Boo! It’s Almost Halloween!

So there’s this new application that you have probably already heard about called Grindr. Basically the idea is that you can see guys in your area and how far away they are from you on your iPhone. It’s kinda like Manhunt I guess but taken to the next level incorporated GPS and all sorts of other advanced mobile social networking goodies. Also, it has a totally creepy skull/Jason mask for it logo:

I think maybe this is supposed to have the same effect on me as products that bear the message “AIDS Is Not Over.” Can’t be sure, but it’s pretty scary.

Or maybe the point of the logo is just to attract a lot of freaky people. While only a small percentage of the population really has access to this application, as it’s only available on the iPhone, it hasn’t stopped a number of totally crazy people from joining and trolling the mobile web for sex. This is where my newest micro-blog obsession picks up – Guys I Blocked on Grindr.

Basically this site is kind of like Guys With iPhones, but instead of being a kind of updated version of Hot or Not but geared towards gays with fancy technology, it’s just a cesspool of negativity towards guys who cruise using this new application. And we all know that cesspools of negativity on the internet equal instant hilarity! And with the exception of this one guy posted on there, who seems totally dreamy and I would love to go eat pancakes with, the site is a good mix of hilarious joke profiles and horriffic train wrecks in internet dating that can stand up to anything on Lurid Digs.

Since it’s the Halloween season, I’ve what I think qualifies as the most legitimately frightening profile ever:

I don’t have an iPhone so I can’t make a horrible tumblr of myself. I have about 1085 embarrassing pictures of myself that I don’t mind sharing with the world, and definately suck at online cruising, so I bet I could be on there. But I did make a PSD graphic template so that I could make a pretend screenshot. You can download my PSD template here to make one yourself.

Here’s my faked profile disaster:

So would you block that? Or did I not make it freaky enough? Post the freakiest profiles you either make yourself or find in the comments.

So last weekend, fellow GMSCer Eliot and I went to go do Hot Nude Yoga. It’s one of those things that you see in Time Out New York that is always described as the sort of zany activity that is “only in New York.” Whatever.

“New York City! Center of the Universe! Anything is possible here!” – some Sex and the City loving cunt.

I normally hate that shit, but this actually sounded like kinda fun. I am a regular yoga practitioner and I like to get naked. This could be fun? After arriving, I should have known I was in for a really weird experience when I went to the bathroom before class and saw this:

To recover, Eliot and I had to talk out the experience. Curious about Hot Nude Yoga? Well then live vicariously through our conversation below:

Eliot: I’ve been working out for a while now, and finally got the confidence to do something that looked – honestly? – kind of crazy hot. Something that sounded like a weight loss commercial + gay faerie spew.

me: I do love gay faerie spew, but this was more not than hot I’d say.

Eliot: Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm right. Even though i’m not particularly into super-muscular, lean chelsea bodies, the photos on the site are really tempting.

me: But I showed up and you were waiting in the hallway because you were terrified.

Eliot: Right, shaking because, come on, that hallway was like a midget whorehouse.

me: I’m not even sure what that means, but I totally agree, I’m pretty comfortable with my nudity, so it was no biggie for me, but like… it was a weird crowd.

Eliot: Here’s what i love. I’m getting undressed, SHAKING, and you literally saunter in like you were at a grocery store. Then again, you once photographed your mangina for public display.

me: This is true, I did photograph my mangina for public display in college. To complete the grocery store image however, I think they needed to be playing Seal’s “Kissed by a Rose.” That’s the one song I always hear at the grocery store, and I wouldn’t put that past them. The music was pretty new agey.

Eliot: that WAS enya, right? It was like “wait, wait, he’s not actually playing enya, right?” I was SO WORRIED that i’d be super boned throughout the whole class. You guaranteed me that wouldn’t be the case, and all i needed to do was walk into that room, shaking, to realize i’d be in turtle poke mode for 90 minutes – literally TREMBLING.

me: I generally am kinda like a dog when I am naked in public, my penis just kinda goes inside me. I’ve gotten really comfortable with the fact that I look like I have a micro-penis when naked in a group.

