CRIMINAL

President Bush and his criminal cronies are at it again. I’m not even going to go bitch about the war today. No, what is criminal is how Bush is attempting to thwart the judicial system.

I mean, by not allowing Karl Rove to testify about his activities under oath is shocking as well as unconstitutional. Eventually, everything comes out in the wash, so when the shit hits the fan, there will be no penalty for Rove because he was not under oath. In other words, Rove and his buddies can lie all they want and never get into any trouble.

Convenient, huh?

And to think they wanted to impeach Clinton for a blowjob? Go figure.

PATTI ROCKS

I forgot how cool Patti Smith was.

Patti was inducted into The Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame this past weekend along with The Ronettes and REM. Such lame winners like Str8 boy arena band Van Halen dampened the awards, but that’s beside the point.

I got to know Patti briefly about 10 years ago. She was a good friend of beat poet Allen Ginsburg, who lived in my building. Because of my non-traditional work schedule, I would often see her huffing and puffing up the stairs to Allen’s apartment.

She said she admired my style – that I wasn’t trying to look like the typical faggot. I took that as a compliment; and I never took her use of the term “faggot” as in insult, but rather as a bonding gesture from one freak to another.

When Patti accepted her award, she was soft spoken and humble - very much like the girl I knew from my hallway. But when she took the stage and growled out her classic “Rock and Roll Nigger”, I, as well as the rest of the world, was reminded how amazing Patti is. And before anyone gets his or her panties in a bunch, Patti’s use of the N word has nothing to do with racism – she’s commenting on anyone living on the outskirts of society.

For newbie’s to Patti, check out her classic albums Easter and Horses.

JEEPERS PEEPERS

I was thinking about getting Lasik eye surgery, but I think I’ve changed my mind.

Let me explain:

I ran into a good friend who recently had the procedure and he was none too happy.

With his new x-ray vision, he noticed all the lines and cracks on his face.

“When I first looked in the mirror, I thought it was my grandfather,” he moaned. “And there is no going back – I’m going to see everything from now on weather I like it or not.”

He then spewed his venom in my direction.…”MM, I always thought you looked a perpetual 22, but now with my new peepers, I can see that’s hardly the truth.”

Ouch.

Yes, I’m gonna pass on the Lasik and stick to my rose-colored lenses, because sometimes the world is a better place a little fuzzy and out-of-focus.

IMMORAL BEHAVIOR

OK, we all know General Peter Pace is an asshole, so I'm not even going to comment on his stupid remarks labeling all gays immoral.

What I did find interesting - as well as frightening - is that the army is severely lacking in people that speak Arabic - yet over 50 military personnel specializing in the Arabic language have been discharged for the crime of being gay.

I mean, regardless of your personal beliefs, in a time of war doesn't that sound stupid.

Mr. Pace, that is immoral.

THAT GIRL!

As I was ordering my soy latte today at Starbucks, I heard someone refer to Ann Coulter as a cunt.

I laughed out load.

Is that terrible? I don’t think so. I mean, I thought she was despicable when she made that horrible remark about the 911 widows…”I’ve never seen a group enjoy their husband’s death more.” Now she’s gone and called John Edwards a faggot.

But you know what really bugs me? I don’t think she means one word of her hatred. I think she’s a media whore who will say or do anything to get attention.

I think her time in the spotlight is about up….next stop for Ann: “Dancing with the Stars”.

SEPARATED AT BIRTH

Does anyone else think that Dick Cheney is like Tony Soprano minus the charm?

TATTOO YOU

You know what I don’t get? Gay men with tattoos. Correction: queeny gay men with tattoos. I mean, do these sissified fags really think that by putting a barbed wire or military symbol on their arm is going to make them appear masculine?

Hell no.

Once the mouth opens and a Gucci purse falls out…well, you get the picture. Grow up girls and just accept the fact that you’re big Liza loving homos and be done with it.

Another thing….I just can’t imagine all these tattoos in 20 years on saggy and wrinkly arms. Yuk.

THE GENES

How could such an ugly mother give birth to such a beautiful daughter?

CHEAT SHEET

My best friend caught her husband cheating.

She arrived home a tad too early from work and found him canoodling with the UPS delivery lady. Yes, the UPS delivery lady. I am not making this up. She screamed and ran out the front door and down the block. When she stopped, she was saddened to discover herself alone on the street. She didn’t know what hurt more, the cheating or the fact that he didn’t chase after her.

That night, she rang me up for some hag to fag counseling; and she reminded me that I once caught my boyfriend cheating.

It was yet another one of those sleazy nights at the Cock bar. I had a friend in town, so I sent my boyfriend out on his own – big mistake. Sensitive Pisces that he was, he felt abandoned and went looking for love in the backroom of the Cock. He had no idea that I would make an appearance at 4 am liquored up on vodka/cokes. As the ugly closing lights came on, I caught him coming out of the backroom with his shirt untucked and his pants undone. Ever the drama queen, I screamed bloody murder and ran from the bar in tears. He chased me across Avenue A begging for forgiveness and pleading that he was only “looking.” Yeah, we all “look” with our shirts open and our pants undone.

Whatever.

I knew that the Cock bar made good boys bad, so I forgave him. I mean, after all, he did have the decency to chase me down the street.

AND THE WINNER IS....

I’ve been wondering lately if the rumors are true: Al Gore is about to toss his hat into the presidential ring.

You know, I think the former vice-president has a good chance to take the prize. I mean, he did win the popular vote in 2000, and more importantly, he has an Oscar.

Does anyone really think Hillary has a chance? Hell, no. I mean, an ice cube in hell has a better chance of survival. It’s not that she is a woman, but a Clinton. I don’t know what it is, but so many people hate her. I mean, really hate her.

Barack Obama? I think he has an amazing future, but 2008 is just not his year. Not yet, but soon.

In my opinion, the winning ticket is Gore/Obama. Let’s see if I’m right.

MEMIOR MEMORIES

Does anyone remember Rupert Everett?

He had an A-list moment about 10 years back when he played fag to Julia Robert’s hag in “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” He committed career suicide a year later when he appeared with Madonna in the disastrous “The Next Best Thing”, which is arguably the worst film of all time. I mean, the movie is even worse than Madge’s beach epic “Swept Away” – and that’s bad!

Well, now that the big parts have evaporated, Mr. Everett has written a saucy little memoir about his 15 minutes of fame. Titled “Red Carpets And Other Banana Skins”, Mr. Everett’s prose, although not exactly Proust, is witty. His tales of life on the A-list with J-lo, Gwyneth, Donatella, and Miss Madge are quite insightful as well as interesting. But he left one person out: Me.

I met Rupert a few years back. Well, I wouldn’t exactly say met, but we kinda rubbed… shoulders. Yeah, shoulders.

Let me explain:

It was one of those mischievous nights at Manhattan’s sleaziest gay bar the Cock. After one too many black bitches (that’s a vodka/coke - the drink of choice for me and Debbie Harry) I wandered into the “anything goes with anyone” backroom. I saw Mr. Everett standing in a dark corner. I mean, at 6’4” with a head of thick black hair, he wasn’t exactly hard to miss. Star fuck that I am, I batted my Max Factored lashes his way and soon we were groping and kissing like two wild schoolgirls After several minutes, he backed away and dropped to his knees in front of a thuggish looking black man. I took a swig of my cocktail and watched his lips imitate a Hoover vacuum.

