Monday, October 30, 2006


Everyone is aware that major companies give tons of money to the political parties. No surprise that Wal-Mart gives the majority of it's money to republicans, but what did surprise me was that my beloved Target also licks the big elephants ass by giving 72% of it's political donations to republicans.

I mean, I love Target, but no more.

I wonder if Izaac MIzrahi knows this?

Wednesday, October 25, 2006


I've frightened yet another boy at the gym.

Let me explain.

At 8pm each day, I have been in the midst of an imaginary relationship with a sexy kick boxer. In my mind, we were enjoying a whirlwind courtship with steamy sex every morning and a fabulous weekend house in Asbury Park. Of course, this man and I have never spoken, but that isn't the point, is it?

With a touch of extra bronzer and concealer, I would hop on the treadmill and stare at him as he kicked the bag and performed handstands and other assorted athletic maneuvers. My gym buddies would chastise me for my obvious gawking. Now keep in mind, I have no idea what pole this man swings from, but I do know that as of last week, he has changed his gym time. I heard through the grapevine that I was too clinging of a fruit for his tastes. In other words, my imitation of Glenn Close must have scared him.

Monday, October 23, 2006


OK - So many of you wanted a "me and Raquel" comparison - so here you go.

Friday, October 20, 2006


You know it's time to cut your hair when a trusted friend tells you over vodka martinis that your hair looks like a Raquel Welsh wig. Yes, my hair is similar to Miss Raquel's, but I thought I was featuring rock star chic, not Welsh the wig maker. Ok, time for a haircut and no more velcro rollers.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006


Yes, truth is always stranger than fiction.

Taking multi-tasking one step too far, a company has come up with the crazy concept of furniture that later can be turned into fully functional caskets. Check out their website to see for yourselves. Below is actual copy from their website. For pet lovers, they also do pet bed/caskets.

Why buy a casket for just one day?

At, our products can last you a lifetime, and still be the perfect vehicle to carry you to the great beyond. Whether it's a couch, shelf, or end table, our products are designed to blend effortlessly into most contemporary interior designs. Every product can also be transformed into a high-quality casket at your time of need. Shop our current product selection below, or contact us to find out about custom manufacturing to suit your individual needs.

Monday, October 16, 2006


I swore I would never watch this show, but it's now my favorite guilty pleasure. Yes, I 'm talking about VH1's incredibly sexist and sexual reality show, "The Flavor of Love" starring the tic-toc clock catastrophe Flavor Flav.

This Bachlorette-esque show is so ballsy and bizarre I have to watch every episode twice. I mean, the show is so ghetto and gross, I’m surprised some uppity African American group hasn’t tried to get it thrown off the air. Trust me, if you loved Bobby and Whitney’s televised take on life, you will love this show, too.

Friday, October 13, 2006


I live in the East Village on the island of Manhattan. The East Village is one of the most expensive and desirable areas in the big apple - but it wasn’t always like that.

When I moved here 12 years ago, the neighborhood could best be described as dicey. Drug dealers and prostitutes were a common thread in the urban bohemia. Now, fortunately or unfortunately, fancy restaurants and stores litter the streets with spoiled Connecticut cunts Jimmy Chooing about with caramel lattes and Marc Jacob’s handbags.

I kinda miss the old days and all the crazy characters.

Pascal was a fearless old French lady who would walk her decrepit old poodle at four in the morning wearing sunglasses, a nightgown and armloads of rhinestone bracelets. She would regularly stop me to inquire about my sex life. In her opinion, sex was something a young person should have morning, noon and night – much like meals. She would entertain me with grand old tales of Paris in the 1950s; and all the sexual shenanigans that took place in the gender bending back rooms.

A few years back, her son put her in nursing home in Long Island, but before she left, she gave me her old black beret. Pull it over your eye, she winked at me, and imagine you’re in Paris dancing with a sweet boy.

I miss her.

One character I don’t miss is Bud – a legless wheelchair bound drug dealer who slept in the vestibule of my building. Often times, while he slept, he would shit his pants, and the smell, well, was rancid. Holding my nose, I would open the door and shove him out onto the street. I once pushed his chair a tad too hard and he rolled into the street and tipped over. I shut the door and didn’t look back.

I wish I could do the same to many of the new residents.

Thursday, October 12, 2006


Did anyone see Mel Gibson on Good Morning America? What a mess! He was sweating more than a menopausal woman. And I don’t believe any of his bullshit apologies one iota. I mean, it’s so obvious he’s scared shitless that his career is over. Well, his career should be over – he’s homophobic and anti–Semitic to the ninth degree.

I knew Mr. Mel was a bad seed when a few years back he defended his crazy old father and his opinion that the Holocaust never took place. Trust me, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Boycott his movies, people. Send him back down under.

Friday, October 06, 2006


Last week, over chicken Caesar salads, my friends and I were discussing serial killers. And yes, I was the only one to know an actual killer. In fact, I’ve known three killers. Well, four if you count an acquaintance, but who’s keeping score.

When I was a teenager, I fooled around with a guy named Tom who hammered a man to death. I remember him as sweet with a wonderful sense of humor. He only served a few years in jail. I always wanted to ask him why he did it, but peer pressure kept us apart when he was released; and I have no idea where he is now.

Mark was a young guy I met at a White Castle after a night of drinking. He had a sneer to his smile and a cold look in his cocoa brown eyes that scared me. He once stole my Gucci wallet after we had sex, which I later made my father retrieve - a story onto itself, but that's for another blog. His friends informed me that a few months before we had met, he had killed his mother’s boyfriend in a domestic dispute – very Lana Turner. Later I heard he joined a street gang and overdosed on heroin.

Finally, Michael Alig, the infamous club kid killer and inspiration for the movie Party Monster. We hung out in the early 90s, and one night after vast quanities of booze and pills, we kinda made out. I thought he was an amazing character in a weird Valley of the Dolls kinda way - that is, until I got to know him. He's up for parole sometime next year.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006


What’s wrong with African Americans?

As liberal as I am, I have to admit I'm prejudice. I'm not proud of it, but it seems wherever these people go, trouble follows. And it’s just not me. Every white person I know – if you REALLY ask them – are also prejudice- and can you blame them? In my hometown of Minneapolis, the north side has become a ghetto of gangs with shootings and killings on a daily basis. Here In NYC, all you need to do is ride the subways, read the newspapers or walk the streets and see who’s causing the trouble.

Oh, I know what you're thinking......blacks face prejudice and blah, blah blah. Fuck that. I don’t buy any of that “poor black man” shit. I’m a gay man, believe me, I know prejudice, but I don’t wallow in it, I get up every day and work a honest job. And I don’t want to hear any shit from liberals in their ivory towers, because most of them live in lily white neighborhoods and never have to deal with the problem. I'm smart enough to know that I'm not talking about the whole black race. In fact, it has nothing to do with race, but with a culture - a culture that celebrates ghetto fabulousness and thugness.

I think the problem will persist as long as the black community keeps championing assholes like 50 cent and other ghetto rappers. I mean, when you look up to drug dealers, gang members and women beaters, what do you expect?