Eliot: haha!

me: plus, there was really no one to get boned about. The only cute person had the same name as me and they made us all stand up, look at eachother, and introduce ourselves. It was kinda like speed dating in the worst way, definately not like yoga

Eliot: Right, like…huh? i can see your penis but this feels like weight watchers. But i could’ve gotten boned over the yogi. He was so beefy

me: really? He was a large black man named Hollis teaching what was essentially “power yoga” at a Crunch gym or something. I can’t think of anything much more corny.

Eliot: But NAKED, with a big ol’ ween!

me: True, he did have a huge ween.

Eliot: that’s a dealbreaker, ladies.

me: Big weens?

Eliot: Yeah. Well, small weens are the dealbreaker.

me: hahaha, why is it a dealbreaker? It’s not for me.

Eliot: Big weens are the dealmaker.

me: I prefer average peens. Big ones are nice to look at, but that’s it – at least for me. I might not be the insatiable black hole of a bottom that I could be. The point is, in the beginning of class, Hollis makes us all look at eachother and say our names, and I think he took a particular liking to us, because I think he could tell we were both on the verge of cracking up.

Eliot: I WAS. But also because i get so fucking sweaty, my glasses slide off my face. At one point, i was like, “wow, i didn’t realize it was bikram yoga,” aaaaaaand it wasn’t. I’m just a monster.

me: That was my biggest complaint actually. Was that the actual yoga sucked. It was gym yoga.

Eliot: I’ve only done yoga with gym ladies (not lululemon crazies, but regular gym ladies)
so I was prepared

me: Well, I go three times a week at this point, have been doing it for three years, and actually have practiced a couple specific disciplines. I’m not great, but I know what the practice format should be. This was nothing like the teachers at serious studios. He basically was just yelling at us to do pushups at one point, but he called it chattarunga

Eliot: I knew i’d never heard of that! I was like…ok, cool, i can do pushups, but whatttt?

me: He was using yoga names for basic personal trainer style exersises. We didn’t really do anything besides a bunch of salutes to the sun and core strengthening excersises. At least for the first half. I’m not sure I’m even a fan of doing yoga naked. My junk kept getting caught between my legs. I would TOTALLY do yoga in underwear, but the support is kind of vital exactly! and that’s the other thing, without clothes to soak up the sweat my mat was so slippery I could hardly hold downward dog. I even had a towel and it was too much

Eliot: hahaha well it only got worse when the last half of the class was all partnered activity because our mats were pushed together and the place smelled like butt sweat. So basically we were doing yoga together on, like, a pile of banana peels just naked and gay.

me: Which, was pretty weird for other reasons too.

Eliot: It was like slippery twister.

me: we were pretty much the only two people there together.

Eliot: THANK GOD

me: people show up to this and do naked partner yoga with strangers. Pretty weird vibe.

Eliot: When i was spread eagle with your feet cupping my penis, i was literally biting my tongue from laughing because a) your feet were cupping my dick and b) IMAGINE IF I WAS CUPPING THE 70-YEAR-OLD GUY’S WEEN WITH MY FEET!

me: omg! I know! I can’t believe we were instructed to put our feet in eachother’s junk for the floor exercises.

Eliot: so good like..hollis, this isn’t yoga. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not yoga

me: well, that particular move was. That was a partnered paschimottanasana.

Eliot: Right, right, or “babydick salute.” But then we had to massage each other’s hamstrings. Is that part of the move?

me: Yeah…. you also don’t know where the hamstring is, FYI. it’s behind the leg

Eliot: Yes i do, it’s under the thigh!

me: You totally rubbed the top of my thigh. What was weird, was when we had to hug each other. That was not a pose with a name.

Eliot: that was when i was dying the most. “Now place your ear on your partner’s shoulder.”

me: I think it was like… the crescendo of a enya song, or maybe it was deep forest when we had to do that and I almost lost it.

