVD/Blu-Ray for all of us to enjoy. They should have let that be that, and sent Rent touring around the country for the rest of time.

But not here in the theater capitol of the world. Nope. We can't do that. The corpse of Rent is not even cold yet and here we are, 3 years later, and Rent is back. And it's a tragedy.

I won't even call it Rent. It doesn't deserve to share a name with the historic, groundbreaking musical that changed theater forever. No. This is New Rent, and I much preferred the original.


CASTING
Something went terribly wrong here. Adam Chanler-Berat was a joy as the stoner love interest in Next to Normal. Here he is nothing of the sort. As New Mark, he has a weird accent and it seems like he's been directed to basically do nothing of any emotional heft.

Likewise, the casting of the New Roger is terrible. He has a breathy, nasally singing voice, NO emotion in his speaking voice, and less stage presence than a garbage can. Even more befuddling is that I know for a fact that there were 5 complete rounds of auditions for this role alone. This is what they ended up with? No. Just. No.

On the better side of the cast is Annaleigh Ashford as New Maureen - the most 3-dimensional of the cardboard cutouts to grace the stage. Her New Maureen is ditzy, untalented, and a total joy. "Take Me or Leave Me" is, as always a standout, and her "Over The Moon" monologue marks the FIRST time I've ever truly enjoyed that number. She storms the stage and left me feeling something, admiring things, enjoying my time with her.

The rest of the cast is fine, with the exception of New Mimi who is also a bit too breathy.


THE SET
Here is a big problem. Whoever designed the set needs to be fired and sent far, far away. The stage at New World is choked to the point of suffocation by girders, staircases, ladders, platforms, walls, fences, and gates. Cast members are visibly ducking and dodging in the small space they are allotted and a source at New World tells me that the production has filed more injury claims in the past two weeks than other shows have in years. Big problem. Staging is awkward and odd because of this 3-dimensional beast that looks like a drunken reinterpretation of the Next to Normal set.

Sight lines are off and actors are often obscured. It is a dangerous metallic nightmare land that forces actors to the front of the stage. At one point, for no apparent reason, Mark and Roger take to a two-level square to sing "What You Own" while cast members SPIN the square in circles, forcing them to try and keep balance. Why? What did that achieve? People are forever scurrying up ladders and down staircases, trying not to be decapitated.


DIRECTION
This show is directed by the original director of Rent. This was a bad choice. You can't hire a director and tell him to re-direct something he's done already, differently. That's what happened here, and it shows. Character choices seem out of the blue. New Angel is much more like a current-day drag queen, dropping into Husky Man Voice for easy laughs... which would work if this wasn't being marketed as a "period piece." (PS: having one character in the beginning say "It is 1992" when Jon Larson didn't write that line does not a period piece make).

Everyone appears to have been instructed to "tone down" their performances, forcing a lot of them to whisper lines, and try to bring out emotion in subdued voices in a musical that is meant to be screamed from start to finish. The outcome isn't the intimate feeling that it seems was intended - it is a strange, detached sensation that you're watching a failed flash mob that accidentally broke out in a library.

The goal seems to be "intimacy," given the small size of the stage and the small size of the theater. That goal is missed by a mile.


EXTRA QUIBBLES

1. The lighting is terrible, keeping most of the show in the murky muddy dark. 
2. Someone needs to figure out how to work the microphones - the first three words of every single line from every single character was not picked up.
3. New Angel's costume has inexplicably changed from a Santa suit to some weird royal garb with a cape. Why? She always wore a Santa suit. Stop fucking around with stuff!
4. Random lines were cut from songs for no apparent reason, since the show runs extra long (we got out at 11)
5. The story and timeline of Rent ALWAYS had its fair share of problems, this show only serves to add more to the pile.
6. It seems like a lot of the show was "changed" for the sake of "changing" and not for any meaningful reason. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Especially if you're going to break it by fixing it.

THE FINAL WORD
They are selling tickets to New Rent for $90. This money is better spent elsewhere. I recommend you take 20 of those dollars and purchase a DVD of the final Broadway production - it's a far better memory for you to hold close. I will return to watching that DVD and pray that this new version closes shortly. It tarnishes all the wonder of the original production in what is clearly a last-ditch effort at cashing in on a historic show.

