I’m back from my sojourn into the the Land of the Bears, an experience filled with tons of stories.

me: jesse got a cold so he had to go home early
Amy: oh poop town
me: but we still all had a good time
it was like a playground
a playground for dirty faggots
Amy: AHAHHAHAAH
me: I was glad because it had major lame potential
Amy: well i’m glad it was not lame
me: but like…. the people we were with
made it SO good
like, if I wasn’t with people that can take the whole thing with a grain of salt, just have fun, and appreciate some of the place’s ridiculousness at least ironically
then it would be lame
but we had an awesome time in spite of all the horrible, horrible house music being played everywhere

What I learned is that, exactly as represented in John Water’s A Dirty Shame, bears love to cuddle.

But with all good things come some bad things. While I was busy yucking it up, the print version of Playgirl folded. The somewhat genius Michelle Collins, who I have had the pleasure of seeing do stand up for Gabe and Jenny’s show and who blogs for Best Week Ever came up with this tribute which is totally worth sharing and re-blogging. Read More!

Have you guys heard about the ever growing phenomenon of the New Old Gay? Doree Shafrir, part of the troupe of internet-famous ex-Gawker editors, has written a piece (of shit) for the New York Observer today that explains it all for you.

Doree offers up her insight into what she calls the “New Old Gay” identity, which seems to be based entirely on a one night she spent at Musical Monday at Splash.

To be classified as a New Old Gay requires more than an appreciation of Patti LuPone, though love of somewhat tragic, just a tad grotesque, totally fabulous divas is a requirement. In some ways the New Old Gay can be read as a reassertion of a gay identity that had all but been given up for dead: If gays can be married and have children and live contentedly in the suburbs, or on the other end of the spectrum, do the same drugs at the same loft parties as their Oberlin classmates, and if everyone thinks AIDS is no more serious than diabetes, then, really, what’s the difference between the gays and the straights? By dialing back to and reinventing the old gay stereotypes, they may have the best shot at reclaiming gayness as something actually different.

It’s akin to the ways in which identity politics have played out for various minorities and ethnic groups; everyone makes this huge effort to assimilate, and then, after 10 or 20 years or so, they realize: It’s boring!

And thus, the New Old Gay appreciates and embraces camp and high kitsch, but not ironically; ultimately, the New Old Gay is earnest. He doesn’t even necessarily have to be into musical theater, though he almost always is.

Really? AIDS viewed to be as a manageable illness on the same level as Diabetes? So is GMHC irelevant now? Are you trying to tell me that there’s no reason for me to continue using condoms? I’m so glad that someone is finally recognizing the way that a deadly virus has been embraced by a clueless population and turned into a non-issue. Read More!

Enter the ‘Sink the Spree’ project demo last week in Berlin, the high-tide point for the anti-gentrification movement so far.Teenagers on inflatable whales, and hipsters in Baywatch-style yellow canoes blockaded tourist boats and the investor’s ship for hours on end. Meanwhile, on the river’s bank, a crowd of several-hundred chucked water bombs at police boats, guzzled beer and flirted. The demonstration’s soundtrack was provided by a group of teh gays pumping Chicks on Speed from their raft.

This Berlin-style protest was the anti-gentrification demo down on the river the other day. And it seems remarkably driven by the sort of hipster ethic prevalent in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Or is it Williamsburg that’s become more like Berlin? Have we entered a world with universal cultural lifestyle brands? Read More!

I can’t beleive they’re shuttering Metropolitan during pride week. Fuck the Department of Health!!! From Eater:

Williamsburg: Sure it’s no Veniero’s or Bao Noodles even, but we bet there are a couple of you out there who’d be saddened to know that Metropolitan Avenue bar Metropolitan has been shuttered by the DOH. And remember restaurateurs in the burgh, when the DOH strikes, they often do a neighborhood sweep. So put on those hair nets and restock the soap in the servers stations pronto.

Oh man. I can’t beleive they’re closing Metro during Pride week. Where am I supposed to go after the parade on Sunday?!?!?!?! Remember that time I drunkenly made out with someone outside of the bar and then they fell on their face and bled all over the sidewalk?

Good times!

But seriously, anyone have any tips about why this happened? It’s very upsetting.

Ok. This is old news. Seriously old news. Reporting on this now makes me feel like this:

Basically the biggest cinematic event of the year (for me) is about to drop and I’m sooooo excited. Bruce LaBruce’s “Otto” or “Up With Dead People” is soon to be released, and BUTT magazine is saying that there will be a DVD Box set of all his films to be released in conjunction. They’re doing a very Web 2.0 feature for an promotional booklet to be included with the set creating even more LaBruce buzz. Read More!