Eliot: YES IT WAS. IT WAS THE CRESCENDO. THAT WAS INCREDIBLE. If I were doing that with a boyfriend or a guy who wasn’t you, my friend whose mangina I’d seen the second time we hung out, I may have easily been boned.

me: I was kind of like “ummm… is this real? because i’m questioning everything about my life choices right now. I never thought I’d be listening to new age music and hugging my friend naked with a bunch of gay chelsea dudes, ever in my life.”

Eliot: that was undoubtedly the apex for me. The funniest moment of the class.

me: I think Hollis yelled at me to relax my face, because I was trying so hard not to crack up.

Eliot: He did! When we had to sitt, butt to butt, and lay backwards on each other’s calves, that was almost funnier.

me: I thought that was pretty tame. Except without wearing underwear, I totally end up with a mangina in that position. The killer for me was that at the end.

Eliot: The group hug?

me: Instead of sitting shavasana like you are supposed to at the end, we group hug. So weird! After the group hug and feel good weirdness, which made me feel like I was in AA or a meth recovery group, you pretty much got dressed and fled.

Eliot: Oh i RAN. I needed to escape the smell of anus too, of course, but I love how Hollis also said we should say hello to each other on the street and you and I.

me: I take a long time to get dressed though, I’m just a slow dresser like that and Hollis was saying stuff like “we had a couple virgins in the class today”

Eliot: GET OUT. “And i think one of those virgins may have been terrified of us being absoutely terrfying.” It’s ok though because we will never see them on the street because we don’t go to Splash.

me: After the virgin comment, I was like “yeah, I normally practice in brooklyn.” And then he made me give him a hug. No joke.

Eliot: See, that’s why i left. No hugs, byeeeeeeeeee!

me: So would you ever do it again?

Eliot: Yes, if it were in an igloo with gentleman under 35 with facial hair

me: An igloo?

Eliot: yeah, COLD YOGA!

me: haha! That will make your peen even smaller.

Eliot: Not if i’m cupping the ween of someone who looks like Jeremy Sisto.

me: No one will ever look like Jeremy Sisto at yoga.

Eliot: never

me: Also, the idea of cold boners is grossing me out. So let’s just say we’d never do it again.

Hi.  Vagenius here, GMSC co-founder and the site’s resident former “Internally Homophobic Vigilante,” as my therapist once put it.  Now, while in the past I’ve used this site to essentially slam gay men for demonstrating endless hypocrisy and self-defeating, inadvertently retrogressive behavior, that doesn’t mean I hate all gay men.  Because I don’t.  Nor do I hate myself, and nor do I wish I weren’t gay.  ‘Cuz, hey, I’m fine (not “fawww-ine,” but, y’know…fine).  (Well, maybe fawww-ine, too, depending on whether or not I’ve shaved.)

You know what’s not fine, though?  When gay elves with your Mom’s haircut are given the chance to flaunt their self-important “issues” (at the cost of one tragically overweight gaychaser’s dignity).  Even less fine?  That such an opportunity is provided by the Original Mess herself, Ms. Tyra Banks, whose talk show has either replaced Jenny Jones’s as the most retarded ever, or this is just what happens when something isn’t hosted by Oprah (I wouldn’t know, because I only watch Oprah when the episode description guarantees that the show will be OFF THE WALL BONKERS).

Despite his lilting, Hills-inspired falsetto and the vest he stole from a baby tuxedo, openly gay 19-year-old Shane considers homosexual men weaker than heterosexuals men.  According to Shane, people with penises are “supposed to be Alpha” (which Tyra brilliant describes by impersonating Tim Allen’s entire stand-up routine). “The majority of gay guys are effeminate,” he says, before adding that “if they want to be girls, they should get a sex change or sometheeeng???”