If you want to go to New World, you should take your ticket money and see another recent transplant from the Nederlander Theater (which is where Rent used to be). That show is Million Dollar Quartet, and I guarantee it will be a more enjoyable experience for you.

New Rent is not Rent. Rent meant something. Rent changed everything. Ironically, New Rent is a sell out.

- Justin Luke
BoiParty.com

GRINDR: Now For Straight People!

When I first heard that gay fuck app Grindr was going to expand their mobile dominance (no pun intended), I wondered what they would do... How can you expand on a mobile app that helps you geo-locate a booty call from the comfort of the hallway of your last booty call? Would video be incorporated?

Maybe it would allow for three-way chats and moreso so you could have MORE sex? Maybe a smell option that allows you to sniff your mate through the phone to make sure they rinsed before you come by? Maybe a webcam feature to ensure the photos they are using are up-to-date? SO MANY POSSIBILITIES!

Nope. I was wrong. The guys behind Grindr have expanded by... CREATING A GRINDR FOR STRAIGHT PEOPLE!

And it's really, really stupid. Seriously.

Wait, you'd say - straight people don't just have sex! They have love and marriage and whoever lost jump rope in a baby carriage. What in God's name will people do with that!? Only GAY people do the random booty call thing, right? Right? Of course not. I know many straight boys and girls who would LOVE to get some quick booty. Didn't you see that movie with that guy and girl who I forgot? She wanted sex! He fell in love! What a hilarious debacle!

Well, turns out the people behind Grindr ALSO believe that straight people don't just go foraging for fucks. Their new app BLENDR is for straight people... and it's built to help you find FRIENDSHIPS!

Yes. Because the lad on Blendr wants to find a lass who will sit and talk to him about their shared love of intensely thought-provoking indy movies.

But wait! Screams Grindr people. We're for serious! This app is totally not-at-all-completely-useless!

Hey, married dudes can "find each other to play poker!" Grindr's CEO ACTUALLY said that. Unless by married dudes he means closeted married dudes, and by play poker he means administer back-alley rusty trombones, he is more detached from reality than I could ever imagine.

No! No! He says. There are MORE applications!

"If someone speaks the same language or is also into cooking, or crafts, that’s a strong basis of commonality and you might want to go meet them.” CRAFTS? Who even SAYS they're into "crafts" any more? What is this, day camp? What is the user base? Women like my Mom who enjoy scrapbooking and rubber stamping? GET OUT OF MY UNIVERSE.

Fail. Fail. DOUBLE-FAIL.

I don't see a point to BLENDR. I just don't. If I wanted to make friends, and I were straight (big leap here, but make it with me) don't I already have a mountain of options as far as social networks and real life are concerned? Yes, yes I do. And now I have this pointless, airbrushed, ridiculous-looking app. What fun!

Unless we get the slutty dudes and dudettes of the world on here, trading photos of cocks and coochie, you can bet that BLENDR will end up exactly where it belongs: in an actual blender.

<3 JL
BoiParty.com

Running From Rawhide: A + 1 Guest Post

The following post is written anonymously by a reader of Justin + 1. I'm going to let this be a sort of legal disclaimer saying that by posting this I neither support nor dispute the content inside. I also have never been to Rawhide, or inside of one of those sex video booths. Maybe you have? Today's Guest +1 has been to both, and here's his story:

Chelsea. You may all know it like the back of your hand, but coming from Brooklyn (born and raised) I didn’t know too much about it other than the XXX shops that stick out like Ru Paul skipping through Salt Lake City. It was around 3 AM on a Thursday and I just got out of Birthday in Delancey (SHADY!). I was way too SHIT FACED to go home to Brooklyn so I thought I would hit up a gay bar for the first time. So I asked a friend about gay bars and she said definitely hit up Chelsea. So I got off and walked to Chelsea and continued until I saw the bar “Rawhide”.

I was standing on the corner of that place for a good three minutes, Sizing it up in my head and freaking out trying to build the adrenaline to go in. So, I grew some balls and I went in and when I did, I wasn’t drunk enough to realize that it wasn’t what I expected at all. Almost ever yone was about ten-fifteen years older than I, and worst of all everyone was paired off or obviously together. I imagined I was going to walk in and sit at the bar and some hottie around my age would come up to me and start talking to me.

