Monday, December 31, 2007

Rock a Bye Baby, it's 2008

A mother is showing off her newborn baby. I'm not sure if it's a boy or a girl; the thing is so small, bundled up in its portable cradle. The baby is asleep, slightly smiling, eyes flickering beneath the lids. Dreaming.

What kind of experience could an infant child possibly have to dream about?

I want to get in there and find out. If we could only get in there to study and discover what that baby is dreaming about we may remember truth, the time before human programming.

If this baby could wake up and speak, I imagine he'd describe his dreams as a peaceful blend of buddhist nirvana and the supernatural; something totally devoid of division.

This is out of character because I don't even like babies, but looking at this one I want to trade places. To be there where he lives. In that place connected and whole.

The dream of primordial consciousness. It's my preposterous wish for a new year.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Anita Clue

After the gay pride march, my friend Mike likes to go to the Pier Dance in full drag. It started the year she showed up to our military gay pride march as "Anita Private"...following the march, his friends refused to let him change out of drag--and took him to the Pier Dance.

Now it's tradition. This year, as "Anita Seatbelt" (Lady Di), Anita wowed em again at the Pier Dance. (Anita was good enough to remove the steering wheel that hung from her neck during the parade).

Here she is with Bam, Me and Paul. At one point, Paul was asked by a potential hook up..."Is she your boyfriend?"

No. But as the only drag queen at the muscle mary Pier Dance, Anita gets away with it all. She flirts, pinches, and spanks. And drinks far too much beer.

Late in the night, Anita pulled out some green wire LCD lights from her purse. (What for? Nobody knows) After several beers they ended on her head, with the cockeyed crown and fallen wig. I took this picture, which we've determined will be the front cover of her tell-all memoirs.

Anita Private's autobiography is tentatively titled "They're not laughing with me"

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Montauk --the end?

Bam and I headed to Montauk for a getaway. New Yorkers affectionately refer to Montauk as "The End"'s the last thing on Long Island. It's deserted in winter, a fishing village with a pharmacy, two pancake houses, three liquor stores. Montauk has also a famous lighthouse, which we went running to find.

There's nothing more frustrating than a run of indeterminate distance. After a few miles, Bam and I jog into a lot with a "viewpoint" figuring we could see how far to the lighthouse. No luck.

I do spy a trail through the winter woods and decide to follow it. Maybe it's a short cut!

Half an hour later, we are lost in the winter woods. The sticker bushes and branches all look the same so we don't know which direction we came from, or which direction we're supposed to go; I only have a vague sense the ocean is all around us, because it has to be.

But the stickers won't let us go very far.

Bam is resolutely silent and I'm laughing even though I know the sun is going down and this is quickly turning into Blair Witch. We're crawling on hands and knees because the underbrush is so thick. Trying to find a path, but the brambles swallow us up in their prickly embrace.

At last we hear a car. The road! We follow the sound and escape. Two large vehicles are parked, at a posted sign we're crawling out beside. It says "Hunting Season through Dec. 31."

It's hunting season. Ok. So you've got rifle-toting Long Island Elmer Fudds in those woods? Where were we just on all fours? That could've ended worse. That could've been nearly as top-to-the-bottom of the food-chain fabulous as the tiger mauling in San Francisco last week.

We finished the run to the lighthouse along the highway. A new year remains on target.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

The Drowsy Chaperone

I finally saw the musical The Drowsy Chaperone on Broadway.

Starring Bob Saget. After his grating, hackneyed "comedy" in shows like Full House and America's Funniest Home Videos I didn't want to see him. But it closes Sunday so I really didn't have a choice.

He wasn't bad. Saget's "Man in the Chair" is a lonely older queen. Feeling "blue" in his empty apartment, he puts on the record of one of his favorite 1920's musicals. The musical bursts to life right there with him.

The production is not very sophisticated. The jokes are written broad enough to appeal to any tourist, but it laughs at itself and at its heart is the answer to the question: what's the point of these silly musicals?

The man in the chair narrates the musical and he admits it's schmaltzy; he knows it's corny and dated and flawed. But when he listens to it, he feels better.

Perhaps this touching sentiment is best expressed in the lyrics:

The best that we can do is hope a bluebird will sing his we stumble along...

As we stumble along, it would be kind if the bluebird also gave out gin and tonics.

A Fabulous Fire Hazard

I had a christmas tree in New York for the very first time this year. Bam Bam set it up, and we threw a party. Everyone who came had to bring or make an ornament. The tree is garish and gaudy and totally fantastic.

Crazy Dan contributed this gorgeous blue glittering elk.

"I saw it and thought of you," he said. "I elk wearing a feather boa?"

Soon after the party, the tree became dry and brittle. Was it out of water? I looked and discovered it never had water. Bam Bam didn't know you were supposed to give it water.

"Would you put cut flowers in a vase without water?" I ask him.

"I'm Australian," he says, aloof. "We don't have christmas trees." Maybe due to drought?

As you may recall, Bam Bam thinks water is a mysterious elixir.

I'm gonna let it slide. The tree hasn't caught fire quite yet. And the elk in a boa looks fabulous.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

A Wonderful Life

Merry Christmas! Merry everything!

I took Bam and a few friends to see "It's a Wonderful Life" where it's playing at IFC Cinemas on the BIG SCREEN. I see new things each time I watch this classic. I also get more maudlin with each viewing. But it's got a great message I don't mind seeing every year.

Life doesn't go as we plan it, but it's a wonderful life! Each of our seemingly unimportant lives have huge, often unseen, impacts on so many other lives. At the end of the film, George Bailey's guardian angel leaves a note inside a copy of Tom Sawyer. It reads:

"No man is a failure who has friends."

Ain't that the truth.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

The smelly story of Ann

At Bloomingdales fragrance counter a small woman, short-cropped grey hair, barrels through the crowd of holiday shoppers. She's on a mission.

Two women are blocking her from the coveted counter. "Get the fuck outta my way!" she spits, and they step aside to witness the show: Two grubby hands reach up to a tray filled with Chanel perfume testers. This woman knows what she wants, toppling over a couple bottles (clink, clink!) as she aggressively plucks it from the tray: The scent of JOY.

She then turns around and drowns herself in the stuff. She thinks she's being surreptitious, but honey, the woman is pumping out that tester like her life depended on it. Pump quick pump quick pump quick; her body, hands, clothes are covered. She feverishly sprays a puddle into her hands, rubs it through her short-cropped hair, and back down for more.

Danger: lack of Joy may induce symptoms of withdrawal

I watch her empty the tester, stunned. Mainly, I wish she'd just stuff it in her pocket and walk out. At least then the place wouldn't reek of pungent Joy. Ick.

"You've got enough of that on." I say. She keeps on. Furiously, madly, angrily, she pumps the bottle. Every last spritz she's able to steal is a major boon because she knows: I might stop her.

"Do you have any more?" she asks without looking up. She's distracting me, getting in a few more pumps. "It's Christmas," I say. "Leave some for others."

"I want more, do you have any more?" She says, crazy-like, and pumps pumps pumps again. She's dripping wet with Joy. Doused. Where's a match when I need one?

Through a choking mist of fragrance, I step in with authority. She puts it back on the counter and runs out. The tester is empty. Mission accomplished! The bottle is sweaty wet from all the action.

The manager returns from lunch, waving his hand before his nose. "What happened in here?" He asks, and before we can answer he notices the empty tester."Did Ann drop by?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Small older woman? Short-cropped grey hair?" I nod yes. "That's Ann."

Why is it that insane people always have unassuming little names like Ann?