Uh, Shane?  Before you suggest reconstructive surgery to the limp-wristed, you might want to shave that putrid pussy off of your chin.  I, too, once had a goatee (in high school), but I also thought I was a “nu jazz” musician at the time named Soul Patch.  So at least I had an excuse.  You’re just awful, and that’s only made clearer by the pubes growing down your face.

Anyway, yes, the kid’s argument is, indeed, ridiculous.  We can all recognize that. Read More!

It’s been fashion week for a while now I guess? I really couldn’t care less. However, I did take a moment to peruse upcoming must-haves (must-not-haves?) of the next season.

Do you guys know much about models? Because I don’t, so maybe this person is someone famous and I’m just uninformed about fashions. But I am thinking that Marc Jacobs might have snuck a trans model into his show last night.

So let’s play a game. Tranny or Not Tranny. It’s like Deal or No Deal, except you won’t win anything and there’s not a bevy of ex-beauty pageant ladies opening up mystery briefcases that may or may not contain bombs. That’s what happens on Deal or No Deal, right? Briefcase bombs?

What do you guys think about Manhunt? Did you know their founder donated to the John McCain campaign? Michael Joseph Gross has some things to say about it. He thinks that it may be destroying gay culture and wrote all about it in a recent article for Out magazine.

I’ve never been an avid reader of Out. It’s one of those general interest lifestyle mags that just doesn’t feature anything I generally am interested in purchasing and sells an ideal of beauty I honestly don’t find so attractive. I often also actually have difficulty figuring out the difference between Out, Details, and GQ? Seriously though, Gross’ article has honestly given me a newfound respect for the magazine. It’s ballsy, honest, and analytic on a subject that generally isn’t publicly discussed — the cultural prevalence of online cruising among gay men.

The couple times that I’ve dabbled on Manhunt were pretty much complete failures. I don’t own a digital camera and rely on what’s posted on my friend’s Flickr accounts making it impossible to create the sort of desirable, pornographic persona described by Gross, “a sexy image that stands separate from your physical self.” Besides, while I have no problem getting nude on the beach in public, I am extremely self conscious about posting a picture of my penis, a “dick pic,” online. Plus, who wants to see my tiny penis? It’s like a Ken doll down there.

I think Gross is entirely right to be frustrated with what cruising sites our doing to our culture of desire, and it’s a frustration I share. I didn’t even have to leave Out magazine’s web site to find a perfect example. Seen these ads recently? Because they’re all over MySpace as well, targeted at gay profiles. Read More!

Speaking of Margaret Cho, the loudmouthed lady comedian is about to reinvent her career with a reality show. But unlike “D-List” success story Kathy Griffin, Margaret Cho was never even a little funny.

I’ve already gone on at length about why I think Kathy Griffin is essentially awful. She treats her gay male fans like pets, glorifying them in a manner that comes off as gentle fun-poking, when in reality is merely a marketing tool (that has, needless to say, worked like a charm).

And yet, I somehow find Margaret Cho more offensive, and not just because – again – her “dirty, edgy” humor makes Carlos Mencia look like George Carlin (hush yo’ mouth!). It’s bad enough when a comedian’s home run is dependent upon race relations, but Margaret Cho quickly traded the “My mom is crazy!” bit for something significantly ickier: the self-positioned “outsider” stance.

Although she’s now slender and married to a dude, Margaret Cho was – at one point – chubby and “bisexual” [and Korean - IMAGINE THAT!]. She swiftly adopted the “oddball” status that has since been mainstreamed by Pete Wentz and his army of Emo kids in eyeliner and skinny jeans. By doing so, she went totally LGBT-friendly, calling herself “queer,” fondling a vagina or two, and taking up burlesque (the unofficial hazing ritual for any overweight lady who even thinks about going lez). Thus, Cho acquired a gay fan-base. Are homos really that easily manipulated into disguised consumerism? (Answer: Yes. Yes they are.)

And that, readers, is likely how she got to write an idiotic (and dare I say “destructive”) piece in this month’s Advocate titled “Dick O’Clock.”