After a while I thought, like the dodo bird that I am, “Hmmm I’ve never had a threesome before!” Because I assumed the couples were there to “play.” So I am sitting at the bar ordering beer after beer by myself, trying to strike conversation with the bartender. All I wanted was attention, affirmation that I could roll with the big dogs and get known in this “scene.” And after I find out that all bars close at 4am (so much for the city that never sleeps) I ask this one guy what other places are open. He said not really but immediately shows interest, and his buddy didn’t seem to mind that we were chatting.

Honest to god, attention from someone who is hot is intoxicating and can make you lie up a storm when you’re drunk. Looking back at it now, I'm inebriated, infatuated and a compulsive liar. I was hands down the most unattractive thing that ever walked in that place. But at the time I thought I was the shit! I was the youngest guy and I was by myself and after being told 80 times how hot I was this same guy started to unbutton my button down shirt and although it was very uncomfortable for me God knows I loved it but right then his partner calls him over and they walk out together. It's really a bitch when the cock block gets COCK BLOCKED!

So now I’m really horny and I'm shit out of luck and the bar closes and as I walk out I see some sex shop and I thought that I would go to a viewing booth strictly to GET OFF AND GET OUT. Again looking back on it... EWW! So I walk in and it's SHADY AS FUCK! Despite this, I walk into the booth get my dollar bills out and start watching. I get settled a bit and then I hear a knock, I look to my side and a cock was sticking out of the wall! True story! Honest to God just telling this story makes me feel so dirty. I mean no offense to those who actually get off at these things but I can’t say that in my right mind I would never go anywhere near anything like that again. None the less, I wish I could sit here and say I ran away on the spot out of disgust but that wasn’t the case. I was so out of my head that I thought about it and then tugged on it.

THE MOST AWKWARD THING EVER.

I guess the reality of the touch knocked my sense back into place and I ran out of there faster than Casey Anthony at her family reunion. After wandering the city till morning “reflecting,” I can honestly say that I could have been worse! Believe it or not! What If I wen’t home with that couple? What If I would have participated in raunchy dirty glory hole sex? (EWWWWWWW!!!) and what if I would have regretted this night even more? Basically what my point is, the gay social life may actually be overrated! if you are not careful and in the right state of mind you might be in danger of doing something you might be embarrassed of or even regret.

Learn from me.

- "AndyNeedAMan"

Get 2-For-1 Tickets to HUGE Broadway Shows!

Wanna see a Broadway show? Of course you do.

Don't we all? Yes, we do.

Problem is that Broadway tickets are more expensive than, say, raising a child from infancy to adulthood. So we theater gays do everything we can to save some money. We stand on the TKTS line in Times Square in the rain. We have sex with unattractive people who can get us free seats to something. We get memberships to TDF and search high and low to save some coin.

Well, for one week in NYC, there's an even better way. IT'S BROADWAY WEEK, BITCHES! I've never heard of it either! I've heard of Fashion Week, Restaurant Week, and Gay Sex Week (made that last one up... every week is gay sex week!) But Broadway Week? Can't say it rings a bell.

But that doesn't matter! Broadway Week means one important thing: BUY ONE GET ONE DEALS ON HUGE BROADWAY SHOWS!

These aren't those dumb coupons you get in your email for shows you've never heard of like "My Lithuanian Gay Uncle's Third Marriage" and "She's Jewish, I'm a Dead Camel, Our Kids Are Crazy!"

No, we're talking buy a ticket, get a ticket free to see:

1. The Lion King
2. Mary Poppins
3. Wicked
4. The Addams Family
5. Priscilla Queen of the Desert
6. Relatively Speaking

And WHO doesn't want to see at least ONE of these? Well, maybe "cultured" theater-goers with taste. But I'm not one of those, and neither should you be. Some of these shows are so much over-sugared Broadway spectacle that you'll leave the theater with your eyes glazed like Dunkin' Donuts.

DON'T DELAY! Click the link below and ORDER NOW. Because I can tell you these tickets will sell out quicker than an auction of Taylor Lautner's undergarments.

CLICK HERE TO FIND TICKETS NOW

Love and Broadway,
Justin Luke
BoiParty.com