Apparently, Ann regularly drops by to bathe in Joy. "She got away with it this time," he says.

Usually, he stops her before she reaches the counter. "How do you stop her?" I wonder.

"I hide the Joy," says the manager.

From the looks of Ann, he's not the first.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Jesse's X-Mas Wish List

The holidays are here and I'm staying put. It's just me and a few christmas orphans left in the city. Oh yeah, and all those maddening tourists. It's a holly jolly time of year here, and if you aren't quite done shopping, here are a few pleas, er, ideas:

Today is the last full day to order You Can Run from Amazon and still get it in your stocking by Christmas Eve. YOU CAN get my amazon numbers back up!

For under the tree, I now present:

Jesseonthebrink's CHRISTMAS LIST 2007. Maybe you can help out?

1) on the real and actual brink:
Donate generously to the Ali Forney Center. Named after a gay teen who lived and died on the streets of New York City, the Ali Forney Center is dedicated to helping GLBT homeless youth who face violence on the streets, and in regular homeless shelters. This center provides housing, and assistance in putting their lives back together. I'm going to be volunteering for this worthwhile organization in 2008.

2) on the selfish brink:
I desperately need a ticket to Sydney, Australia from mid-february to early-march 2008. My film is playing at their Mardi Gras festival! It's Bam Bam's mother's 80th birthday! Got any spare miles? Or, you could always donate airfare to the sparkle...

3) on the brink of a dream:
I'm looking for work as a writer. Ideally, writing stuff that I can also act in. Scriptwriter for a television series? A gay gross out comedy? Hollywood needs writers and I'm not in any union. Strike? What strike? Contract me as your SCAB. As far as four-letter-words go, I've been called worse.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

How pathetic am I?

I get National Geographic and read it on the train, at home, waiting in line. I love it, but it seems I'm never done reading one issue before the next arrives.

This month there's a story on new bizarre dinosaurs, a love story to the magnificent Albatross, and tales of modern day cowboys. I finally finish these stories and think maybe I can throw it away, but then there's a story about...permafrost.

I'm not even into permafrost, but I feel guilty if I don't read it. So there I am, learning about permafrost. Will it stay permanently? I have to know.

It's like living in matter how much you do, you're still missing out on something. You can't keep up. I'm overwhelmed. So I decided not to renew my subscription. For the lamest reason ever:

National Geographic is too informative.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Gift Ideas

If you need a last minute gift idea, how about stuffing a stocking with these vintage Wonder Sauna Hot Pants?

"Slenderize exactly where you want!"

"Officially approved by the AAU-USA!"

After the Wonder Sauna Hot Pants shoot, these models reported straight to psychotherapy.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Tales from a Blackout

I'm at the Urge lounge; it's after 3 and it's way past my bedtime--but hey, it's Tuesday: the best night of the week. Plus my friends are here. We've got Bam Bam, Anita Private, Paul, another Paul, and Harrison.

Oh, and a big beefy latin go-go squatting down on the bar in front of us.

The full pouch of his g-string is the size and shape of a jumbo size can of Aqua Net. Bam Bam and Harrison are putting dollars in it, and want to see if it's real. He whips out the dick, and sure enough it is real. But Bam Bam is not impressed.

"It's a Walmart cock," he says. "Not a Gucci cock."

Bam Bam is free-associating because he's drunk. He loudly explains that a Walmart cock is all about bulk, whereas a Gucci cock is about expert craftmanship.

What-evah. The go-go doesn't really care what he has to say. He's still getting dollars in his g-string. Then my friend Paul walks over with a handful of coins.

Paul holds the handful of coins up to the go-go's g-string.

"Do you take change?" he deadpans.

Walmart cock went away.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

David Barton Toy Drive 2007

Legendary nightlife queen Suzanne Barscht's held her annual toy drive at David Barton gym lastnight. They swept aside all the stairmasters, treadmills and ellipticals (where did they put them?), set up go-go boxes and two open bars. What a party. All you needed was a toy donation to get in.

I re-gifted a "Desperate Housewives" video game CD-Rom. On the back was a parental warning: contains profanity and scenes of explicit violence. I wasn't too worried about it, figuring not too many children at St. Jude's own a personal computer to play a CD Rom. Totally hopeless donation. They let me in anyway.

For once, we went early. Hello, Free entrance + open bar = mob scene. When they shut down the bars early because of over-capacity, the line outside went around the block.

I spotted a shimmering Amanda Lepore, Blondie, and Marc Jacobs (celebrity pics here). Oh, and the best looking part: all of Chelsea.

As a stranger told me, "Everyone from is here!" And clothed!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Old Friends

My mom sent me this haunting presentation of famous female faces.

It spans the history of film, but as a fan of classic Hollywood, I especially appreciate the section morphing from Barbara Stanwyck to Vivien Leigh to Greer Garson to Hedy Lamarr to Rita Haworth to Gene Tierney. One glaring omission: Mae West!

Love my girls.

Monday, December 10, 2007

It All Makes Sense

The Strap-On Veterans for Truth have recently revealed that Ann Coulter is actually a former drag queen from Key West named Pudenda Shenanigans.

Born Jeremy Levinsohn, the conservative polemicist was once a fixture in Florida gay nightlife. Known for his signature, virtuoso performance of "Dude, Looks Like A Lady," Pudenda Shenanigans suddenly disappeared from the scene, only recently resurfacing as the person we know today as Ann Coulter.

For confirmation, please note the presence of Jeremy's vestigial Adam's Apple in unretouched photos. For a fascinating insight into a leading feminist who...hates feminists (gays and muslims, too) read the Strap-On Veterans for Truth investigative report.

They miss you in Key West, Pudenda.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Drunk Santa

Headed down Avenue A today I ran into Santa. Hundreds of Santas. Probably thousands, actually. And they're all drunk. I guess I missed the memo.

They've all been galvanized to come together from a site called, which does this santa thing in cities all over the place. The internet being used to get people off the internet. Drunk Santas all over the place. The future is here.

Friday, December 07, 2007

must be the bristles.

Read the full story in the Daily Mail.

4 orphaned hedgehogs in England have adopted a cleaning brush as their mother. Here they are:

Deslusion has never looked more adorable.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Where have all the junkies gone?

The East Village used to be littered with heroin junkies. They amuse me greatly.

Gentrification has swept them all away. Well, not all.

On the N train yesterday, a woman enters with a container of ice cream: vanilla with red raspberry sauce all over it. I smile at her. "Happy Holidays," she says to me, drowsylike.

When they greet you on the subway, something is up.

The woman sits down and immediately nods off. Her ice cream tips, nearly falling onto the floor of the subway car. She practically falls onto the floor she's leaning so impossibly far forward. Somehow, she doesn't.

Minutes later, she rights herself, and begins to slowly, woozily lick at her ice cream. Then she falls into another nod. Down, down, down she sinks...

The ice cream plops onto the floor, kerplunk! but she still holds onto the container. Raspberry goo falls out and drizzles all over the spilled vanilla. It looks like blood. A minute later she wakes up and notices the spilled ice cream.

"Oh shit," she mumbles and slowly she bobs down trying to scoop it back into the container, but whoa. She's overtaken by another nod.

Down, down, down she goes. So deep, so lovely.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007


Now that Evel Knievel is dead , here is the next generation of daredevils.

At first I thought the video below had to be of flying squirrels. Or something from Lord of the Rings, but no. They are base jumpers in France.

They probably won't live very long--scraping their nails against the side of a mountain at 100 miles an hour--but what a thrilling way to go. Click here. This is living!