I’ve been hanging on the edge of the Crisis for a while now, trolling the site and waiting for the perfect moment to expose myself. It was only a few weeks ago that I went through the rigorous initiation and promptly wrote and deleted a post in one afternoon. Suffice to say, a gun that shoots glitter tends to speak for itself, and all I could really muster were a few epithets about shitting glitter and the like. That said, today the sun rises on a new age, marking the triumphant addition of me LA to the otherwise New York-focal site. Sure my city has no condoms with subway fonts, or The Metropolitan, but sex and intoxication is the same everywhere. And, dare I say it, living in Williamsburg does not include affirmation of homo-sovereignty, it merely seems to. So allow me to segue to something that is just soo LA right now, Meth Advertising.

Those smitten with ‘Tina are up for a real treat this month. Billboards are up all over the city, putting a face to the hollowed out lightbulbs found in Star Jones’ house back alleys. Gone are the campaigns of yesterday, raising awareness that your meth habit is problematic if you’re “using on the weekdays”. No, no, no… this is how you get people to stop using… Read More!

The Gray Lady took a trip to Williamsburg recently to spill the beans on what gay male hipsters do:

• Bump
• Grind
• Repeat
• Grow beards
• Wear cowboy boots and Converse sneakers
• Have money
• Like Britney Spears (ironically…?)
• Talk like girls who talk like babies
• Be generally icky

…Yeah, that’s about right.

Bump. Grind. Repeat. [NYT]

Photo by Willie Davis/Veras via villagevoice.com

As a “comedian” (which, I realize, is as gross as it sounds on paper as it does verbally), I have very specific taste when devoting my patronage to a comedian or - better yet - “distant protege.” To me, figures like David Cross, Michael Showalter, Dave Hill, and Patton Oswalt are the ones to watch: experimental, progressive mastheads of the alternative-comedy scene whose respective abilities to play with the medium has allowed for slow-to-build sea changes in domestic humor at large (see Flight of the Conchords, Adult Swim, and The Sarah Silverman Show).

And yet, poor taste prevails. Nevertheless, despite the continued presence of talentless blowhards like Carlos Mencia, Dane Cook, and anybody associated with Last Comic Standing (Ralphie May is totes fat, LOL!), there remains a prominent gap between the alternative and the mainstream into which more offbeat comedians fit. And more often than not, these performers have the ability to still attract a wide audience which can, in fact, lead to a special on premium cable (which is nothing to scoff at, either). Whether you find them funny or not, you are very likely to recognize names like Jeffrey Ross (snarky humor), Lisa Lampanelli (bawdy humor), and Paula Poundstone (cat humor).

When it comes to gay comics or “gay comedy,” I usually have to turn away. Much like material based on race or religion, “gay humor” is - in my opinion - boring and cheap. (You are a man who dates men, and sometimes the dates don’t work out well? What the WHAT?!) Hearing a gay comic give their takes on the unmistakably predictable attributes that affect daily life as a result of sexual preference become just as predictable as the hetero comics who sputter similar garbage, except that the gay comic usually feels compelled to pander to the audience, throwing “sassies” about blow jobs, meth binges, and Jake Gyllenhaal into the curriculum vitae.

Now, however, we’ve gone one step further. Gay comedy has become a tool of the outsider, used, in fact, to build a gay niche. Read More!

You know what movie is coming out soon I’m really excited about?

I mean as a (not so) secret misogynist, how can I not be excited about a modern retelling of the cautionary legend of vagina dentata. I mean… this movie must be made by the biggest ‘mo ever. Or just the homosexual son of Roy Lichtenstein. Whichever.

I had a little chat and learned some fun background from my friend Olsky about this soon to be modern miracle of cinema. Read More!

A story by Wayne Besen from his weekly column on 365gay came to my attention about the mankind project and reminded me how all my friends are total nellie faggots. As the story notes, a main tenant of the ex-gay movement for men is reclaiming one’s masculinity (side note: how can you reclaim what was never there to begin with?).

And of course masculinity is typically associated with the athletic - because what’s more virile than donning some skimpy lycra number and rubbing bumpy parts with other sweaty, muscly men? Except maybe sneaking glances at the dangling members of your fellow rugby players in a locker room that is thick with steam and the intoxicating musk of male body odor. And your teammate next to you bends over to reach for something in his locker, exposing his pert butt cheeks and then, ultimately, his tight manhole. It’s so crowded in the locker room that you are nearly on top of him, and you casually turn, so that your now semi-erect penis ever-so-delicately brushes against his bare thigh. He stands up when he feels it and you touch his shoulder gently and say “I’m so sorry, it’s so crowded in here.” And he says “That’s okay, I understand.” And then he bends over again, looking subtly over his shoulder.

But really, I’ve stopped having sex in the gym locker room. I promise.

Read More!