Ok, maybe he left me out of the book for good reason, but it’s still one of those amazing moments that can only happen in Manhattan.

PUNCHED OUT

I hate when you call the phone company, the cable company or the credit card company and they make you punch in all those damn account numbers, names and blood types only to be asked the exact same questions when an operator finally picks up.

I ask you: What's the point of punching all those numbers?

FIRED UP

I'm on my soapbox tonight.

In our culture, gays are the only minority group that can be publicly demonized and hated without consequence. If you doubt me, tune into any Christian television station or radio program to witness a preacher spewing out anti-gay venom, thus encouraging anti-gay violence as well as self-hatred among gay youth . Further up the ladder, the president of the United States is attempting to write discrimination into the constitution. And in everyday life, the gay slurs and jokes that take place in workplaces, locker rooms and street corners – not to mention hate crimes and gay bashing – are too many to mention.

So excuse me, if I get upset when a moron like Tim Hardaway pisses me off and threatens my existence.

Yes, I’m not taking it anymore. No apologies. And I’m not ready to make nice.

FAIR GAME

You know what pissed me off this weekend? Former NBA star Tim Hardaway's moronic comments about gay players….”I don’t like being around homosexuals” and “I hate gay people.”

Well, as a gay man, I don’t like being around dumb n____rs.

I wonder what would happen if I made such a statement in a public forum such as a televison or radio program? I'm sure I would receive a much harsher reprimand than Tim Hardaway's slap on the wrists.

SINEAD SPEARS

This has to be the final nail in Britney's career coffin.

MEAN QUEEN

You know, I think it's true what people say about me - I am mean.

Since it's been so cold and snowy in Manhattan, I've been forced to ride the subway. And you know what makes me smile?
Watching the subway doors close as people run frantically down the stairs to catch the train. I laugh outloud as the train pulls out and they are left on the platform.

Yes, I'm mean.

A HEART SHAPED WORLD

Is it just me, or am I the only one who despises Valentine’s Day?

February 14th is without a doubt the co-dependant holiday of the year. I mean, if you don’t have a Valentine’s Day date, you are made to feel like a big loser. Even when I had a valentine, there was so much stress to have a “romantic evening” it always turned out to be a bust.

This year I’m buying myself a big box of Whitman Samplers and taking my single self to the movies - and holding my head high amongst the heart shaped couples.

LAST SUPPER

The New York Post ran a picture of the contents of Anna Nicole Smith's hotel refrigerator. I mean, you have to love a woman who survived on SlimFast shakes and Methadone.

IN THE LAND OF DIXIE

I thought it was fabulous that the Dixie Chicks swept every major award at the Grammy's last night.

It was sweet vindication after the chicks' lives were threatened and sales plummeted when Maines criticized President Bush on the eve of the Iraq war in 2003. Almost overnight, one of the most successful groups of any genre was boycotted by Nashville and disappeared from country radio.

I particularly loved it when the Chicks took Country Artist of the year. I mean, watching Reba's redneck expression when they won was priceless.

AN EARLY FROST

As cynical and bitter as I am, my heart goes out to Anna Nicole Smith. I mean, she was an easy target with all her crazy shenanigans, but I’m aiming my arrows elsewhere. In our land of politically correctness, I admire someone who wore her bleached blonde ambition on her sleeve for the entire world to see.

I also can’t imagine the horror of giving birth to one child and then losing another all within days. She didn’t have an easy ride, but at least she will forever be remembered as young and blonde.

DIRTY BUSINESS

I'm in love with Courtney Cox’s new FX series Dirt. I mean, this has to be the filthiest show on television.

The plot so far involves a football player who takes it up the ass via a strap-on adorned girl, a rapper who keeps the head of a murdered rival in a jar, and Miss Cox herself searching for an orgasm each week with her trusty vibrator. Oh, and Melrose Place's Grant Show plays an A-list (now that's humorous in itself) closeted action hero who calls his various male sex partners bitches. And finally, rumor has it that Friend’s alumni Jennifer Aniston will appear in the season finale as a lesbian rival editor who gives Miss Cox some tongue.

I swear, I’m not making this up.

I keep asking myself why zillionaire Miss Cox would do this. I mean, it’s not like it’s a Martin Scorsese film. Whatever the reason, it’s my new guilty pleasure.

THE SKINNY

It’s fashion week in NYC, and amongst the glamour and glitz, the fashionistas are up in arms about the negative press surrounding super skinny models. Of course, no one will come right out and endorse anorexia, but prada dressed and obsessed editors know full well that fashion would not be fashion without bone thin teenaged girls tottering down the runway.

Fashion has always been an artful illusion made possible with lights and circus mirrors, so what’s wrong with a little skin and bones? I mean, I like to think of the models as starving artists.

Of course, in a grand gesture, the fashion police have placed tables of healthy food backstage, but who’s kidding whom? If your job is to be a size 0, you’re not going to touch the nosh no matter how good it is. The New York Post has reported that while some models are eating, the janitors are smelling mucho vomit in the bathrooms. I say, bravo girls.

As I sat in my chair applauding the designers, who by the way are showing oodles of short skirts, I also put my hands together for the starving artists who bring the clothes to life.

BRITNEY?

I ran across this picture of Miss Britney....is it just me, or does she look like a hagged-out 40 year-old woman?

REALITY CHECK

You know what really bugs me? Snobby people who claim they never watch reality television. I mean, I want to scream when I hear these elitist assholes brag with bravado....Oh, I read books or spend time with my family or watch historical documentaries on PBS and blah, blah, blah.

I just want to shout...fuck you!

Give me some VH1 Celebreality any night of week. I mean, who could live without "I Love New York" or "Fit Club" or even "The Surreal Life" ?

Oh, and have you noticed that these television avoiding snobs always look they should be on Extreme Makeover?

A QUESTION

Today on CNN was a moving report about the new Intrepid Center in Texas. The ground breaking facility was built for Iraqi veterans who were mangled in the war.

The cost: $50 million.

Who paid for it: Private donations.

I ask you: Why is it OK for Bush and his cronies - all war deserters - to send young men and women off to battle and then refuse to pay for their mental or physical injuries?

BABYCAKES

OK, I admit it... I'm a borderline anorexic. I kneel daily at the alter/scale of my patron saint Karen Carpenter, and yes, I truely believe Miss Rainy Days and Mondays died a martyr for her cause. Can I get an amen?

That said, I've never met a baked good I didn't like. My latest discovery is Babycakes - a tiny vegan bakery located on the cusp of Chinatown and the Lower East Side. I was a tad skeptical at first: I mean, how can you churn out edible confections sans sugar, butter or flour? Well, I'm here to tell you the cupcakes, cookies and brownies are just plain delicious - and no sickly sugar overkill.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not turning my back on my favorites such as Veniero's, Billy's Bakery or the Cupcake Cafe, but when I'm in the mood for a sweet treat that doesn't curse me to 90 minutes on the treadmill or double my dose of Lipitor, Babycakes is my choice.

