Archive for the 'Gay' Category

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08
Mar
07

Glass of Water for Mr Grainger!

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Anglophilia, Funny, Gay, My Favorite Things, People We Like, Sad, TV and Video
Tags: , , ,

Rest in peace, John Inman. Now you’re free.

04
Mar
07

Can’t Come Quickly Enough

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay, Music, New York and People We Like
Tags:
Scissor Sisters with bubbles
Pop!
[scissorsisters.com]

It’s hard for me to say who opened for Scissor Sisters last night at the Madison Square Garden Theater. I managed to glean that they are from Youngstown, Ohio, but not much more. When the duo introduced themselves to the audience shortly before exiting the stage, I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Neither could I understand their name when Jake Shears thanked them later toward the conclusion of the Sisters’ own set. I guess I’d thank them, too. They’re the kind of act anyone would want to follow. (A scattered few politely applauded between songs, but the loud, raucous, honest hooting and hollering came when they walked off.) Case in point: The three wigs on people-length sticks (one brunette, one red and one blond) set up on stage after Youngstown left, standing in a light show while ’50s-style girl group tracks played in the background, was more interesting in every way than the mysterious human opener.

They were called Wigs on Sticks. It was cute.

Following this was a DJ, about whom I knew nothing. It was good, but misplaced, I think. It would have been lovelier if we were at a smaller venue, say a music club, where we could actually dance. This kind of show doesn’t work well in a theater. Maybe I’m lacking in imagination, but a DJ set seems a little empty to an audience with seats.

By the time we had sat through an hour and 45 minutes of the Ohioans, the wigs, and the DJ — and by the time the audience was well and truly crocked, having been steadily streaming out into the lobby for cocktails and beers — we were positively starved for the Scissor Sisters. The long delay made their nearly hour-and-a-half show so much more the thrill. But so would it have done for nearly anyone with a microphone and a modicum of talent.

02
Dec
06

Hi, my name is Chip, and I’ll be on your shoulder this evening.

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Bar Stories, Dumb, Gay, New York and People We Don't Like
Tags: ,

Last night at the bar, a friend and I were distracted by a beautiful man taking off his shirt. He was standing with his back against the bar, facing us. A small cadre of piranhas had gathered around him. The guy who had asked him to disrobe — let’s call him Chip — draped the shirt briefly and inexplicably across my friend’s shoulder. Pleased to be included in the proceedings, we continued watching. How could we not?

Seconds later, the heavenly creature was persuaded to drop his pants to his ankles. We all cooed in approval. He was hairless, except for a trail of fuzz that ran south from his tight navel and dashed seductively under the waistband of his powder-blue briefs. Chip then grabbed the waistband and unceremoniously yanked the shorts down hard.

The guy put on a good show of being embarrassed and tugged them half-heartedly back up his thighs, but Chip was pretty insistent about leaving him exposed.

My friend and I looked at each other. “That’s not something you see every day at this bar,” I said, loud enough for everyone around me to hear. Like the red-blooded American homosexual males we are, we continued to react loudly and enthusiastically to the gentleman’s sudden and unexpected nudity.

Chip turned half-way to us and said something we couldn’t understand. Something about chocolate.

What?

He repeated himself louder, or said something similar, but it still wasn’t making sense to us. It was something like: “You can stop talking about chocolate now. I know you don’t like the chocolate boys.”

My friend and I were incredulous. Who said anything about chocolate? Was he talking about black boys?

Whatever it was, Chip continued laying into us. It seemed that he was accusing us of being racist. Chip is African American. But we had said nothing about him. We had said nothing to him. We weren’t even looking at him. We were too distracted — and rightfully so — by the gloriously indecent exposure before us.

“Dude,” my friend said, “We don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“We’re not talking about you, if that’s what you think,” I added. “We were talking about the naked guy.”

Chip was clearly agitated, and he continued his tirade. The more he said, the more worked up he got. There was something menacing and cold in his voice. It was all so sad and stupid. A moment that was so frivolous and harmless and fun had been sucked dry in just a few seconds by this guy, and all because of assumptions he was making about us. Who’s the racist here?

