April 29th, 2006
Ah, I love the smell of packing tape in the morning…
There’s just something surreal about paying a perfect stranger (well, maybe not PERFECT in my case. Definitely a bit grungy) to come into your home, handle your most personal objects, entrust them to transport them carefully and with as much care as you would, and hope amongst hope that everything ends up put together again, correctly, on the other side. Thinking about it now, the personal parallels (both comically and otherwise) are endless…
Now I know how Humpty-Dumpty felt. Three small words: Moving is Hell.
That being said, my new house is coming along well, the cat and dog are settling in nicely and my next-door neighbors are young, frat-type guys who rarely seem to wear shirts, much less pants. A bevvy of boxer-brief clad boys bouncing bouyantly across my abode. It’s like waking up to Lord of the Flies every morning. Life is good.
So much has happened in the past couple of weeks that I’m unsure if I can squeeze it all into this one blog, so be aware that some spillage may occur. In addition to moving, I’ve still kept a randy traveling schedule throughout, having been to NYC, San Juan, Chicago and Miami since the last edition of the 15 went up. Honestly, it’s been a real test of my ability to micro manage and stay sane all while worrying about 30 different things without really looking like it. I’ve found the secret to life is simply looking cool as a cucumber in times of great stress. Granted, you still have to get the job done (and done well), but it’s all about HOW you handle it on the outside.
Luckily, the move went smoothly thanks to leaving most of my old furniture behind for the tenants who were moving into later that week. They liked the setup so much that they asked if they could keep the larger pieces of furniture and just build the added cost into rent. Fine by me. Never before had I been so happy as to not have to shlep a very heavy leather sectional from one end of San Antonio to another. While the new house may look a little empty right now, this gives me an excuse to go furniture hunting. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Throughout all of this, I want to thank everyone reading for your awesome congratulatory emails, readership and patience. This blog is truly a labor of love for me. I promised myself when I first started this weekly that I’d never charge for access and to this day it’s remained 100% free. The same goes for my Yahoo Group and website. While it amounts to a pretty large chunk of time in my life to keep all of this going, it’s incredibly fun and the feedback is 99% positive. As with most situations in life, you can’t always make (or keep) everyone happy. Journalistically taking chances is what keeps things entertaining, compelling and informative. I’ll never change that. As i’ve always said before, if you don’t like what i have to offer, you always have the choice to move on.
I caught a preview of the now-opened-on-Broadway musical ‘The Wedding Singer’ (yes, it’s based on the Sandler flick) and it was nostalgia city in the best of ways. Reviews have been favorable for the most part when it opened last week, with a cast that works its ass off. While it doesn’t use the hummable hits from the ‘80s that the movie did, the music is cotton-candy sweet and quite infectious. It’s being called Broadway’s new Hairspray. I especially enjoyed their Flashdance rip-off in the end of the first act. The show’s strengths lie in the choreography, costuming (did people actually wear this kind of stuff) and vocals.
Wedding Singer is currently shacking up in the Hershfield Theatre.
I’m the only male Arquette without a penis. I think.
And speaking of Broadway: Once again, Las Vegas has announced another musical to hit the Blvd sometime this summer. Mel Brooks’s The Producers will open at Paris, joining the various other companies already on the strip of Phantom of the Opera, Avenue Q (now closing late May), Hairspray, Mamma Mia, Ain’t Misbehavin’, Spamalot and Chicago. As with anything in Las Vegas, check with hotels directly before you make definite plans, as shows tend to open and close with little notice. The only thing constant in that city is change.
The brand that started my obsession with the brief, Aussiebum, has recently revised their website and it’s looking pretty damn good (as are their new crop of scantily clad male models). Check the site out and browse through their latest offering of uber-hot undies.
A sincere apology to Dallas’s Jason Carter for missing him while he was in San Antonio recently. I hope to make a connection with this resident stud for Miss Gay UsofA in May, but until then you can see what I so sorely missed by clicking above. DRAT!