COLD?

In Manhattan yesterday, talking heads warned viewers about the artic 25 degree weather. I mean, they even did a report on frost bite and how to prevent it.

Oh, please.

I grew up in Minnesota where 25 degrees would bring out the tank tops and shorts.

A+

I have to give Dubya an A+ for effort last night. I mean, he spoke so eloquently about patriotism, bravery and heroism that it made me teary eyed. His noble introduction of Nancy Pelosi was admirable. His ideas on health care, alternative fuels and other domestic issues were well thought out and quite interesting. Granted, the rest of his speech was grandstanding and gesturing, and his take on Iraq was ludicrous, but all and all, it made me proud to be an American. And yes, I still hate Dubya.

CLOSET CASE

There is one closet I would cheerfully never leave.

Let me explain.

Saturday night I had dinner at my buddy’s fancy smancy Park Avenue apartment. There is a gigantic plasma television, walls covered with the best modern art, and windows draped in $10,000 of Italian silk. I mean, this apartment is a queen’s dream, but what really floats my boat is a small closet off the lavender dining room.

I always open the mahogany door as if it were Christmas morning; and I never fail to swoon when I gaze upon its contents. Yes, sitting inside are the two things a gay boy desires most -– booze and toiletries.

I mean, I’ve never seen such a beautiful closet.

THE NOSE KNOWS

On the L train tonight, I noticed a sleek young woman with a $2000 Marc Jacobs bag, a $700 pair of leopard Jimmy Choos and a head of $1500 butter blonde extensions by Brad John. Obviously, this woman was a slave to vanity, so I was stunned to look up and discover she was cursed with a huge potato nose. I mean, this was a nose only a blind mother could love.

As I exited the train and headed for home, one thought ran through my mind... with all that money, why not fix the nose?

SISTER SISTER

Oh my, do these two look like freaks. I've said it before, but now it's official - poor ugly Ashlee has now transformed herself into her sister - albeit with a bigger and trannier chin. And is it just me, or do these two look like a couple of chicks with dicks.

TRUE LOVE

After a recent conversation with a group of friends, I was shocked and saddened to learn how few of them have ever been in love. You know, a person who makes you feel like you’re tripping over the rainbow; a person who gives you goose bumps when you know he or she is coming over. I'm talking real love, baby.

I think I’ve been in love three times.

The first man that made my heart jump was named Chris. We met at his father’s pizza joint where we both worked as waiters. He had blonde curly hair; a gymnast’s body and a sly smirk that made me forgive him anything. He sang in a punk band and I was his number one front row groupie at every dive he played. He drove a beat-up MG and sang me songs late into the night. He left me for a girl with huge boobs and platinum hair. I cried for three weeks. Years later, I ran into him and we didn’t even recognize each other.

Years went by before my next love. His name was Pete and he had a missing tooth and drove a taxi. We met on a phone sex line and his deep voice had me at hello. I used to sneak him into my parent’s basement after they had gone to sleep. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but it was the best sex I ever had. He left me for an underage Eskimo. He still lives in the same apartment and I have no idea what he is doing.

The third I will write about later.

FLO KNOWS

It was great seeing Jennifer Hudson win a Golden Globe for her stunning performance in "Dreamgirls". I mean, the movie wouldn’t be a hit without her. I also loved that she thanked Flo Ballard whom her character Effie White is based.

Unfortunately, life doesn’t always imitate art. Unlike Effie White, who had a triumphant return at the end of the movie, Flo Ballard died penniless in the Detroit projects at age 32. Like Effie, Flo started the Supremes; but she was replaced as lead singer by Diana Ross and later kicked out of the group entirely because of her sass and large ass. Berry Gordy and Miss Ross did everything in their power to ruin Flo’s solo career. And in the end, Miss Ross became a huge star and Flo lost her house, her fortune, her health, and finally, her life.

Check out Mary Wilson’s fabulous book, “Dreamgirl – My life as a Supreme” for the real story of the Supremes,

PROBLEMS

I was dating a beautiful boy from India. I really liked him, and he had the most kissable lips, but something wasn’t quite right. Now I know I sound superficial, but he had a…well, a funny penis. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get used to it.

What was wrong with it?

It was too small, too dark and too uncut. Is that simple enough? Now some uncut knobs can be quite cute, but this one was barely the size of my thumb and had a wrinkly tip like a corkscrew. I mean, this thing was so wrinkly I could store my ipod in it.

What was I to do?

My friend from Milwaukee was dating a man with a not too pretty penis; and she tried and tried to like it, but the relationship ended up a bonafide disaster.

That’s right; never underestimate the power of the penis. So no matter what, if you don’t like the penis, the relationship is never going to work.

SHE AIN'T HEAVY, SHE'S MY SISTER

I hopped on the scale today and I was up two pounds.

Yikes!

The reason?

I had a friend in town this past weekend and we ate like pigs - pizza, nachos, cheesecake - nothing was off limits. My friend is a "vegan", and yes, the type of "vegan" who sports plastic boots, so our first stop was a trendy "raw" restaurant; and I have to admit the food was pretty tasty. I mean, who knew nachos could be served raw.

Next stop was a southern style restaurant. As my "vegan" friend scanned the meat and cheese heavy menu, she casually winked that perhaps she could relax her "vegan" ways "just for this weekend."

Well, before I could say meatloaf, she had ordered the BBQ ribs and was busy chewing the meat off the bone. I guess she left her PETA card at home, because from then on it was nothing but eggs, cheese, dairy and more meat. Oh, and a late night visit to Veniero's for cheesecake, canolis and eclairs.

So for the next few days it's going to be broccoli and carrots for me.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

You know, I think a little anorexia is a good thing. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating a full-on Nicole Richie, but just an occasional calorie cutback. I mean, the holiday parties were stocked with cookies, eggnogs and cheeses. I ask you: With such caloric catastrophes thrust upon us, how are we supposed to maintain our Manhattan thinness?

Now please don’t get this confused with Bulimia – that my dear is disgusting. Not only does it leave you with horrendous breath, but totally smears a well-constructed lip line.

Say you’re invited to a big bash loaded with goodies. Well, do what I do….have a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and not a morsel more until the party. If you get hungry, have a large plain Starbucks with soymilk. Afterwards, if those Prada trousers are a tad too tight, eat nothing but broccoli and carrots for a few days. And NO cigarettes - I don’t know what’s more disgusting – being fat or smoking cigarettes.

To maintain your figure, nothing works better than weighing yourself four times a day. I personally jump on the scale first thing in the morning. If I’m a pound or two down, I scream for joy because I know it’s going to be a nachos day; if I’m a pound or two up, I grimace and starve. Trust me, if you don’t watch it, those five extra pounds multiple into ten and ten to twenty and so on and so on until you’re shopping at Lane Bryant for a neon blue bullet-proof polyester smock top. Not pretty.

TOWELHEAD NATION

The uppity towelheads are at it again.