I wanted to try to figure out what he thought he’d heard us say so we could defuse the situation and move away without any trouble. I imagined we might laugh uneasily at the silly misunderstanding — uh heh heh heh… — and assume stations at opposite ends of the bar without any fuss. And I might have tried to play the peasemaker if he hadn’t then turned to my friend directly and said, “And by the way, I’m better-looking then you are, too.”

My friend sort of recoiled, wide-eyed and incredulous. It was making less and less sense. Chip then let loose on several aspects of my friend’s appearance. Chip evidently did not approve of certain things. What the hell was going on? He was fighting back with personal insults when we never even attacked him (or addressed him, for that matter) in the first place?

“Whoa… wait a minute. Where did that come from?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Hey, fuck you!” my friend shouted back.

At this point, I grabbed my friend’s bag and pushed it into his hand. “This is crazy. Let’s just go,” I said, not wanting to see who might get hurt if the situation escalated (it was less likely to be my friend).

Neither of us knew what Chip had heard or what he was going on about. “Bravo,” I said to him. “Have a lovely night.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said coldly.

“You bet,” I said. “Of course.”

I tugged at my friend and we headed toward the door. “Yeah, fuck you, you little asshole,” he yelled to Chip.

And when I got outside, I realized that I was in such a hurry to get away from the danger that I had forgotten to say good-byr to any of the peopel we were with. A complete stranger’s idiocy had just completely scared me out onto the sidewalk.

17
Nov
06

Getting the Feeling Again

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay, Music and New York
Tags:

I’ve had a spring in my step, humming Copacabana to myself — Her name was Lola! — all day today. Yes, it’s Friday. But I’ve also been overdosing on Barry Manilow.

I’ve always had a soft spot for him. My mom had a bunch of records when I was a kid and, later, greatest-hits tapes. I used to rotate those records through my regular play list, which included Sesame Street Gold, Mickey Mouse Disco, and the E.T. soundtrack. (Turn on your heart light!)

He always made me think of New York. It was his accent. And something about his sense of style. These days, I guess he’s more a figure of Las Vegas and cruise ships, but now that I live in New York, listening to him still brings it all back to mind, and it’s still very New York to me. But it’s an old New York. It’s a faded, grainy color TV-screen, Solid Gold, polyester, white patent leather, pre-MTV, Chorus Line, afros and bell-bottoms sort of New York.

It’s so delightfully old-fashioned. No one writes songs like those anymore. In our age of irony, no one can afford to be so earnest. But that’s his schtick, and he can still work it. “I am music and I write the songs”? It’s very hey-let’s-put-on-a-show!

I’ve had a craving for a while now, so I recently downloaded a bunch of stuff the other day. I look around myself on the train in the morning. He’s got hip hop. She’s got reggaeton. Judging by that one’s thrapping fingers and expressive eyebrows, he’s probably listening to some sort of emo band. And I’ve got string arrangements swelling as Barry waxes melancholic over and over about Mandy. If they only knew, I would so get beaten up. I love it.

My mom and I sometimes listened to her tapes while cleaning house or sitting around on vacation. Up at the cottage one summer, we were listening to “Weekend in New England,” and my grandmother put down her National Enquirer, folded up her glasses and declared: “I think he’s a queer. Don’t you?”

I’ll never forget that. I think it was the first time she had brought up the topic. She regularly had a litany of offensive pronouncements about Blacks and Asians — without ever quite understanding why they were offensive. (“It’s how I was raised,” was always the excuse.)

“Nah,” said my mom, vaguely put off, not because she was disappointed by my grandmother’s deragatory tone, but because she saw no reason to discuss the love that dare not speak its name.

“You don’t think so?”

“Well, he’s singing about women, Ma.”

“Huh,” she said. “I don’t know. Just something about him, I guess.” Then she picked up her glasses and began to read again.