Most fag hags agree that the best times they’ve ever had were at gay bars, sharing precious moments with their fags, drinking lovely pink cocktails and dancing and laughing the night away.

Until it becomes “dick o’clock.” You know what time that is, don’t you? It is when all the gay men in the club simultaneously start looking for dick.

Margaret Cho, you see, is a dear, dear friend to gay guys. She can say “fag” and it’s okay. She’s in the club, you see? She, herself, is a self-appointed “fag hag” because – that’s right – she knows the terminology [bitches]! Read More!

So my bestie Erin and I had the greatest experience of a lifetime yesterday. The kind that you know you’ll never be able to beat, even if you win the lottery and gain the abilties to fly and teleport. I’ll just let her introduce it. Take it away, Erin:

After 5 p.m. my job gets really boring. I tend to sit at my desk and refresh my Facebook mini feed for the two hours that follow, while cleaning my nails with an industrial paperclip. What’s that! There’s something in my inbox!

“I work with whitney port on the hills and she spoke very highly of you. Wanted to get in touch if you are still livinng in NY. Please call. [number redacted]. thanks Adam DiVello”

What?! This can’t be real! I love Whitney Port! Yet, it is a love that can only exist when people do not actually know Whitney Port, and her sweet, sing-songy, slightly nasal tone when she says, “It’s really hard work here but prolly you could get an intership or something.” God Bless Whitney Port.

This was very exciting to me when I received her gchat about it. Erin prefaced the message by mentioning the Facebook message was her “favorite Facebook spam message of all time.” Since a phone number was attached I offered to call it and see what the deal was, expecting to get a machine advertising penis enlarging snake oil that can provide pure sensual delight for my lassie and make me a new age pleasure machine. Surprisingly someone actually picked up. The following conversation is per my memory: Read More!

I’m finally brewing my own kombucha just like I always wanted!! Here’s a picture of the baby good friend Josh Thorson handed off to me at the last Metropolitan BBQ.

That’s the kombucha in front of the beers. I seem to have successfully avoided contamination and have moved it into a jar/jug with sweetened tea that it is happily fermenting. Read More!

Fist Patrick called it a few years ago during our senior year at NYU. Beards, he claimed, were going to be make a comeback. And he was right.

In fact, in recent weeks, Christopher Schulz, an art gay in Brooklyn, has received a lot of press for his independently published periodical Pinups that taps into what is becoming known as the “post-bear” culture. Its pages are essentially decorated with images of naked young guys who like their beards, buzz, fuzz, and fur (in fact, the original cover boy is a contributor to this very blog!). And guess what? No mention of bears, cubs, otters, wolves, dragons, witches, unicorns, or time-eating CGI robots. How refreshing! Schulz, instead, considers Pinups to be a larger, publicly-displayed method of feeding his artistic and sexual appetite. It’s not porn for hairy guys and it’s not a catalog dripping with false homoeroticism. Pinups, Schulz claims, “[embraces] natural beauty as opposed to the plethora of ubiquitous Adonises in the commercial ether,” and while that’s a lot of fancy wordage, I totally get it. And it makes me feel super.

2006, a time before Pinups, saw the rebirth of shag, and while it took a while to grow on me, personally, I am an admitted slave to the scruff. So last year, when I grew my own (it’s a scruffy shell of fuzz, not an attempt at being mistaken for Bin Laden), I would never have guessed that I would experience a sea change in the way I was received by others. Read More!

I bought an obscenely expensive pair of pants the other day. I went to Odin down in SoHo and found this pair of black jeans by Rag & Bone. If this suddenly makes me a fashion fag, feel free to shoot me. However, they fit me perfectly, are incredibly stiff and sturdy, and give me a little bit of a butt. They make me feel like this:

And by that picture I mean I feel totally studly. Obviously. I am going to be so fresh for spring.

While my pants were a perfect match, there was some unfortunate guy in front of me in the dressing room that kept having the same problem every pair he tried on. Read More!