Monday, December 03, 2007

Home Sweet Home

Shangri-la! We made it to Slut Station.
I am showing Cooldan the way to Slutstation. As if he needed direction.

We were headed back to Copenhagen around 3 am (drunk and wearing our backless shirts) after our friends' wedding in Malmo, Sweden. The train was waiting in the station, so I'm assuming Slut Station is last Stop in Swedish (?)

In any case, it was the end of the line. Slut Station: where everybody... gets off.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

First Snow

The first snow of the winter hits New York City today. It's pretty and white until tomorrow when will all turns to slush.

The East Village this morning.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Survival of the Fittest

According to a recent poll, more Americans believe in Satan, than believe in Darwin's theory of evolution. To the devil with it!

Yesterday in Sudan, a teacher named a teddy bear Muhammed has been sentenced to prison, amid vehement death threats from thousands of knife wielding muslims for having "insulted Islam."

Are you insulted? I am. I have to admit, the majority of Americans have a point. Human evolution may be an idea more foreign and fictitious than some of us would like to believe.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Seattle 1995

I'm on Friendster, Myspace, and friends have recently convinced me to join Facebook. So now I'm on all the social networking sites. Have at it---please "friend" me. Help me waste more time online!

One curious biproduct to these sites is hearing from people from your distant past. People you haven't known for years and years and years. They remind you how you used to be.

A friend from Seattle, Troy, who now lives in San Diego got in touch on myspace. I haven't heard from him for at least 10 years. He reminded me that back in Seattle we slept together the same bed. "You slept in sweats from head to toe," he wrote. "You were such a prude."

My, how times have changed.

Troy scanned and sent the pics of us below (I'm on the right) circa 1995. How do you spell T-W-I-N-K-I-E- ??

How about that hairdo?

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Passport Magazine

I'm thrilled to be reviewed in the December 2007 issue of Passport Magazine. It's a gay travel magazine (damn, I should be writing a column in there!) As my book, You Can Run is "Gay, Glam, and Gritty Travels in South America, I'm thrilled to see it there.

Jim Gladstone gave it a witty, well considered review. Hell, he called it "Fun with a capital F-U" I see he read it cover to cover!

He also chose it as "Airplane Read of the Month" (click here and scroll down) More likely, however, the book will inspire you to get on that airplane.


I just swapped a South African summer for soggy wet winter. On the way back from Capetown, I stopped over in London for a night to stay with a friend who lives there. One night is all I could afford, really, with the US dollar gunning for the Mexican peso.

The exchange rate now is 2.2 dollars to 1 British pound.

My friend took me to Harrod's where he insisted I have one of their famous HOT CHOCOLATES: the perfect antidote to the frigid London fog. Great idea.

Harrod's hot chocolate is so famous it cost 11 pounds. Wait a second. That's $25.

Harrod's famous hot chocolate didn't happen.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Talk About Bitter:

Meet someone we can all learn from. Miss Jacqueline Smith of Memphis, Tennessee.

Jacqueline Smith has been protesting outside the civil rights museum ever since it was created. That makes 20 years. Why?

The Lorraine Motel is where Martin Luther King was assassinated. Then it became low-income housing, and the home of Jacqueline Smith. When they decided to turn the Lorraine Motel into the Civil Rights Museum, they kicked all the tenants out.

Jacqueline Smith refused to leave, citing Martin Luther King, and the power of the people. In the end she had to be forcibly removed from the premises and dumped unceremoniously on the street outside.

She never left.

At first she assembled a makeshift tent; now she stays with friends at night and returns to her protest corner by day. She looks good, fresh and made up, which makes me wonder about her motives. Still, Jacqueline has a point.

She says that Martin Luther King would’ve wanted the Lorraine Motel to remain as a place that glorified the living—not the dead.

She calls it the “Civil Wrong Museum” and informs tourists not to enter. I had a little chat with her in Memphis this August.

“If the Museum set up a room for you and let you live there again, would you go back?”

“Not if it was still a museum.” She stood on principle.

“But it's a museum that educates people on the struggle for civil rights which MLK championed,” I said.

Jacqueline answered pat, “They can go to the library for that.”

Jacqueline has a point…but how is she changing situation? What is she doing for the living? Is she galvanizing efforts to raise money for low-income housing? Um, no.

Rather, she's found something to live for. I mean, to live against. For 19 years and 220 days (when I was there), Jacqueline Smith has stood as a one-woman testament to the refusal to move on.

The girl sure can keep a grudge.

Shall we send her to Ellie of Provincetown?

Saturday, November 24, 2007

OUT December/January

OUT magazine has a double issue (December/January) which sucks because I only get paid once for a double issue!

My column this issue is all about a malevolent old boss of mine named Ron. Nasty. Calculated. Bitter. Angry. I have never been treated worse in my life than by an older gay man. Gay Scrooges. They're around in full force.

I found out he recently that Ron died and I just cackled "Good riddance!" which worried me.

Did he zap my compassion?

You'd think we'd be nicer to one another than the outside world, but often it's the other way around. Just read blog comments at the gay blogs. It's fun to be nasty to each other, and we gays know how to deliver; sharp and sudden like a feral cat. We grow up and clone Scrooge.

Stop it. May we leave a new legacy to the next generation.

Honor. Respect. Solidarity. Support.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Hey, they Invited me...

I was at a pool party in the penthouse suite of the Bantry Bay International Hotel in Capetown. I had a cocktail, maybe a few cocktails. Then I took a tour of the suite, and spotted it. A Zen Rock Garden.

It was filled with manicured sands, and a few perfectly placed pebbles gave it the right calming, feng-shui effect. A miniature rake was delicately used throughout, and then the whole creation was positioned, vulnerable, on a side table in the hotel suite.

I put my cocktail down and set to work.

I overturned the sand, and tossed the pebbles willy nilly. I added a pinecone that I found in a kitchen display, shook the whole thing and overturned the rake. Then I found a cigarette butt and stabbed it into the zen rock garden.

I was in such a fit of hysterics I couldn't even speak. My whole body shook. What's wrong with me? Making an ash tray out of the Zen rock garden was the most fun I've had in years.

I get my thrills creating chaos from manufactured order.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Sweetness in Africa

My friend Keith owns a design/architecture firm here in Capetown, and he employs a large older black woman by the name of "Sweetness" to do the odd cleaning, and make tea for the office employees. I worked in his office for a while last year, and found Sweetness to be just that--sweet.

This year, Sweetness has decided to train to become a "Sangoma" which is an African witch doctor, or traditional healer. I'm sure there's lots of great things one can learn from a shaman, but the shamans of Africa are the ones telling people that to cure AIDS all they need to do is fuck a virgin, or eat beet root. So in all fairness their superstitions are probably killing as many people as they cure.

But back to Sweetness.

Since Sweetness began her sangoma training she comes into work wearing all white, with white face-paint sometimes. Soon after, she jumped back afraid of anyone wearing the color grey. Then she refused to serve tea to anyone wearing grey.

As it is an office, and most people wear grey, I figure Sweetness was onto something. She said it was the gods, who warned her to be wary of the color grey. Keith and his workers walked the fine line of respecting her beliefs, and not worrying what color of shirt to wear to work.

Finally, Sweetness showed up to work recently refusing to do any work at all.

"The ancestors told me I can't make tea today," insisted Sweetness. "If I do, I'll break all the cups."

Keith gave up. Finally, his business partner Pieter boldly faced Sweetness. "My ancestors had a chat with your ancestors," he told her. "And they all decided that you need to make the tea or you'll be fired."