As I was leaving to return to NYC, I read in the newspaper that Minneapolis Muslim cab drivers are refusing to pick-up anyone carrying liquer or anyone with a service dog - that means a blind person with a life-saving dog. So far this idiocy has left over 100 people stranded at the airport. I mean, this is crazy. Muslim spokespeople claim liquer and dog saliva are against their religion. Bullshit, if these towelheads want to live in America, they have to bend to our way of thinking or get the FUCK out of the cab business.

DAY OFF?

I really hate George Bush.

I've always despised him because of the war, the lies and hypocritical Christian right bullshit , but what really pisses me off is his giving government workers the day off yesterday. I mean, I went to the post office today and the lines were out the door and I had to wait 45 minutes.

Please, why do government workers get a holiday for some dead lame president when the rest of us continue working?

Furthermore, it sets things back for weeks. The counter clerk at my post office told me it would take days to catch up. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

And what really pissed me off is just when it was almost my turn, some obese old guy with a cane came hobbling in with bags and bags of packages. Of course, the "Minnesota Nice" woman in front of me ushered him to the front of the line. Well, the old fuck didn't fill out any slips etc...and we all had to wait there for an additional 20 minutes while he gabbed and chatted and filled out his forms. He kept complaining that his hip hurt. I came so close to screaming..."If you lost 50 pounds your hip probably wouldn't hurt and you could throw away the cane."

Yes, I hate fat people and George Bush.

How was your day?

MINNE-NOPLACE.

I have finally figured out what the problem is with Minneapolis. The city has all the major headaches of a big city - extreme crime, huge traffic jams etc...- but none of the benefits. No style, No culture, No restaurants - NOTHING.

CHILD SOUP - HOLD THE SALT

I think the witch in Hansel and Gretel had the right idea.

I truly believe children - and especially screaming babies - do not belong in civil society. Breeders today think nothing of changing shitty diapers in public or hauling out their saggy ugly breasts to nurse. I’m sorry, but I don’t need to look at those things.

I think children should be taken to the Midwest and not allowed into malls, airports, movies or other public places until they are 16. You know, maybe put them in Kansas – I mean, who lives there anyways? Give them a good education and firm discipline – think of it like a 16-year boarding school.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I worked on an editorial a few weeks back and I think this image turned out fabulous. Enjoy the holidays.

YOU GO GIRL - PART 2

Poor old hair challenged Donald Trump.

Today he’s all over the news attacking Rosie O’Donnell because of her views about him on The View. I mean, Mr. Trump is such a cad. After Rosie's many valid points, the Donald could only come up with rebuttals such as…”She’s ugly" or "She’s an evil slob" or "Rosie’s fat and unattractive.”

Grow up, Donald; if anyone’s evil, it’s you. Rosie has donated and raised millions of dollars for charities – what have you done? Oh, yeah, publicly cheated on both of your wives and bankrupted yourself many times over …somehow I agree with Rosie that you should not be the “moral compass” for Miss USA.

To see all the action, copy this URL to your browser to see the entire recap.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=bZui6qeN1ZQ

YOU GO GIRL

I love me some Rosie O’Donnell. With her “every woman” candid charm, she has put The View back on top. I mean, she says exactly what the majority of us are thinking. I mean, on today’s show she ranted about Donald Trump and the stupidity of the Miss USA pageant.

But what I like best about Rosie is that she isn’t beating anyone over the head with her sexuality. Yeah, she mentions it, but always in a subtle way, thus, showing the world that gay folks are pretty much the same as str8 folks.

Bravo Rosie.

WISH LIST

The holidays are almost upon us; and with so much sorrow in the world - not to mention the comments on my blog - I thought I would gift my faithful readers with my THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY list.

1) Nicole Richie. I just love her – and I don’t think she is too thin.

2) Whole-wheat donuts from the Cupcake Café in Manhattan. Forget Sex and the City’s tired Magnolia, this is the cupcake emporium that started it all. And, honey, these things are good – and good for you!

3) Liposuction. If you have a few extra pesky pounds that won’t respond to exercise, get some lipo. I swear, it’s the best procedure – besides botox – in the world.

4) New underwear, socks and t-shirts. I replace the whole lot every few months. I mean, it just feels divine putting fresh undergarments on.

5) Lip liner. How did we ever live without it? Girls, boys, trannies, it just does a mouth good.

6) Hot men at the gym. OK, most are unattainable or straight, but I can look, fantasize and drool, right?

7) Nachos from Round the Clock. I know my friend Terri says the place is full of college brats, but the nachos are homemade and loaded with good cheese and guacamole.

8) Andy Warhol. Yes, he’s dead, but they have a ton of cute Warholesque items at Urban Outfitters. Sadly, I think Factory Girl is gonna be a big bomb.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Well, it’s Christmas, so it’s the perfect time for my semi-annual THINGS I HATE list.

1) You know what really bugs me? Fat people eating junk food – chips, cookies, candy bars etc...I mean, don’t they have mirrors? It’s disgusting.

2) Fat people waiting for elevators when the stairs are in plain view. Honey, there is a reason you are fat – get off your ass and start moving. And while I’m on the subject, I despise people that ride the elevator for just one floor.

3) People who answer the cell phone no matter what. I mean, I’ve seen folks scrambling, sweating and panicking to find that ringing idiot box? God forbid you should lose a call. One would think it was the president or the pope calling. After all the whoopla, it’s usually…“Yes, honey, I will bring home a gallon of milk.”

4) People who walk slow. I’m not talking about old folks; I’m talking about young people – usually fat – taking their damn sweet time. Hate it.

5) Coach purses. Every gal in the Midwest seems to think that carrying a Coach purse is the ticket to class. Sorry, but in Manhattan anyone who's anyone knows only secretaries and suburban moms carry Coach bags. You want class? Try a Marc Jacobs bag.

6) Bad blonde highlights. If you can’t afford a trip to the salon, leave your hair alone. I mean, nothing is worse than seeing orange stripes or chunks of yellow on dark hair. Low rent, honey, very low rent. Furthermore, why do all the women in the Midwest sport lesbian-style short haircuts? No wonder every married man I know is cheating on his wife.

7) Talking in movies. With the price of a movie ticket hovering around $10, nothing makes me madder than talking in the cinema. I support carrying firearms on this matter.

8) Starbucks. Why are there always 40 people in line and four cash registers BUT only one person taking orders? Piss poor management.

9) Kohl’s Department Stores. I swear, I have never in my life been in a tackier department store.

10) Big SUV’s. With gas prices so high, why oh why do city folk need these gas-guzzlers? And have you noticed it’s always ugly men driving them? I bet these men suffer from small dick syndrome.

SHOPPING

Well, I am in Minneapolis for a few days and I'm planning a trip to the Mall of America. Let's hope I can find an article of clothing in small or medium in the land of jumbo and extra jumbo.

MEMORIES

The other day, over grapefruit martinis, my friends and I were swapping stories about attending catholic schools. As can be expected, the stories were filled with molestation. Although the priest at my parish was boy crazy, I was not molested; I guess that was the start of my insecurity.

I do have fond memories of Sister Mary Guisey: A butch lesbian with a crew cut and a fire hydrant figure. In retrospect, I'm amazed that the Catholic Church would allow such a blatantly gay woman in the classroom...…well, on second thought, maybe it's not that odd.