With this picture also goes the last remaining shred of my hetrosexuality
Sidenote to Jessica Simpson regarding her hair guru (and current leech) Ken Paves: Jessica, if you’re going to let the help trail you around just to score some free styling, I’m totally supportive, but would you just please make sure to let Paves know that he looks like a gay wet mop with that hairstyle he’s got going. I’m continually amazed at people who do amazing hair, but have TERRIBLE taste in styles on themselves. It’s like some sick cosmic joke.
Angie Jolie: Putting the ‘whore’ in ‘humanitarian’ one day at a time
Am in the only one sick of hearing about celebrities and their adopted foreign children? Yeah, sure it’s great that unwanted Rwandan children are given plush homes and such, but hell if there aren’t perfectly good AMERICAN kids in foster homes right now who need permanent parents. There’s nothing chic about trying to save an entire community of people while practically ignoring the problems right under your nose at home (yes, I’m talking to you Angelina). Celebs may not be the smartest bunch out there, but they do have one thing that talks loudly: Money. With their spending potential they automatically earn certain types of respect and authority, so putting this to good use (instead of swagging 12 pairs of Prada sunglasses and having her assistant sell them on Ebay ala Lindsay Lohan) might be something quite helpful. Let Bono go and save the world. I’ve always been the type to figure that helping starts at home.
I’m leaving this one alone. It’s just too easy. Where’s the fun in that?
The Tom Cruise PR machine is in full swing. I thought I was a publicity whore. Watching Cruise, I realized that I’ve got so much to learn. Now, if I could only find myself a starlett to s
ign a $5 million personal services contract….
How long does it take you to connect the dots between Fleiss and Denise Richards. Think about that one.
Say it ain’t so Charlie. Charlie Sheen was unceremoniously outed by his former wife Denise Richards about his internet porn obsession. While this may come as no surprise to most, the stunning thing revealed was that Sheen was caught browsing male 4 male (ie, gay) sites featuring very young, twinky guys. YEOWZA! I wonder if Madame Fleiss also set Charlie up with her small stable of guys she had as well? Interesting.
My newest blog obsession: LuxeBLOG. Most of this crap is way above what I’m ever going to get into, but it’s always fun to window shop.
Howard Dean: Primative screamer and ardent supporter of fisting
(As per this month’s issueof Details Magazine)
My friend Karen once brought an androgynous…. Okay, butch…. girlfriend home to meet her parents. Karen’s slightly out-of-it grandmother happened to be there, which turned out to be really helpful because after Karen’s woman said ‘Nice to meet you,’ Grandma said all primly, ‘Yes. Now, are you a girl or boy?’
Thanks for cutting to the chase, ol’ gal.
I only wish grams would make herself available- perhaps as a high-priced consultant- in other situations in which seemingly difficult questions that are actually really simple need to be asked: eg, ‘Are you gay?’ The international press corps that descended on Turin for the Olympics earlier this year could have pooled funds to pay Karen’s grandma a research fee and then point her in the general direction of figure skater Johnny Weir to ask ‘Mo or no?’
Instead, we were subjected to zillions of stories about the ‘flamboyant’ athlete. Fair enough, I suppose (I mean, the guy DOES have a certain fondness for sequins and chinchilla scarves), but that word, and the media’s gleeful repetition of his nickname Johnny Weird, also amounted to winking code for ‘we don’t have the balls to ask him if he’s a homo, but look at him…. We have to say SOMETHING!’ Really, offering a snide comment in lieu of doing what journalists are supposed to do- ask questions- is dereliction of duty.
It’s easy to say that sexual preference should not be an issue. But you know what? It is. It always is. It’s inevitable, banal, predictable human nature that it is, and to pretend otherwise is moronic. Sexual orientation is relevant simply because, like it or not, everyone always wants to know about it, even in so-called professional settings.
Keep in mind that there’s a right way and a wrong way- and a right time and a wrong time- to ask an acquaintance about his or her sexuality. Like, you shouldn’t ask when in a group. Or in an email. Or in North Dakota. Rule of thumb: If you happen to live in a state with more than three square edges, avoid the subject entirely. In other words, just because you’re cool with the ‘yep, I’m gay’ revelation doesn’t mean everyone is. The point is, gay and lesbians in various parts of the country, and in pockets of even the most progressive metropolitan area, can still face awful consequences if they reveal their sexual orientation.