Sweetness had a little cry. And then she made the tea.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Capetown Sunset

According to locals, there shouldn't be clouds in November. But they light up great in this shot I took of lastnight's sunset. In the distance are the end of the 12 apostles mountains, and below is Clifton beach (site of the last post).

As you can see, it's hectic here. So hectic I may change my return flight to the year 2015.

White Women in Africa

Sunbathing on the beach ("Clifton 3rd") in Capetown, with some local white colonial gay boys.

A most amusing afternoon, to say the least. This could be the gayest beach on earth. Here are snippets of three separate conversations. Just insert a high-camp English accent.

On the super-hot dark-skinned go-go boy across the beach:

Colonial 1: “He’s absolutely delicious, isn’t he?”

Colonial 2: “Is he Brazilian? Moroccan? Where’s he from?”

Colonial 1: “Brian? He grew up here in Stellenbosch.”

Colonial 2: “And so dark? Hmm...”

Colonial 1: “...Touched with the tar.”

Me: “Touched with the tar?”

Colonial 2: “Yes, what was granny up to?!”

On the weather. We're lying on the beach which is 75 degrees, instead of the usual 90:

Me: “Do you want to go in the ocean?”

Colonial 1: “It’s far too cold to actually go in the water.”

Colonial 2: “This is not beach weather at all.”

Colonial 1: “Hideous November we’re having.”

Colonial 2: “It’s bitter cold. Just bitter!”

On hiking up Lion’s Head, a beautiful (short) mountain hike right behind the beach:

Me: “You’ve never been up Lion’s Head? And you live here?”

Colonial 1: “It’s all too much for a white woman in Africa….”

Colonial 2: “I went half-way once.”

Me: “Why only half way?”

Colonial 2: “It was canceled.”

Me: “Canceled? How do you cancel a hike?”

Colonial 2: “I can cancel anything,” he says, flicking a wrist. “Christmas is canceled!”

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Learning Something Every Day

On my first day in Johannnesburg, I was picked up by a film festival worker named Torah. He's driving me all around and we strike up a conversation. I ask him where he lives and he says, "Soweto." The next thing out of my mouth is: "And you have a car?"

He just looks at me like: oblivious American.

Torah is offended. Whoops. Soweto is the where they moved all the blacks during apartheid. It's a township. It's crime-ridden. I figure they don't have cars in Soweto because, well, I never saw a car in the movie Tsotsi.

Thankfully, even ignorant white Americans deserve an education. Torah and the festival gave me a full tour of Soweto. I'm happy to report I saw plenty of cars.

Soweto: home to motor vehicle owners.

Monday, November 12, 2007

It all began here

. Jay Brannan rehearses in my room at the Glen Hotel before he debuts inside the Labia.

Lastnight, Jay performed a selection of his music in Capetown at the Labia Theatre. Yes, the labia theatre. His friends got a kick out of that. "What's the labia like?" they asked. "We've never been inside!"

My friend Lars drove me to the show. "Which Labia is it?" he asks me. Huh?

"You know there are two Labias..." he says matter of factly. Of course there are.

No, Seriously. It's not a joke. There are two Labia Theatres in Capetown.

I can't believe it. "Oh yes," says Lars..."Many people get lost between the two!"

Happy to report we didn't get lost and even enjoyed it! Jay's folk music was bitter and sweet and appreciated. I especially liked the song "Goddamned" which talks about religion as mythology.

"Cause virgins don't have babies, and water isn't wine" sings Jay. While I saw it live within the labia, you can see him performing this song below (from Youtube).

Four Letter Word for YES

WWoThe Out in Africa festival has taken me on game drives, dinners, outings, and has put me up in the most fantastic guest houses: Graton Guest House in Johannesburg, and the Glen in Capetown. I could get used to this.

Also here is singer/songwriter/actor Jay Brannan. We've been spoiled together.

You may have seen Jay on youtube, or in the film Shortbus. He's here with a new film, the drama Holding Trevor. He's doesn't hold Trevor, or drop him, but in the film Jay plays a slut. So we have something in common. He's been typecast --not entirely without reason.

In Capetown, Jay met an adoring fan and they started a little whirlwind romance that's already finished. The guy wasn't totally his type, but as Jay gently put it, "How often do you get to sleep with someone who speaks Zulu?"

That's the spirit!

Friday, November 09, 2007


South Africa English is a lot different than mine. Take “robot” for instance. I hear robot and think Tweeky from Buck Rogers. In South Africa, it's a traffic signal. These are highly educated, proper people, and they say things like: “Take a right at the next robot.” It kills me every time.

That's an endearing idiosyncracy. But then there’s “Is it?”

“Is it” is thoughtless, like breathing, except you don't need to do it. Still, South Africans use it all the time--and it has no connectivity to any conversation.

“How did you like the game drive?” someone may ask. “It was great!” you’ll respond.
And they follow that up with: “Is it?”

Or maybe, “I’m sitting at the robot.” “Is it?”

Happens all the time.

“Is it?” can also get tweaked out and warped into “As Aaait?” which is the way I've been using it lately. Helplessly, hopelessly, I tack it onto greetings, events. I put it in my morning coffee. It's that bad song caught in your head. “Is it?” You ask. It is.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Live Television

South Africa's 1994 constitution --is the most advanced and liberal in the world. When you've got such struggle and discrimination in your past, you can't help but understand what it means to be equal. That's what they're constitution promises. Gay marriage, for example, is legal.

Things are far from perfect, and it's going to take a long while for society to catch up with the constitutional court, but they're on their way.

In an effort to push for the equality that the constitution promises, President Mbeki has mandated a more varied representation in all media, to promote visibility of diversity. In short, they put sparkly little American me on the South African national news. Live.

Oh dear.

Viewers of E-TV this morning saw their national weather forecast, a report on overcrowded prisons (at 300% capacity!), and an intro to the gay and lesbian film festival and my film, A Four Letter Word. I am introduced, and the interviewer asks about my characater, Luke.

Cut to me:

"Luke is an unapologetic slut." Pause. "Can I say that?" I just did. On national TV.

He asked more questions and then showed a two minute clip of the film. The clip shows Luke in a bar, sitting beside a hot guy and blurting out, "I'm Luke---what name do they call out when they pin your ankles behind your ears?"

My jaw drops. They do bleep out a couple instances of the word "Fuck" flowing freely from my mouth, but the clip goes on and my character is talking about vodka and glitter and sex and when the hot guy says he's a total top the scripted response is a horrified, "How can you neglect your prostate like that?!"

This is national news.

Some conservative Boer farmer outside of Bokston was drinking coffee and watching this. Wow. The South African constitution is hard at work. We cut back to the studio to answer a few more questions about the film, the Out In Africa festival, and director Casper Andreas.

Then the newscaster, after listening to his earpiece, says:

"I just got word from my producer that they liked the A Four Letter Word clip so much, we're gonna run it again!"

There I go again. What name do they call out when they pin your ankles behind your ears?

When it's all over, I thank them and express my disbelief. "I can't believe you can show that clip on national tv...twice. If you did that in the USA, it'd be worse than Janet Jackson's tit!"

"Oh, we'll get a few calls," says the newscaster. "But I like pushing buttons."

Bravo, South Africa!

Monday, November 05, 2007

Work Days

The southern hemisphere sun is blazing down. I'm in a backyard garden, laying by the pool in Johannesburg, South Africa. It's November and the birds are chirping. Bougainvillea blooms magenta; the jacaranda is lavender and another tree bursts with bright red blossoms. They call it the flame tree. I feel right at home.

I'm lounging around in Africa. Which reminds me of a story: This past summer, I was taking a ferry back from Fire Island when I overheard one guy tell his friend:

"I would've stayed out on the island longer--but I've got to save a few vacation days so I can go see my family at the holidays." I just thought, how sad. Vacation days.