Sister Guisey was hired to teach math, but she would spend hours entertaining the class with stories of fending off switchblade wielding students at her former grade school in St. Paul. I loved her tales of pre-teen gang warfare, but now that I look back, this was the cornfield, not the south side of Chicago, and her stories were pure fiction. She was fired for putting Jim Charbeneux - the class clown - in a half nelson when he pulled a piece of Juicy Fruit from his pocket. Sister Guisey swore he was reaching for a switchblade.

Later, I heard Sister Guisey left the nunnery and was tending bar at a local gay bar.

PROGRESS?

I recently worked on a Sear’s Television commercial for the gay network LOGO. The location was the home of two super successful men in gay friendly Asbury Park. In the holiday themed commercial, the happy couple is shown entertaining a group of friends that included a pair of lipstick lesbians and a gay dad accessorized with a foreign baby.

Although I say “Bravo” to Sears for realizing that gay people in 2006 are just as boring as straight people, I do wonder if all this homo homogenization is a good thing.

I mean, I’m old enough to remember when the only gay people I knew were florists, actors, hairdressers and other assorted fabulous freaks that were loud and proud long before rainbow flags became the norm in corporate America. I remember when gay bars were elite underground establishments with secret side doors that housed the most interesting people on the planet. Sadly, it seems this fabulous and bright gay gene pool has now been watered down with gay lawyers, doctors and accountants.

Yes, I’m smart enough to realize that a Sear’s LOGO commercial is good for the progress of the gay community, but I ask you: Is progress always a good thing?

IS THAT YOU ALLY?

Last night after Desperate Housewives, which thankfully has it's mojo back after a disastrous second season, I watched ABC's new drama, Brothers and Sisters. I thought the show was just so-so, but it has potential. I mean, with a cast including Sally Field and Rachel Griffiths, how bad can it be, right?

Anyways, half way through the show, Calista Flockhart appeared on the screen. Although horribly miscast as an Ann Coulter-ish republican television personality, the real problem with Miss Mcbeal is her face. Pulled, stretched, frozen with Botox and filled to capacity with filler, she resembled a startled chipmunk. I mean, odd is the perfect word to describe her appearance.

Now I'm well aware that Hollyweird is constructed of smoke and mirrors; and celebrities have an army of "yes" people telling them they look amazing, but don't they themselves own mirrors?

POST IT

Ya gotta love the New York Post.

OK, we all know that the Post is nothing more than a bullshit republican propaganda rag, but as the above headline proves, sometimes they do get it right.

RAY OF HATE

Is it just me, or does anyone else hate Rachel Ray? I mean, I want to smack that perky and phoney smile right off her fat face.

And quite honestly, someone so short and squat shouldn't wear jeans.

BOB THE BAD HAIRCUT

I'm still in Minneapolis - the land that style forgot.

Why is it every woman in Minnesota has a "bob" haircut? I mean, I haven't seen this haircut in Manhattan in 15 years. And if a Minnesota woman doesn't have a "bob", it's a short lesbian-style haircut with bad blonde highlights.

I pity the str8 men in Minneapolis.

PLAYING IT SAFE

I arrived in Minneapolis the night six Arabs were escorted off a US AIR jet in handcuffs. Apparently, a passenger witnessed the men praying to Allah, as well as cursing America and it's involvement with Iraq; the men also sat in suspicious groups of two on the plane.

The men were questioned, searched and deemed safe. Of course, the men are now playing the victim card and talking lawsuits with several prominent lawyers.

I'm sorry, but If I saw a group of towelheads chanting, moaning and cursing America, I'd damn well alert airport security, too. I say "Bravo" to whomever turned these men in. I witnessed 9/11 firsthand, and I am fully aware what these people are capable of.

I mean, when is America going to wise up and understand that profiling is not a bad thing? If that plane would have exploded in mid-air amidst chants to Allah, everyone in America would have said..."Why didn't anyone say something?"

STUPIDITY

I hate stupid people.

Let me explain:

I was going through security at JFK when the line grounded to a halt due to the woman in front of me and her hidden bottle of Snapple. The “don’t mess with me” black security woman, who was featuring amazing neon blue eye shadow, tried to remove the bottle from the woman's fake Gucci handbag, but the woman resisted.

“Oh, no, I’m going to drink that.”

“Mame, there are signs everywhere stating that you can’t bring liquids beyond this point.”

“I will drink in now.”

And so, right there at the security kiosk, this stupid woman leisurely opened her Snapple as if she were at a bar or cocktail party. New Yorker that I am, I looked the stupid woman in the eye and informed her that she was holding up the line.

“How dare you talk to me like that,” she said as she casually sipped her Snapple.

“Listen lady, this is not cocktail hour and people have planes to catch.”

“He’s right,” the security woman agreed. “Give me that bottle or I’m calling for backup.”

As the line began to move again, the stupid woman looked at me and inquired: “What country are you from?”

OK, I wasn’t going to there, but since she brought it up…..

“I’m from America, the best country in the world you stupid Arab foreign fuck.”

The people behind me started applauding. I turned around and did a little curtsy.

Like I said, I hate stupid people.

PARTING GLANCES

I recently stumbled upon a friend’s personal ad on a gay hook-up site. I was shocked to discover that the pictures were both old and heavily retouched. When I questioned him about it, he just shrugged.

I’m sorry, but I think there is some serious sexual karma to pay when you post 12 year old pictures – especially images that were doctored or staged to begin with.

I like my strategy better – post mediocre photos, so your hook-up will be pleasantly surprised.

OH MARIO

Ok, I admit it, I'm hooked liked the rest of the country on "Dancing with the Stars". And part of the reason is sexy Mario Lopez. Without a doubt, he is the sexiest man in America. I mean, his dimples could turn a str8 man gay.

NOSEY

I was on the L train today and I noticed a decent looking man having a decent conversation with a decent looking woman. I also noticed that the man had a forest of hair growing out of his nose. I mean, his nose hairs were coiled and matted like dreadlocks - it was that disgusting. I kept wondering why this decent looking woman did not inform him that it just wasn't decent to be running around looking like this.

Virgo that I am, I came very close to telling him, but alas, my stop appeared and I left the train. Maybe next time.

UPSTAIRS DOWNSTAIRS

New York City can be a very odd place. It’s the only place I know where the rich and poor intermingle, that is, if they share one common denominator – fabulosity.

Let me explain:

A few weeks back, I was attending an arty party in Chelsea filled to the brim with free drinks, swag bags, Park Avenue princesses and B-list celebs. As I was slugging down my second Grey Goose martini, I bumped into my friend Corina – a former pop star who had a #2 hit in 1991 called “Temptation.” Unfortunately, she had signed away her publishing rights, and was now living in a decrepit squat on 14th street – albeit the only squat with a gold record on the wall. As the drinks flowed, we were introduced to Jade Barrymore – Drew’s estranged mother. Soon we were all laughing and sharing jokes and enjoying a Manhattan moment.

As we exited the party arm and arm like life-long friends, I decided to walk the 12 blocks home. Corina also chose to walk. Jade – clad in evening gown and heels – announced amidst the idling limos that she was going to catch a cab, but she didn’t seem to be getting into one.