14
Sep
06

R.I.P., Oddfellows

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Food, Gay, Minneapolis, My Favorite Things and Sad
Tags: ,


[oddfellowsrestaurant.com]

My favorite restaurant in all the world was a darling little number in Northeast Minneapolis. (“was” … It hurts just saying that.) It was attached to a gay bar called Boom! under the same ownership. I just learned that the venerable gay-owned Oddfellows closed down on the 10th and Boom! will pull up stakes later this month, which makes me very, very sad. Some heteros got in on the “Nordeast” economic boom and bought them out, I guess.

Oddfellows always claimed it wasn’t a “gay restaurant,” which I found to be a.) usually inaccurate given the clientel, and b.) irrelevant and a slightly off-putting designation.

However, their chow was magnificent. The menu changed every season and was always fresh. Oddfellows described its food as “Contemporary American Cuisine with an ‘odd’ twist of flavors from around the world.” (Read the description here, before their Web site completely disappears.) Their orange-lacquered pork tenderloin was one of the finest dishes on earth. And I once had a lavender-infused custard dessert there that nearly made me mess my pants. Oddfellows taught me to appreciate excellent gourmet food in human-sized (read: non-Applebee’s) portions, and to not be so uptight about a high restaurant bill — as long as it’s worth it. And it always was.

The inimitable Dara Moskowitz of the alternative news and arts weekly CityPages predicted upon its opening that it would become a “big destination restaurant.”

 
The shingle soon to be removed.
[oddfellowsrestaurant.com]

The restaurant and bar occupied a historic building (c. 1891), the meeting lodge of the Independent Order of Oddfellows. Lots of exposed brick and holes in the wall where heavy timber floor joices once inserted. The high pressed-tin ceiling throughout was cool. The blonde woodwork was a little bit too “Target” for my taste, and the stainless steel bar felt a little cold to me. But it was always clean and bright.

I’ll miss that place. Lots of anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine’s Days and impromptu “fancy” dinners out.

As for Boom!, I can take it or leave it. As a bar, it was not remarkable. The burgers were fantastic, and the fries were tasty (both were from the Oddfellows kitchen), but the drinks were too pricey and it was famously impossible to get a bartender’s attention on a busy night.

The one thing that impressed me about it (besides its Nordeast location — I lived in the neighborhood) is that it was the first gay bar I had seen in the Twin Cities that had enormous windows that were not blackened out or boarded up. It left the ‘mos inside exposed to the blue collar and the sunlight. To me it represented a proud declaration that Minneapolis’ queers would not be kept underground and in the dark.

Oh, how I used to love standing in front of those wide-open windows on Showtunes Night, belting out “Nothing Dirty Goin’ On” from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, being gay and free.

29
Aug
06

More Gayness

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay, Me and New York
Tags: ,

When I came out nigh on 11 years ago, I vowed to resist the temptations of the dark side and to use my powers only for the forces of good, but yesterday I inadvertently grossed out two little kids.

Sometimes when you’re gay, and you say good night to a gay friend, you give him a little kiss. Sometimes, after one too many at the bar, you give him a big one. Sometimes, less frequently, he might lay a good one on you — with some full-on tongue action if you’re lucky.

In my world this is normal.

In the world of the little boys who captured the moment in their Fujicolor memories, it is not.

I was vaguely aware that they were posed behind me at the corner, standing with their dirt bikes leaning against their thighs, having just crossed the street. They had seen us, stopped still and went silent.

Then one of them piped up, “Ew! Oh geez! Those boys just kissed.” His friend said nothing.

First, I thought, what are these two kids doing out on their bikes at this time of night?

Then I was transported back to my elementary school playground, the site of much juvenile character assassination, where the tombstones of egos are lined up along the edge of the blacktop.

He wasn’t even making fun of us, but for a half a second his reaction got to me.

Mustn’t … kiss … a boy. Going … to hell.

I’d been there so often before, and on both sides. I don’t remember ever being teased for being a homo in school. But I definitely was teased for other things, abundant athletic ineptitude being chief among them. But what is worse is that I — in fact I — did tease other kids about being homos.

Shame hung like the limp shadow of a memory, waiting for me to notice, draw it around my shoulders and wear it home with me.