Most people work all year, in order to be granted a few measly days of freedom.

It occurred to me then that I live the exact opposite. I work the measly amount of days necessary to sustain a life of vacation.

I don't have a real career or a lot of cash; I don't eat out much. It's not for everyone, but on days like today I have no regrets.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Halloween - by night

Just arrived to Johannesburg, and I'm not sure if I'm jetlagged, or if I'm still recovering from Halloween. It was one wild party to the next. Halloween is one American tradition I'm all for.

Here I am in the subway. Heading to the next party is the Queen Bee and company:
From Left to Right:
Allie Jazeera (holding baby jihad)

A bedazzled butterfly
The Queen Bee (that's me) Check out my heels. I tromped all over the city in those!

At the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade, all the freaks came out to play.

This Babushka was last seen waddling down 6th Avenue

She wins my award for best costume--the claw machine.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Cover Boy

I'm on the cover of this Canada's OUTLOOKS magazine for November 2007. I love how they photoshopped Incan ruins behind my big head. It gives me some much needed mystery.

More appropriate is the word *FREE* right beside me.

If you don't live in Canada to pick up a copy, go to the Outlooks website, and download a .pdf of the issue and read the two page cover story on my book You Can Run! You Can

The editor is a big traveler himself, and really liked the book. He also talks about my films in the piece. A curious typo in the story--I'm quoted as saying "el fiesta." Of course it's la fiesta.

My photo (and retouching!) done by the fantastic Kevin Hees.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Halloween - By Day

Happy Halloween! I took these photos two weeks ago at a pumpkin patch in central Oregon.

I fell in love with this little witch.

Beyond the pumpkins is one of the world's premiere rock-climbing destinations: Smith Rock.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Miss Mimi's New Career

Miss Mimi is back. Fabulous as ever.

The last time we heard from Miss Mimi, she was holding her own at Sidewalk Cafe. Soon she will be holding her own in a totally different capacity.

Our favorite flight attendant was recently in New York City on a layover. I went over to Crazy Dan's place to hear her latest.

Miss Mimi is 41, but she still has it going on. On a recent flight, she was propositioned by one of the passengers.

"Did you go out with him?"

"Hell no, he was Mr. Hote." Mr. Hote?

"Mr. Hard On The Eyes," explains Mimi.

Even if he were Mr. Eote, it wouldn't happen. Miss Mimi is married. To a 22 year old singer! Apparently he has some great prospects. Mimi's husband has an upcoming meeting with a record label in Vegas -- and they told him to bring his lawyer.

So who's gonna be his lawyer? You guessed it. Miss Mimi herself.

She plans to dress up in a suit and tie and settle in beside her client, making sure the "lawyer" gets a hefty cut in the contract. (she's gunning for 65%) "Just in case he gets a notion to run off with a younger woman," Mimi says. "Call it insurance."

Crazy Dan almost spilled his drink. "But Miss Mimi...who's gonna believe you're a lawyer?!"

Miss Mimi is unphased. "I can read in black and white."
Where's the dotted line? Get this girl a pen.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Space Needle's got a Rival

On the topic of abstract form, check out Seattle's central library. I spent several hours there last week, and was impressed from top to bottom. Designed by Rem Koolhaas, the building is all angles, ramps and color; it's futuristic, cold, colorful and feels like a star obriting Mars.

Seattle Central is one library you don't want to leave. Who knows. It may just inspire people to, I don't know, sit down and read?

For more pics and info on this stunner, click here.

Escaping the city

My friends Chad and Scott drove us upstate yesterday to Storm King Art Center. This is a 500 acre outdoor sculptural museum. I must admit that when placed in a dramatic outdoor setting, it wasn't so hard to put up with that over-hyped Richard Serra and his slabs of steel.

I'm not the most appreciative person when it comes to modern art. You know, conceptual piece like the "Sarcophagus in a glass enclosure." What's next for this imaginative mind? Coffin under the ground?

Or the jumble of metal shapes cobbled together outside the main building. I walked past a tour in progress. The guide was asking, "What do you think the railroad spike blob on the top represents?"

The tourists respond one after the other, "A pinecone?" "A brain?" "A raspberry?"

"Good," says the guide. "It could be any of those things!"

Despite the encouragement of free-thinkers, and the free range landscape, there are several rules at Storm King. Among the "Visitor Guidelines":


We ask for your cooperation in protecting our works of art, as well as the safety of our visitors, by not touching or climbing on any sculptures. Anyone who does not adhere to the above rules will be asked to leave the premises!

If sculpture doesn't adhere to any guidelines, why should I?

Saturday, October 27, 2007

The talent portion of the pageant

All glamor, all the time:

I spent the other day on the set of TV's Law & Order. They were filming down in Tribeca, an outdoor scene where the car pulls up with an investigator, and they needed extras to populate the street. The thing is, the camera was facing the car.

"We need you for reflection," the assistant director told us extras. To make sure that we see movement in the reflection of the car window.

It doesn't get much lower than doing that all day.

Crossing back and forth--the unsung story of those who play reflections in car windows.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Unconditional Love

The ultra-orthodox and chasidic jewish communities restrict the education of their children in order to make sure they aren't fit to ever leave the community.

Math and science are never taught beyond a third grade level. Yiddish is their first language, and English is kept at a remedial level. Exposure to radio, movies, secular news and literature is officially prohibited. For many, this may be acceptable, but for those individuals who would like to enter the larger world, there is help.

I'm all for a secular society. To find out how you can help or get involved, go to the Footsteps website. Footsteps is an organization that provides educational, vocational, and social support for those individuals who seek to explore the world beyond the insular religious communities in which they were raised.

My friend Matt volunteers for Footsteps, teaching math and science, and providing support to intelligent kids who never had a chance at a proper education. The stories he hears are heartbreaking because, should you choose to leave the community, you are not allowed back. Some of his students are there in secret, fearful. Others have fully come out, so to speak.

Often you see bus loads of orthodox Jews coming into the city. They go directly from their Williamsburg community in Brooklyn, straight to the diamond district in Manhattan where they all work. Pick up, drop off. No contact with the larger world.

Matt related the story of one man he tutors, who decided to drop out of the community. He missed his family and decided to try to see his father; to reason with him. One day he waited for the bus that unloads in the diamond district where his father works. When the bus pulled up, he spotted his father among the others in traditional hat, clothing, and curly locks of hair.

Father also spotted son-- in everday American clothing, hair cut short. He nodded in recognition. And then, without one word, he kept right on walking.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Ellie of Provincetown

After singing a selection from the Lionel Richie songbook, Ellie of Ptown addresses her fans.

One of the most fascinating people I met this summer has to be a street performing transsexual named Ellie. She sits all day in front of Provincetown Town Hall, singing love songs to whoever will listen. In addition, she passes out her "Manifesto," now in its 7th edition--the newspaper for the world's one big happy family.

In it, she describes how she came to Ptown, the unusual signs that led her here to become, yes, an unexpected savior. In her own words:

"It's hard enough to buy the story of Jesus of Bethlehem; who on earth could buy the story of Jesus of Provincetown--a female version in micro mini-skirts, heels, see-through tops, with gorgeous legs and outstanding nipples that are flaunted with great abandon!"

Ellie goes on to explain that the feeling people get by being near her:

"Most people would have a hard time describing it--let alone explaining it: it's otherwordly and yet torridly earthly. It makes you want to praise God and screw at the same time!"