Hmmm, I thought as I crossed the street and rounded the corner.

Once out of Jade’s eyesight, the inner Charlie’s Angel in me peeked around the bricks to see her running to catch the uptown bus. As the bus began to move, she caught her Marc Jacob’s purse in the closing doors. I watched with humor as she pulled and pulled, until finally, the bus had to stop and open the doors to release her designer treasure.

I giggled all the way home.

HAPPY DAYS

WE WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I loved watching Bush squirm today at his press conference.

ENGLISH?

You know what I hate? I hate when you call a company for customer care and you get someone who can barely speak the English language. I mean, why the hell would companies put people on the phone that you can't understand? And what about the elderly? My parents, who have a hard time hearing on the telephone to begin with, constantly complain that they can't understand these foreign fucks and eventually hang up and redial hoping to get an English speaking person. Now I'm not advocating that these people not be hired, but WHY put them on phones and customer service?

My solution:

When I get one of these "english is my third language" types, I ASAP demand to speak to the supervisor to file a complaint.

ZOLOFT

Is it just me, or does Laura Bush look medicated?

GOING TO THE CHAPEL

VOICES OF REPUBLICAN HYPOCRISY

James Bakker — Bakker left his PTL Ministries empire in 1987 after admitting an extramarital affair with Jessica Hahn, a former church secretary. He served five years in federal prison on fraud and conspiracy charges for illegally soliciting millions of dollars from followers.

Jimmy Swaggart — Resigned from the Assemblies of God in 1988 after a fellow preacher released photos of Swaggart with a prostitute. In 1991, he was stopped for a traffic violation while driving in a red-light district in California with a woman who said she was a prostitute.

The Rev. Henry J. Lyons — Lyons was forced out as leader of the National Baptist Convention USA after his then-wife set fire to a waterfront mansion he secretly owned with his mistress. He was convicted in 1999 of swindling millions of dollars from companies that wanted to do business with members of the denomination and was sentenced to five years in prison.

Archbishop Eugene Marino — The Roman Catholic prelate from Atlanta resigned in 1990 after a two-year affair with a woman half his age. The woman claimed Marino performed a marriage ceremony for them in which the two exchanged rings.

The Rev. Terry Hornbuckle — The founder of the Agape Christian Fellowship in Arlington, Texas, was sentenced in August to 15 years in prison for sexually assaulting two women churchgoers and a third woman. Two of the victims said the minister had drugged them.

The Rev. Ted Haggard — The founder of New Life Church in Colorado resigned as pastor and as president of the National Association of Evangelicals after a gay prostitute claimed the two had drug-fueled sex regularly over three years. Haggard admitted he bought methamphetamine from the man and received a massage from him but denied that he used the drug and that the two had sex.

KARMA

The world does spin on karma.

I had to laugh out loud when Ted Haggard, a staunch foe of gay marriage, occasional participant in White House conference calls and president of the National Association of Evangelicals, was busted not only for fornicating with a gay prostitute, but also for being a meth head. HA HA HA. And doesn't he look like a big fag, too?

This to me sums up the hypocrisy of not only the Republican Party, but also the bible banging hate preaching Christian fundamentalists.

VOTE DEMOCRAT ON TUESDAY.

STR8 CONFUSION

Yesterday was Halloween and I have two costume questions for the Str8 community:

Why is it every str8 guy wants to put on a dress for Halloween?

Why does every woman want to put on fishnets and a leather skirt and play prostitute for the evening?

Inquiring gay minds want to know.

TARGET NO MORE

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?

SCARY FRUIT

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.

RAQUEL AND ME

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

RAQUEL WELSH

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.

MULTI TASKET CASKET

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 www.casketfurniture.com 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 CasketFurniture.com, 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.

FLAVOR FLAV

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.

EAST VILLAGE

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.

GIBSON GO HOME

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.

BUNDY AND FRIENDS

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.

GHETTO TRASH

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?

THE NECK

The neck never lies.

On Oprah's sofa today sat a rather bizarre looking Lionel Richie. Shot up with more Botox and Restylane than Sharon Stone, Nicole's daddy looked like a wax dummy. OK, maybe his upper face appeared smooth and somewhat younger, but his neck revealed the truth - crepey and saggy and looking every inch his true age.

A word of advice to Mr. Richie: Always make sure the carpet matches the drapes before appearing on national television.

HOPE IN A BOTTLE

I think Mick Jagger sang it best…“You can’t always get what you want.”

Let me explain:

My best friend Peter has been in love with one man for 20 years. Unfortunately, this man treats Peter like a bunion that won't go away. Oh, they have had sex a handful of times over the years, but it usually ends with him telling Peter…”We’re not doing that again – ever!”

Peter continues to hold out hope, and thus, has put his love life on hold while playing the waiting game. Some might call this romantic, but I beg to differ.

This past week, after 10 years of chastity, Peter finally persuaded him to spread his cheeks. Unfortunately, the long awaited penetration didn’t go as planned. It seems with all the anticipation, little Peter would not rise to the occasion.

The moral of the story: You may not always get what you want, or even what you need, but always always carry Viagra.

FAME GAME

The new Scissor Sister’s CD is out today – grab it because it is fabulous. The single "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" is #1 in the UK.

I once had a close encounter with lead singer Jake Shears. About six years ago, when he was a go-go boy at a sleazy dive bar in the East Village, he jumped off the bar and kissed me. I was flattered, but I was standing there with my boyfriend. Later – clad only in a g-string - he chased me out onto Avenue A pleading with me to stay. My boyfriend rolled his eyes and muttered that he must be either high or drunk.

What a nice boyfriend, right?

Jake, I'm single now. Are you listening?

TOWELHEADS

Those towelheads are at it again.

OK, the pope said some shitty - albeit factual - statements about Islam.

And what do the towelheads do?

What they do best...take to the streets in angry mobs chanting death to America, death to the pope and promises to take over the world and kill all Christians.

I'm sorry, but it looks to me like the pope got it right.

FASHION HOUSE

Is anyone else obsessed with MyNetworkTV’s tacky telenovela Fashion House? I simply can’t get enough of surgerized stars Bo Derek and Morgan Fairchild.

Poor Bo can’t act whatsoever, but you can’t stop looking at that gorgeous face – and thanks to Botox, it doesn’t move. Bo plays a thin veiled imitation of Donatella Versace and appears to be channeling Heather Locklear’s style of Melrose Place acting: look mean and shout a lot.

Morgan does a better job in the acting department, but not by much. As for her surgery, she definitely is my new role model – I mean, this broad is pushing 60 and looks amazing.

The story: It seems Morgan’s character is hell bent on ruining Bo’s character, which leads to numerous cat fights and bitch slaps. Toss in murder, adultery and a fashion posse of sex-crazed back stabbing bitches and that about sums up the plot.

OK, the story line is predictable and shallow, but so am I.

GRANDFATHER

You never know what you will find on the worldwide web.