But I left it hanging there. I turned and walked away, the kid calling out behind me, insistent that somebody hear him, “Ohmygod, gross! Those boys just kissed!”

I didn’t have to turn around. I didn’t have to look at him. Let him see what happens at the corner of 12th and A at 1 a.m., I thought. Let him remember it, and let his shock fade away to nothing.

21
Aug
06

What Are You Looking At?

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay and Me
Tags: ,

I took great comfort this morning in the fact that, when I caught myself staring at a woman’s ass this morning on the F train, it was not her ass that I was contemplating but the stitching on her back pockets. This is absolutely true, and a perfectly legitimate subject of homosexual male interest.

Lord… if someone had called me on it, I would have been far less embarrassed by my staring at a woman’s butt than my staring at a woman’s butt. I hope no one saw me. As Hollywood said in the tragically unrerrated Andrew McCarthy/Kim Cattrall star-maker Mannequin: “I have a reputation to uphold.”

31
May
06

Burn the Witch!

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay, New York and Sports
Tags: ,

This just in from the Morning Herald in Sydney, Australia, where it is already tomorrow:

BARE-FACED CHEEK
Who said Americans had a sense of humour? Our man in New York, Phillip McCarthy, went to see the Australian gay rugby team, the Sydney Convicts, take on teams from North America and Europe to win the Bingham Cup, named after a gay 9/11 victim, Mark Bingham.

When a couple of streakers from the Convicts section tried to cross the field, the hosts were not amused. Says McCarthy: “Americans don’t really get streaking at sports events — it’s considered an English peculiarity, like bad plumbing,” and the incident brought a swift public address announcement from arena officials threatening to stop the match if there was a repetition.

I missed this incident, but I heard from many people afterward about the streakers at half-time during the final San Francisco Fog vs. Sydney Convicts match on Sunday, May 29. These may have been the same guys who ran naked somersaults across the stage during the kangaroo court at the closing night party at Webster Hall later that night. If so, I’m sorry I missed half time.

I would like to state for the record that the source of the displeasure was not an entity affiliated with the hosts of the tournament, my rugby team. No, we know how to appreciate a well-placed naked man in rugby boots. The announcement came rather from a joyless official on the loudspeaker at Icahn Stadium, which adjoined the pitch where the match was being played, and which was hosting a high school or junior high track meet at the time. I guess the guy on the mic threatened to call the police, with all the humor of a 17th century Puritan preacher and all the authority of your meanest uncle.

Yes, with naked men and women dripping from billboards up and down Manhattan and bullets and explosions all day long on television, heaven forbid we should allow people to see a fun, non-sexual and completely harmless expression of nudity in real life. This shame of the human body in America is freakish.

29
May
06

Bingham Cup 2006

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay, New York and Sports
Tags: ,

On Memorial Day weekend, my rugby team, the Gotham Knights, hosted the third biennial Bingham Cup, the largest international tournament of gay rugby teams in the world. (Previous hosts are the San Francisco Fog and the King’s Cross Steelers of London.)

Here’s our latest press release:

The Sydney Convicts Rugby Football Club took top honors on May 28 at the 2006 Bingham Cup hosted this year in New York City. Having traveled half-way around the world from Australia to compete, the Convicts’ victory against the San Francisco Fog in the finals closed out the international gay rugby tournament held in honor of United Flight 93 hero Mark Bingham.

Alice Hoagland, mother of United Flight 93 hero and gay rugby player Mark Bingham, presented the grand prize on Randall’s Island, the site of the tournament. More than 700 rugby players from teams around the world competed in 80 matches. Ms. Hoagland passed up screenings of United 93 at the Cannes Film Festival to attend the tournament. Instead, she presented the Cup named after her son to the winning team on Sunday. Players from teams all over the USA and from Canada, England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Holland, and Australia, flew in for the tournament.

In addition to the presentation of the Cup, Boston Ironsides won the second division competition with a 3-0 overtime victory against the Dallas Diablos to take home the Bingham Bowl. The Sydney Convicts also won the third division by defeating a Worldwide Barbarians team by 26-7 to take home the Bingham Plate. In the first ever Bingham Cup women’s rugby division, top honors went to the aptly named team from New York Rugby Club named “I Love Kuch,” who bested the Scottsdale Lady Blues and a composite team to take the newly designated prize.