According to her manifesto, in September of 2006, Ellie announced her plans to run for President. Two days after, she brazenly announced that she was skipping the futile election process and directly assuming the role of America's real leader.

Ellie is here to spread the word that you don't need to be saved from sins, you need to be saved from death. You need not die! None of us needs to die. Take a good look at Ellie. She's 75; does she look like she's dying?

Quite a different message from that of Miss Sugarbaker.

I became immediately entranced. Who wouldn't be? I felt like praising god and screwing at the same time! Even better, Ellie of Ptown walks the walk she talks. At my book signing in Provincetown, not only did Ellie come and buy my book. She was the first one there.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Into Africa!

I'll be heading to South Africa in a week for film festivals in Johannesburg and Capetown. I was just there last year, living and working for a few months in Capetown so I have friends I'm excited to catch up with.

I also took off and hit a few other countries. Here's me in Namibia. The Namibian dunes are the highest in the world (at Sossusvlei). This picture was taken near the town of Swakopmund. I was there at the same time as Brad and Angelina, two people who make me proud to be American, just before their baby was born.

They have a Duneboarding adventure out there. Just grease up a snowboard, and boogie on down the dune. Then slowly slog back up it. It was hot, tiresome, and though I look like I may be about to professionally board down the dune, I'll admit it.

I went head first.

Monday, October 22, 2007

2 for 1 rehab

A Four Letter Word played to a great, sellout crowd up in Seattle.

Nobody made more of an effort to get there than my fabulous, crazy 50 year old cousin Karen. She works as a flight attendant for a charter airline, and had just returned from an extended trip to Bahrain. Then she got dressed up in a slinky frock and drove 300 miles through rain and storm from Mt. Adams to catch my screening.

When she arrived in Seattle, she needed to "unwind" so she guzzled a fifth of Rum. Then she made a to-go cocktail and when my other cousin Lyssa tried to take it from her, Karen started to chug it. Karen passed out in the taxi on the way to dinner, and then slept through a good portion of the film.

Afterward, at another bar, she explained herself to one of the festival directors. "I needed alcohol, I just returned from Bahrain!"

He said, "I thought you were going to say you just returned from rehab."

"No," says Karen, a new drink in hand. "I'm waiting for Jesse for that."

"What?" I say.

"So we can get the family discount," winks Karen.

Excellent. It's so wonderful to have a supportive family.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Violet Crumble

Thanks Casper for alerting me to this homoerotic....80's Australian candy bar commercial(!) I don't think the producers intended it that way, but then again it is called Violet Crumble.

That's how they do it down under. Getting you all hot for that big honeycomb bite.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Provincial Portland

I was supposed to take the train from Portland to Seattle. However, after a Burlington Northern train derailed near Tacoma, Amtrak chartered a bus instead. When I got on the bus, channel 8 news was there to document Amtrak's plan B.

A channel 8 newscaster asked a couple of passengers as they boarded the bus, "You were supposed to take the train, now you're taking the do you feel?"

The passengers responded heartfelt, "We feel really disappointed. The train ride is so scenic."

Then, as we pulled out of Union Station, I looked out the bus window to see the channel 8 cameras taping our exit....on wheels, not on rails! This

Just the day before, the FRONT PAGE of the Oregonian ran a feature querying, "Midnight Munchies?" and went on about the mischievous beavers that gnaw Cottonwood trees at the downtown waterfront by cover of night.

Beavers? Buses? Can you give me a murder, please? A roadside IUD explosion? I want my news sensational. Or have I been conditioned to want sensationalism, to be able to think: at least it isn't me!

There is comfort in the provincial news in places like Oregon, and yet it buffers us from the real world. "News" like this takes us further away from real problems in the world, and yet watching the sensational news stories I'm convinced they're not awakening any active resolve.

Maybe instead of presenting and seeking to solve real problems, the media is mostly conditioning us to passively watch television. Some kind of television. Any television.

A numb consumer makes for great ratings.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Miss Sugarbaker

*link in the last post is fixed*

The Silverado club in Portland, Oregon is just about to close (somebody bought the building, apparently). A shame. It's got one helluva atmosphere.

Lastnight at Silverado, I met a trannie named Danielle Sugarbaker. She wore loads of pancake makeup and long black drap-ey clothing, and kept offering me her huge press-on fingernail hands.

Danielle begged me for a drink, which at $1.75 I could afford. When I handed her a rum & coke, she responded very grateful because she was in the "final stages of chemotherapy" for the rabid cancer that was consuming her. No wonder she was so drunk. I hugged her and held her hand and offered kind words of encouragement.

Soon, another kid at the bar comes over to me. I mention Danielle Sugarbaker and her cancer. "This week it's cancer," he says. "Don't believe a word that Miss Sugarbaker tells you."

He goes on. "Last week Miss Sugarbaker told me she just had surgery on her ankles, and I looked down to see she was wearing 6 inch heels!"

At this point, Miss Sugarbaker comes over to offer me her big hand again. "I just got out of a chemo session this afternoon," she says, yanking out a strand or two of her long hair to prove it's falling out. "Yes, I'm dying."

The kid on my other side just rolls his eyes. "Miss Sugarbaker also says she's a millionaire, but she doesn't even own a car." And come to think of it, a millionairess wouldn't beg for a $1.75 cocktail.

I'm entertained and baffled and horrified all at once. So is tragedy the latest ice-breaker? Cancer the new pick-up line?

Bottom line? .....Don't believe anything Miss Sugarbaker tells you.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Bored at Work?

A reader in Germany just sent me this link, and I'm having way too much fun. You just go to this site, upload a pic of yourself and transform so many ways. You can see your portrait as El-Greco would paint it, or as an old man, or a half-chimp.

Here's me as a child. Mad Cartoon style:

Or as an east-Asian. Kabuki-style:

Try it for yourself. It's a little bit addictive.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

OUT November issue

The November issue of OUT magazine is here. My column this month talks about the recent time I was walking down Avenue C with Bam Bam and Mister Softee called us "faggots." This is nothing new, really, although I'll never get used to it.

I've been called faggot by the absolute dregs of society. Garbage men have heckled and laughed at me, I've been gay bashed by street urchins, and homeless people sometimes call me faggot when I don't give them money. Being American and white and male, it's important for me to understand how it is at the bottom of the barrel. If I were never marginalized, victimized or disrespected while walking innocuously down the street, what kind of self-important narrow-minded jerk might I be?

The thing that got me about Mister Softee, purveyor of high-calorie happiness, was that he thought he was justified. When I confronted him, he said since I was holding hands with Bam Bam, he had to call us "faggots" because there were children around.

According to a fat Puerto Rican slob, we needed to "respect the children" (why is injustice always performed in the name of some other people's children?) and in the column I wonder if what he's really afraid of is a world where children will learn to do something with their hands other than turn them into fists.

What a terrifying world that would be.

I Vote Cremation

My favorite grandma in the wholewide world died earlier this year, after a downhill dementia slide.

There were always funny/sad stories--Grandma Gloria thought my mom had lovers, she thought my cousin was illegitimate, and at one thrilling point, she actually proposed marriage to me. Her last adventures were spent in the middle of the night as she rummaged through the closets of her fellow Alzheimers' patients in the "retirement facility."

The nurses called it "Shopping" as in..."Gloria went shopping again" meaning that she had been pinching the clothes from her fellow inmates. Like for example when my aunt called my mother.

AUNT: "Does Gloria own a pair of blue jeans with pink embroidery on the back pocket?"

MOM: "No"

AUNT: "She does now."

Of course all her late night wanderings got her evicted from one nursing home, and moved rooms several times in another. But of course all that's done and over with. No more midnight bargains. Today I visited her grave and saw the headstone and all I can think is....she's down spoiling underground there. What is this archaic ritual we call burial?