Case in point:

I was googling my last name one lazy afternoon and I came upon my estranged cousin's website. That's cool, I thought, I'll bookmark it and show it to my parents when I visit Minneapolis. I should point out that my cousin is a very talented painter with a focus on realism

When I arrived in Minneapolis, I showed the website to my parents. As we scrolled down the page, we came upon a surprise. There staring back at us was a painting of my grandfather - my father's father. The painting had won awards and honorable mentions in numerous competitions. We arranged a visit and the photo above is of my father, mother, cousin and grandfather. My grandfather was a painter, too, and was an inspiration to my cousin.

By the way, my parents are 87 and 80 in the pic - I think they look pretty darn good.

HEALTH

OK, I do my best to eat green, so I'm always in and out of health food stores. The one thing I can't understand is this: why do the people who work at health food stores always look so unhealthy?

BEYONCE BEWARE

Is it just me, or does anyone else think that Beyonce is soooo overrated. I mean, I am sick of everyone saying what a good singer, actor, dancer she is....I just don't see it. And with mama Knowles cooking up her costumes, she looks like a tacky hooker. Why doesn't anyone champion real talents such as Pink or Christina Aguilera?

On a blast from a Beyonce in the past, I surfed onto Jody - "Looking For A New Love" - Watley's website. I was shocked to discover that this grammy award-winning singer is suggesting that fans buy her new CD wholesale from her and hold Tupperware-style parties to sell the CDs for profit. Jody goes on to say that she will perform for whomever sells the most CDs. I mean, this is a woman who has sold millions of records and now she is offering to perform in living rooms. Tragic.

Beyonce, honey, enjoy while it lasts.

A GOOD MAN

You know, Manhattan is often described as the ultimate island of lost souls. I mean, with all the wretched, superficial and vain “sex and the city” sorts Jimmy Chooing about, it’s hard to imagine any decent and kind people left amongst the concrete. But every now and then, a ray of hope comes beaming your way.

Let me explain.

I was on a “personal” shoot for a bodybuilder who had competed and placed 2nd at the Chicago gay games. Great, I thought, another egomaniac muscle Mary who thinks he’s all that and an extra large condom, too. You gay boys know what I mean - the insecure twister mister who’s really a sister, but acts all superior and butch and then goes home and slathers on Estee Lauder eye cream and sings along to Madonna. Nothing wrong with that one iota, but please, toss out the mister and accept the sister is all I’m saying.

Well, I was pleasantly surprised. Shaking my hand was a man with kind eyes and a quiet bashful smile. He wasn’t exactly featuring Brad Pitt cute, but more Russell Crowe rugged and manly.

He said he grew up a skinny kid with thick coke bottle glasses. I could tell he still kinda thought of himself that way, which made him even more adorable. He didn’t seem at all like the type to have photos taken of his muscles or even compete in a bodybuilding contest. As it turns out, his more outgoing partner was gifting him the pictures and had encouraged him to compete.

As the day wore on, this man seemed too good to be true. He said he waited a full month before consummating his current relationship; and he totally believed in monogamy. What’s more, he preferred men with a few more pounds than less. To top it off, he listened and laughed at all of my monologues and stupid stories.

Ok, I know he’s happily partnered with a great boyfriend and four dogs, and I ‘m not about to pull a Glenn Close, but it’s so damn good to know there are still guys like him walking amongst us.

911

Today is my 100th post, and it's also the 5-year anniversary of 911. I think it's kinda fucked up to call 911 an anniversary, since anniversaries are usually fun events. Believe me, as someone who witnessed 911 first hand, it was anything but fun.

Two things stand out in my mind from that horribe, horrible day.

Several hours after the towers fell, hundreds of people were crowded on Houston Street carrying pictures of their lost loved ones. Because the falling towers spared no one, and the hospitals were empty, these poor souls had nowhere to go, and thus, were desperately trying to get their photos on the television cameras. I will never forget the look in these grieving and sad eyes as they pushed their pictures at the cameramen. Never.

In the days after 911, every business, house and building in my Manhattan neighborhood had American flags flying. That is, every building but one - a Muslim mosque on my corner. Months before the attacks, my Israeli boyfriend would walk by the mosque and utter..."I wonder what those motherfuckers are in there planning."

I guess he was right.

MR. STRANGE

I was in Minneapolis cleaning my childhood room when I came upon my high school yearbooks. I laughed and laughed at the pictures and marveled how cute everyone looked. I especially got a kick out of the written salutations – and to think these people were my friends! Here is a sample:


“You are the weirdest person I have ever met, “ wrote Sherri.

‘If you went bald, what would you talk about? “ wrote Renee. “Your hair is your life.”

"Thanks for borrowing me your curling iron at lunch," wrote Rita.

“Strange is a good word to describe you,” wrote Susie.

“I will miss you coming up to me and asking: ‘Is my hair looking thick or thin?’, wrote Darlene.

“I respect that you never care what people think of you,” wrote Bob.

“I wonder what will ever happen to someone so strange,” wrote Teresa.

“Don’t drink so much,” wrote Linda.

“You are without a doubt the strangest person I have ever met, “ wrote Kari.

“You shouldn’t use so much hairspray,” wrote Brian.

"You shouldn't wear so much makeup," wrote Pooh.

Well, it's 2006, and I'm proud to report I'm still strange. Yes, I still worry if my hair looks thick or thin, I still wear too much makeup and I still love my hairspray. The more things change, the more things stay the same.

Amen, sister.

DELLS PICS

Since I just learned how to post pics, I thought I would share a few of my pics from the infamous and campy Wisconsin Dells. Once again, truth is stranger than fiction.

WISCONSIN

A life size plaster facsimile of the Greek Acropolis.

A 75 foot Trojan horse.

Broadway dinner theater.

A mansion-size house completely turned upside down and turned into a funhouse.

Groups of French, Russian and Italian speaking teenagers.

Where can you find all of these oddities?

In the middle of Wisconsin, that’s where.

Yes, nestled in a cavity surrounded by some of the most beautiful river ways in the nation - and unbeknownst outside of the Midwest - lies the Wisconsin Dells - a Vegas-style vacation mecca complete with palm trees and gaudy neon signs advertising strip motels, water parks, ferris wheels and boat excursions.

Every year thousands of farm folk, city slickers and small town hicks converge on the Dells for a two-week summer vacation. Amidst all of this pure Americana and flag waving are hundreds of voices speaking Russian, French and Italian.

What?

It seems the Dells hire college-age kids from all over the world to man the counters during the summer season. Most of the kids live in dorms in the woods surrounding the Dells. The kids I chatted with were not impressed with their first visit to America. I mean, if the Dells were all you had to judge America on, I wouldn’t be too enthused either.

But wouldn’t it make a great teenage “coming of age” story for Lifetime television. You know, foreign teenagers working in this midwestern madness along with the vacationers – kinda like a white trash “Dirty Dancing” with a foreign twist.

ON A STICK

Well, I broke down and went to the Minnesota State Fair – the 2nd largest fair in the United States. I mean, this thing is huge with over a million people passing through the gates.

Everything at the fair is centered around food served on a stick. Yes, food on a stick. The fair may be called the “Great Minnesota Get Together”, but it should be called the “Great Minnesota Obesity Convention”. In all my years, I have never witnessed so many obese people wobbling around shoving sticks of food into his or her mouths.