The Bingham Cup is the biennial international rugby competition named after Mark Bingham a hero of United Flight 93 on September 11, 2001. Bingham played for gay & bisexual rugby team the San Francisco Fog RFC after leading UC Berkeley to national championships. The Bingham Cup was first held in San Francisco in 2002 and in London in 2004. The 2006 Bingham Cup was hosted by the Gotham Knights Rugby Football Club, a team Bingham was helping to found in 2001 before his untimely passing, and proceeds will benefit both college scholarships via the Mark Bingham Leadership Fund and the United 93 Memorial Fund.

For more information about the Bingham Cup, participating teams and match results go to www.binghamcup.com.

Associated Press coverage of the tournament was picked up across the country in mostly smaller daily papers. We’ve been covered in the gay press and internationally, notably in Australia, the UK and South Africa. We’ve also had some strange appearances, such as on Chinese and Indian television.

Notable appearances:
• Outsports.com
• New York 1 television news (Includes video clip. Please excuse the silly spelling error in the headline.)
• Reuters.com (Includes video clip.)
• Newsday

Other appearances:
Time Out New York
New York Channel 9
MSNBC
CNN SI
Sports Illustrated Live
WNBC
LOGO
YES Network
Boston Herald
at least one TV station in mainland China
at least one TV station in India
Fort Worth Star Telegram
Arizona Republic
Calgary Sun
Hamilton Spectator (Ontario)
The Independent (South Africa)
Mail & Guardian (Johannesburg, S.A.)
The Trentonian (New Jersey)
Charleston Gazette
San Diego Union Tribune
WKNG Channel 6, (Orlando, FL)
Times Leader (Wilkes Barre, PA)
Findlaw
Auburn Citizen (New York)
Guelph Mercury (Canada)
Standard Speaker (Pennsylvania)
Edge (Boston)
The State (South Carolina)
Pioneer Press (St. Paul, MN)
Monterey County Herald (CA)
NEPA News (PA)
Kentucky.com
Kansas.com
Sydney Star Observer (Australia)
UK Gay News (London)
PM Entertainment (Long Island)
New York Blade
Southern Voice (Atlanta)
Houston Voice
Southern Voice (Florida)
Washington Blade
Gay Outdoors
365Gay.com
OutUK (London)
Gaysports

13
Apr
06

The Best Medicine

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay and Health
Tags: ,

Since graduating from college, I have always made a point of having a gay doctor. I recommend it to everyone, especially gays like me. It’s easier to talk about sex things with a gay doctor. There’s so much less judgment than with a straight doctor — or to be fair, what I perceive to be judgment. It’s just easier. Moving to a new city? Make it a first order of business. Library card. Roach traps. Gay doctor.

A gay doctor won’t have unfunny and slightly unsettling framed copies of comic strips like one in my otolaryngologist’s office in which a doctor stares blankly at a patient in some measure of pain, saying, “It’s a good think you’re here. I just punctured your eardrum.” There’s also one with the doctor examining a cow wearing a bell on her collar, saying, “I think I know what’s causing the ringing in your ears.”

Nope. Won’t find these things in a gay doctor’s office.

A gay doctor always has good modern art in his waiting room and exam rooms. Oftentimes there are beautiful, ponderous photographs from local photographers. The doctor probably knows the artist, as a friend or as a patient. Many non-gay doctors are content with motel-grade squiggles and geometrical designs on the walls — or worse, they’ll hang prints of baby animals or beaches or places they’ve been skiing. Gay doctors will have vintage posters from local theatrical productions — a 1980 The Pirates of Penzance, for example, or “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” from a reputable children’s theater.

A gay doctor has beter magazines, too. He’ll eschew Highlights for Children, Time and Reader’s Digest in favor of The New Yorker, The Advocate, Architectural Digest.

Oh, a gay doctor’s office is a veritable gay playground!

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the untallied hours