I'd much rather picture her running around a thief in the night than down under there. Rotting away. In fact, looking at her headstone made me want to remember her outside of a cemetery marker. I kinda felt like going shopping.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Parental Warning

A Four Letter Word played here in the Living Room Theatre at the Portland Gay Film Festival. Oddly enough, this cinema has been built in the space that used to be a dance club called Panorama. It was at Panorama where they confiscated my fake I.D. So yeah, it's been a while.

I dragged some friends, an ex boyfriend (Sean) and my sister to the screening. They loved the film, even though my sister claims to be permanently traumatized. The trauma mainly results from the fact she is convinced the sex scenes were real.

Drinking afterward at the bar, I reassure her that it's all a cinematic illusion. She still isn't buying it. "Ok," I ask her. "Does that mean you don't think mom and dad shouldn't ever see it?" My sister just keeps guzzling her beer.

Next to her, my ex-boyfriend Sean says, "If your parents came here, and didn't leave themselves...I'd escort them out of the theatre myself!"

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Back By Popular Demand

Why? Because you know you want more...

I share a rare shot of the ceramic vagina being fed through a straw.

happy hour!

Friday, October 12, 2007

Heading Home

I'm so lucky to be traveling with A Four Letter Word, the festivals are taking me all over. It's also an excellent opportunity to promote my book You Can Run. I'm heading home to Portland, Oregon for their festival this weekend--wanna take bets on whether any of my family deign to see my film? Fat chance. Then off to Seattle for their festival the following weekend.

I feel like I'm on tour. Will it ever pay? Will I ever work? Doubtful, so don't forget to click that google ad (I've already made $25 from it) I put on my site! I'm also up for suggestions. How can I become a better capitalist? What else can I sell on here to make rent?

Sophie's Choice 2007

I hate to get into politics, I'd much rather live a hermit in Patagonia, but this time I have to.

Congress right now is about to vote on a Employment Non-Discrimination Act. If passed, it means that if you're a gay/lesbian/transgender person you can't lose your job just for being a gay/lesbian/transgender.

Here's where the fight begins. In the house, they say there won't be enough votes if Transgendered people are included in the bill. They say it can only be passed if we forget them, and amend it to protect only gays and lesbians. Do we pass the protections we can? Or is it all or nothing?

It's a fight that's pitted allies and gay rights activists against each other.

I have always admired the courage of transsexuals. I know it takes a lot more guts for them to live openly than it does for me. They also stand to lose their jobs a lot more jobs than gays and lesbians. It's an emotional issue. I say there's never a wrong time to do the right thing.

Expose congress for their bigotry if they can't pass an all-inclusive bill. I'd rather not get a lawful protection I never had before if it means I must abandon my brother. For me, it's about integrity. I love trannies. I look up to trannies. Let them continue to discriminate against us all, and let history say we stood united.

Yes, I would cut my nose off to spite my face. Plus, I don't really mind getting fired.

Representative Barney Frank says we must take what protections we can get, when we can get them. He's pragmatic, politically astute, and probably right. Check him out on Towleroad.

On the other side is Executive director of the GLBT Task Force Matt Foreman who says: "All of us, every one of us" in his op-ed piece here.

Who are you with? What do you think? What would you do?

Camp Classic

Clearview Cinemas in Chelsea has a weekly classic Hollywood cinema night hosted by one of my favorite drag queens Hedda Lettuce.

This week they showed "The Anniversary" with Bette Davis. I thought I'd seen everything. Now I have. In this film, Bette brings her three sons together to celebrate the anniversary of her marriage to a dead husband they all hated. If the premise isn't strange enough, wait till you meet their devil of a mother.

Her eldest child Terry is married. He has a wife and 5 kids who she can't stand. She quickly tells her daughter-in-law: "I had 3 kids---but unlike you, I had the common courtesy to know when to put the plug in."

It doesn't stop there. Her youngest son brought home his fiancee Shirley, and mother has a field day. "Could you sit somewhere else?" she tells Shirley, "Body odor offends me."

Near the end, when the son is about to go up to take Shirley up to bed, Bette quickly grabs her sons, tongue-kisses him, and turns to cackle at Shirley. "Try and follow that!!"

Bette Davis is mean, she's nasty through and through, and the best part? She is a one-eyed wonder. She wears a high-fashion eye-patch the whole time. "I'd spit in your other eye," screams Shirley in one fight, "If you had it!"

The strangest plot twist comes with third son Henry who is a compulsive cross-dresser. At one point he is chased by the police from a neighbors clothesline, dropping bloomers and bras in a trail of evidence. Mother forces him to put all his frilly things on the backyard bonfire once he gets home. When his relatives confront him, Henry says if he didn't wear women's clothes, who knows what other, worse, perversions he may get into???

Drag queen host Hedda Lettuce sat in the front row of the darkened theatre mumbling into her microphone. "I know how you feel Henry...I know how you feel."

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Faggoty Attention

Adam Joseph performs his song "Faggoty Attention" at one of the bar scenes in my upcoming film "A Four Letter Word."

After that day of shooting, the song stuck in our heads. It's catchy as hell, and at the most inappropriate moment, one of the cast would bust out "Give me your faggoty attention!" Sometimes we'd even sing it a capella, opera style. There's nothing better than performing faggoty attention in vibrato.

Here's the video Adam created for his single--watch him seduce this straight boy. Hysterical.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Another Good Reason to Travel

How scary is the Dayton, Ohio airport? After spending over 5 hours there, I should know. It's got a church sanctuary complete with an altar, a U.S.O military support office, and every five seconds over the intercom is the following joke announcement brought to you by Newspeak:

"The current threat level, as established by the Department of Homeland Security is Orange." And then she goes on to list what you must do, how you must report suspicious activity, etc, and because it is the home of the woman who invented the portable potty trainer, I'm sure Dayton, Ohio is first on the Al-Qaeda's hitlist.

At least the big cities have ceased to announce these patronizing, colorful alerts. But fear is more easily tossed around by and for the "Proud to be American" who has never left America. As my Aunt Aimee who lives in the tiny town of Trout Lake, Washington says, "Maybe the terrorists will choose the last target first!" Sure. That's what the Department of Homeland Security wants you to think. It's their intent. Then everyone will get the urge to pray at the altar and support the war. Not surprisingly, you can do it all right there in the airport!

An Orange threat? I'm waiting for them to upgrade it to a Banana threat because a banana at least has the shape of a big foreign cock gun. I feel more afraid already.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Another Good Reason to Die Young

Growing older is difficult, especially for a gay. What happens though, if you advance beyond the gay sin of wrinkles and a saggy stomach to become really old. Elderly. If you're gay person living in a nursing home or assisted living facility you have two choices: Either get right back in the closet or get bashed. The result can be suicide. Check out the sorry plight of gay seniors in this NY Times article.

The elderly have a tendency to revert right back to childhood - faced again with all the terrors of schoolyard bullies we've all known. Who's stronger now? This article makes me wanna bust into the nursing home shouting "Who did this to you?!"

Then, like a mama on rabies I will take hoist those shriveled up bullies out of their wheelchairs, grease up this recently recalled Chinese toy, and push em down in.


Sunday, October 07, 2007

You NAILED it!

Two beautiful friends, and born on the same day!

Happy Birthday, Cooldan!

Happy Birthday Ginny!

A Four Letter Word premiered in Miami back in May. Nobody had seen the film before, and as we went down to the screening, my friend Ginny made sure I wouldn't have to worry about its reception. "No matter what anyone thinks of the film," she said, "I'm gonna sit behind you and say YOU NAILED IT!"