What exactly is served on a stick?

Let’s see, they have deep fried candy bars on a stick, deep fried cheese curds on a stick, deep fried Twinkies on a stick and the latest delicacy – hot dish on a stick, which consists of meatballs and tater tots rolled in batter and deep fried. Did I mention everything is deep fried?

I did consume some yummy frozen custard and a bag of Tom Thumb mini-donuts, but what I enjoyed most was ogling the hundreds of teenage country boys.

Hot boys on a stick sounds pretty good to me.

VACATION

I am in Minneapolis for my two-week summer vacation. The weather is spectacular and the air smells fresh and clean. The people are nice, smiling and make small talk at ease.

Of course, this is all fabulous if you have 2.5 kids and live in a track home in the urban sprawl of suburbia, but what is a gay boy of a certain age supposed to do?

I refuse to gain 40 pounds, wear plaid, drink Pabst Beer, sport a bad haircut and eat my dinner at 6pm. I mean, there is a reason people call this place Minni-hopeless.

There must be some mischief I can find….stay tuned.

THE B.L.H. BLUES

Bored, Lonely and Horny. When those three adjectives join forces in New York City, things can go from good to bad very quickly.

Let me explain.

I was sitting at home when the phone rang. It turned out to be a wrong number, but the man had such a sexy voice, we started talking. Over the next three hours, I thought I had met the man of my dreams. So much so, we made a date for the following evening.

When he picked me up, he didn’t look like the description he gave. In fact, he was missing a tooth. I hesitated about getting into the car, but shallow as I am, the fact that he owned a car in Manhattan made the missing tooth less of an issue.

As we drove to Sweet Tart in Chinatown, he was strangely silent – not at all the chatterbox he was the night before. Well, maybe he’s a tad shy I thought as I pondered all the day trips we would be taking in his car.

Suddenly he pulled to the curb.

Excuse me, he said as he left the car to retrieve something from the trunk. I turned around and watched him put a lit glass pipe in his mouth.

At that moment, on the corner of Canal Street and Crazy, I realized I was on a date with a gap toothed crack head I had met as a wrong number.

Back in the car, he was once again the fun and gregarious person I had gabbed with the night before. We laughed all through dinner and I did have a marvelous time with his drug-induced personality, but I was not about to play Nancy to his Sid.

Fortunately, he had forgotten where I lived, so I had him drop me off three blocks from my apartment. I told him I would give him a call – remember, he didn’t have my number, so I was safe.

The moral of the story: When you find yourself, bored, lonely and horny in Manhattan, please don’t answer the phone.

CH-CH-CHANGES

As of today, mistermakeup will no longer accept anonymous comments on my wacky life in Manhattan’s fabulous East Village.

Due to nasty and unattractive Midwestern friends/enemies stuck in dead end jobs and unhappy lives – one is a housebound alcoholic and the other is a sad sexless soul in Chicago - who are so obviously jealous of mistermakeup's life in the greatest city on earth, he has been forced to make this change to keep the blog’s integrity.

MEN

Why is it the men who want us, are the ones we don't want?

And why is it the men we want, don't want us?

OFF THE MAP

I’m mad at Israel.

Why didn’t they finish the job and wipe Lebanon and Hezbollah off the map? On the news today massive crowds of towel heads in Iran, Syria and Lebanon cheered Hezbollah’s victory and chanted for the destruction of America and England.

I’m sick of being politically correct – these towel heads want us dead. What don't the pussy liberals understand? Given the opportunity, the towel heads would send a nuke stateside faster than you could say mushroom cloud.

I say we destroy them first before they destroy us.

CONCEALED DREAMS

The other day on a shoot, an older model looked at me with honest eyes and whispered ...."You know, I think my life would change if I could just find the right concealer."

I shook my head in agreement...."I know what you're saying. If I could just cover these pesky red spots under my eyes, I know my prince charming would come calling."

We both looked in the mirror and sighed.

TRANNY ALERT

Have you seen the new pictures of Janet Jackson? Is it just me or does she look like a tranny? I mean, with those sharp bones, arched brows and overly painted face, Miss Jackson could easily pass as a sex change.

It might be Miss Jackson if you're nasty, but it's Mr. Jackson if you look close.

ON THE DELTA

Maybe it’s the inner anorexic in me, but I get giddy everytime I see Delta Burke in her Intimate Portrait on Lifetime Televison - the channel for women and gay men.

Regarding her eating disorder she comments… “I passed out a lot, but I looked good.”

She would fit in mighty fine in Manhattan.

THE BOYS NEXT DOOR

In Manhattan, you don’t have to look far to find crazy. For most folks, it can be found in their own backyards – or in the case of Manhattanites, our apartment buildings.

Next door to me is an obese black man who claims to be straight, but loves to wear women’s high heels on the street. Now I’m not talking Rupaul realness here, I’m talking a fat black man dressed like your father in a pair of pumps – not pretty. Numerous friends have called me in hysterics about the odd black man in heels they have seen in my neighborhood.

“Yeah,” I say, “That’s my next door neighbor.”

Furthermore, he’s one of those dreaded “talkers”. You know the type –they go into 20-minute monologues about their life every time they see you. I swear, in the 12 years I have been in the building, he never once has asked me how I was doing. Needless to say, I avoid him like the plague.

On the other side of my door is a man I see about twice a year. He has lived in the building for 30 years, but appears ageless. Although he seldom leaves his apartment, when I do see him, he is usually in a jockstrap giggling with the door half open. I avoid this one, too.

Two flights up is a white former hippie who has lived in the building for 40 years. Last week, he told me tales about the 1960s when gun battles, robberies and staying indoors after dark were the norm in the east village. When I asked him why he would move to such a dangerous neighborhood in the first place, he replied that it was to help black people, and furthermore, he was embarrassed being white. He then got on his hippie high horse and began ranting how whites should be ridden with guilt about the way they treat blacks.

I rolled my eyes – I imagined faded Black Panther posters hanging from his apartment walls. I mean, there is nothing I hate more than aging hippies and their tired rhetoric. I told him I was a bigot, and as a gay person, I face prejudice everyday, so I don’t want to hear about any “white” guilt. He looked shocked and walked away. I guess, I will be avoiding him now, too.

On a final note, across the hall, beat poet and boy loving NAMBLA member Allen Ginsberg resided for 30 years.

Yes, crazy is alive and well in Manhattan’s East Village.

SUMMER VACATION

Today I watched on the news George Bush getting off the plane in Crawford, Texas ready to start his summer vacation. With the world at war and the economy in the toilet, I don't think Mr. Bush deserves a holiday. I mean, shouldn't he be in Washington trying to solve the problems he helped create?

BRADGELINA

OK, I think Angelina Jolie is a saint. I mean, she donates a third of her movie income to charities and also finds time to play ambassador for the United Nations.

But I read something today in Page Six that made me question Miss Jolie. The gossip column reported that Brad was spotted in a tony Beverly Hills shop purchasing matching Rolex watches for him and the misses.

Does anyone else find that odd? I mean, how can such a charity driven person feel comfortable sporting a watch worth thousands of dollars while preaching about starving people?

I just find it odd.

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