But if you’re in an environment where it’s possible for gays to be out- entirely, discretely or somewhere in-between- then using a right-to-privacy rationale to avoid The Question just perpetuates an insidious form of repression. It’s the same specious reasoning that’s kept the military’s dehumanizing ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy in effect since 1993.
A double standard is a double standard, no matter what the supposedly honorable intention behind it. No hetro guy can work in an office, for instance, without everyone- particularly all the single women- knowing whether he’s got a girlfriend of wife. Because people ask. All the time. As a matter of course. Unselfconsciously.
Gays and lesbians deserve the same.
A shot from the balcony (and no, there wasn’t a second gunman)
During the hiatus, I also had a chance to visit San Juan (Puerto Rico) for a few days. The only other time I had been in San Juan was a stopover on a Royal Caribbean cruise, where my cohort and I found our way to the local Steamworks chain. While the details are a little fuzzy after a couple of years, I do easily remember the young, muscular latin guy we hooked up with for a pretty hot threeway. The bath was mostly empty that day, so we ended up hooking up several times in different locations without the fear of feeling like we were ‘putting on a show.’ Not that performing for a crowd is always a bad thing (grin), but sometime it’s the intimacy of sex is what makes it that much better. If memory serves me correctly, this smooth-skinned latino had a massive dick-of-death and maneuvering that thing into tight spots was a welcome challenge. LOL. Goodtimes. He looked like a Mexican version of Brent Everett now that i think about it.
No visit to Steamworks this time, but lots of blackjack table action. Also had the chance to explore the Condado (a relatively gay-friendly ‘hood), see ‘American Dreamz’ (good, but not great. Didn’t live up to it’s potential) and get as little sun as possible. In embracing my Irish heritage, I’m also doing the whole red hair/fair complexion gig, making it nearly impossible for me to get a tan anymore. SPF 45 and I are well acquainted friends.
Me having my ‘mostly naked time’ and trashing spam… Damn crap filtering system!
Warning to those wanting to see a movie in Puerto Rico: The advertisements that come before the previews are well over 30 minutes long. I’m not exaggerating. It’s insane. I must have sat through that damned Toyota commercial 4 times and I still didn’t understand exactly what they were jabbering about in spanish. However, I now know that ‘Toyota’ in spanish is still pronounced ‘Toyota.’ Impressive, eh? I’ll be forming complete sentences in espanol in no time!
By law, i’m supposed to have white lights on my ass and a beeping alert with any shots from behind.
On the last day in San Juan, I was out swimming at the pool when a really, REALLY good looking Asian guy caught my eye. It’s my little secret that I have a thing for Asians, especially those with good bodies and chiseled jawlines. It’s the rare occasion with someone when I’m totally turned on by someone who is much shorter than I am. While I haven’t gotten into Asian gay porn, I’m sure I’ll find one on the web and end up shorting out my keypad due to excessive drooling.
So anyway, hot young muscular asian guy at the pool. Naturally smooth, defined pecs, a washboard stomach and the perfect color skin. He also had nice feet (another turn on). I wanted to take a pic, but didn’t think I could explain coming out of the pool and snapping his image with a raging erection. I settled for a nice memory and left it at that.
San Juan… When you’re too drunk to notice you’re not in Cancun.
Puerto Rican food is fantastic. It has flavors of Peruvian cuisine and Mexican all rolled into one, with plantains being a staple and everything tasting great. Listen, I may not cook well, but damn if I don’t make one helluva reservation.
This week’s EYE CANDY is a spirited bunch. Thanks much to Skrubber for submitting a whole load (ahem) of upcoming EC, as well as Mouseplate for keeping the quality pristine and continuing to send out some eye-popping guys. Bravo, good sir.
As always, the remaining EC will be posted immediately on the Groups site…
The remainder of this week has me headed back to NYC and then out to Italy on the 4th for a quick jaunt around Rome and Venice. Pictures (as always) to come. After that, it’s two whole days off and then back on the road.
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