Sure enough, she screamed "You nailed it!" any chance she got, and it caught on with everyone. There's no affirmation quite so exuberant. "You NAILED it!" Try it and see.

At the Miami premiere, Ginny NAILS it!

Nailing it, poolside. Bam Bam and me VS. birthday kids Ginny and Cooldan.

Friday, October 05, 2007

All Glamour, All the Time

I got a late start driving to Chicago. Heading through Indiana, I had to pull over and pass out somewhere near a waffle house, on a freeway off-ramp sandwiched between two semi-trucks. As it was late-night, I have to assume these drivers were also sleeping. When I woke up and got back on the road, I called Bam Bam and told him where I passed out.

He thinks I'm into truckers. "Did you leave your door unlocked while you slept?" he asked. Unlocked? Honey, I left the door open...just a crack.

I did make it to Chicago---my first time (and I don't say that a lot)! So excited to be here. If you're in the area, come to my book signing tonight at Hamburger Mary's, 8pm for You Can Run. See invitation below:

Thursday, October 04, 2007

I did it

You may notice the new ad on the upper right. Yes, I put an ad on this site, and before you think, Jesse has gone and put an ad on his site...he's a sellout, he has no scruples! I simply reply, where have scruples gotten anyone?

The google ads are all supposedly "tailored" to each site they appear on. The ad will change, but I see that my first ad is all about how to find sex offenders in your area. Are they spot on, or what?! That is genius. Now, dear readers, please do me a favor and click all over that ad.

I may actually make some cash from this blog, and you'll find out the address of your local sex offender. Then you can walk down the street and introduce yourself. Borrow an egg, or sit down and converse about scruples.

It's really a win-win situation.

Another Panty-Free Victim

For the Rubi Girls benefit for cystic fibrosis, Jonathan McNeal ("Ileasa Plymouth") performed Britney Spears.

The night before, he watched an episode of Ugly Betty while forming vagina lips out of clay.

These he then perfected, painted pink, and fired up in the oven. Ultimately, his pussy was hot glue-gunned into a pair of flesh-colored panties. Voila, he's got a vagina!! The Britney number (complete with a baby attached to a steering wheel) was a huge hit, and the panties-- well, I think he's onto something. Like perhaps a mass marketing distribution deal. Everybody wanted to try on the vagina. Even more insisted upon eating it out.

The Rubi Girls in repose:
How this ties into Cystic Fibrosis, I'm still unsure.

Everyone got a chance to go down. Here, Rubi Girl "Annie Biotics" shows us how it's done. In the true spirit of charity, "India Summer" (with labia) held her legs high, and her face in orgiastic ecstasy for most of the night.

The only thing matching her incredible endurance was perhaps the vagina itself, which never slowed down, and yet showed not the least sign of wear, tear or swelling.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Get that Candy!

I can't tell you what fun I had at Club Masque in Dayton. Here I am beating some innocent stiletto with my belt. I thought it was a pinata.

It held tenaciously to the ceiling.

So, I attacked it with a pool cue.

The bartender called me over, and I thought -damn, I'm getting kicked out!--but he just offered me a shot of jager. I could live in Dayton.

Despite my best efforts, that stiletto never tore open, no candy ever tumbled out. How hungry was I?

Next thing I know, I woke up next to the remnants of Wendys happy meal. This is pretty horrible, but admittedly, it's better than waking up next to Wendy herself.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

The Red State

Lastnight I went to a benefit on top of the firefly building in Dayton where the Rubi Girls performed. I was invited by the director of the film festival here, Jonathan, who last night transformed into the fabulous drag queen Ileasa Plymouth (!)

The Rubi Girls are a drag troupe who have been performing since the late 80's. They're famous for not only putting on a great show...but doing it all for charity. They've raised tons of money for various charities, and a lot for HIV/Aids. Not only that, the whole region has come to love them. A region in red state Ohio.

Besides wanting to support smaller town gay film festivals, I particularly wanted to visit Ohio. After the 2004 election loss, Ohio has become the poster boy red state. I wanted to come here and make peace with it.

I've met several people in Dayton who did everything they could back in 2004. They went to their neighbors, they made cold calls to try and sway the vote. One man told me that he was cold calling voters, and knew that Ohio was lost when every other person he spoke with said they were voting for Bush because, if not, gay marriage may come to pass.

I just love it when people base their vote on an issue that is not going to affect them at all. Things may be different if the gays weren't pushing for marriage at election time, but I say there is never a wrong time to do the right thing. And after seeing the Rubi Girls, and speaking with people who actually took action to try and change things, I see that it's much too easy for me to sit in Manhattan and shake my head at Ohio. In other words, these people are part of the solution.

Saturday, September 29, 2007

One Night in Ohio

The after-party for A Four Letter Word was held at this massive 3 floored gay disco called Masque. They have hot boys, fun attitude, and an overall excellent scene in Dayton (yes, Dayton, Ohio!)

Our host Tippy (a man) generously set us up in a VIP tent, and supplied endless vodka redbulls (which apparently make me hungry: see last post) and discussed his latest venture with the club.

Tippy and Masque have begun a popular business of printing t-shirts with sexually explicit slogans like "I'd rather be masturbating." I suggested they make a one that says "It's not gonna suck itself" but Tippy tells me they've got to remember the lesbians.

Fair is fair, one must stick with gender neutral sexually explicit slogans. Next up: "Save a horse, ride my face!"

And just when you thought it couldn't get any does. "Your name is Tippy? As in Hedren?" someone asks, and Tippy says. "No, it's Tippy as in toes."

Late in the night Tippy (as in toes) delivers me into the arms of a large drag queen named Montana (how apt) who pulled me up onto stage, introduced me, and offered a poster (that I signed) to anyone in the crowd who was willing to come onstage and get stark naked. Immediately, some guy comes on stage and proceeds to get stark naked. "I want the socks gone, too!" screams Montana, and only then will she give him the poster. A poster!

By this time, I'm in the mood for more nudity. I offer a free copy of You Can Run for the next person that gets naked. It doesn't take a second and we have another hot nude midwesterner. What a willing crowd. I'm staying in Ohio longer.

Ive also decided that all my future publicity should involve naked people. I want people to associate me with getting people undressed. I want 'em thinking: Jesse Archer = You Can Strip.


In Dayton, Ohio I got drunk and did it again. I awoke to the remnants of a fast food burger meal. Granted, there were no french fries in bed with me this time. That's some progress, but this remains a worrisome new pattern.

Where I used to wake up, roll over and ask myself, "Who is that?" now I wake up, roll over and ask, "What have I eaten?" My priorities are all screwed up. Food over sex? Is this married life?

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Kit Kat Klub

Who said Germans have no sense of humor?

The Kit Kat Klub in Berlin is this fantastic haven for the eccentric, freak population. There are absolutely no rules in this place. There are straight men in girdles, sex on the furniture encircling the dance floor, and the only person wearing blue jeans was me.

When I first walk in, I see this leather-man going down on this woman. I go up closer to kind of spy, see what it's all about. She's moaning, and then his mouth comes up off her...huge cock! Wow. After that intro, I stayed til 2 in the afternoon!

At one point, a man comes up to me in full leather gear. He rips off the codpiece, exposing his dick and balls. He says something in German to me, which I don't understand, so I ask for the English. He grabs my hand, puts it on his testicles and says to me in a thick German accent, "Caress my eggs."

I was speechless. Caress his eggs!?

How could I resist? That line alone was worth the trip to Europe.