Scenes of Our Lives: Slaves of New York

This film inexplicably got panned upon its release in 1989, though God knows why because it's hilarious. I guess the country's film critics were too busy fawning over Driving Miss Daisy.

Anyway, based on Tama Janowitz's story collection of the same name, the film follows the goings on in the downtown NYC art scene in the 1980s and stars Bernadette Peters as a down-on-her-luck hat maker with a self-absorbed artist boyfriend named Stash. How can you pan a movie about Bernadette Peters as a down-on-her-luck hat maker? It just doesn't make any sense. Anyway, there are cool cameos from Steve Buscemi, Mercedes Ruehl, and Stanley Tucci, and Tama Janowitz even shows up with her big '80s hair in two scenes.

The above snippet features a performance of "Say Hi to Your Guy" performed by Johann Carlo in a bathtub. She should be a big star but isn't. Also sad.

Fun fact: the film was directed by James Ivory the year after he did A Room With a View.

Put this in your Netflix queue immediately.

Gay Panic at David Barton Gym in Chelsea

I don’t know if you realize this, but homosexuality was invented in the Chelsea district of Manhattan many years ago. Most people are under the impression that the gays got their start in ancient Greece, but that’s because Wikipedia is wrong. No, the very first anonymous blowjob delivered by a dude happened on 8th and 21st in the 3rd century BC. A memorial to this very first gay polesmoke would later be erected and called The Blue Store, where you can now buy porn, lube, chaps, butt plugs, and gum.

Anyway, gay blowjobs are a dime a dozen in Chelsea these days, and so are gay lattes, gay dogs, gay fruit stands, and gay and gay friendly gyms. My two and a half regular readers might remember that I recently went to a Logo Channel premier party, the gift bag for which included a free two-week trial and complimentary training session at David Barton Gym, the premier gym for NYC’s hottest Nancy Boys.

Now, I haven’t been a member of a real gym since I lived in Tokyo nearly 8 years ago and had an evening membership at Tipness gym in Shinjuku, which was a little bit gay but not nearly as gay as the Tipness gym in Roppongi. Anyway, since then I’ve muddled through with memberships at various YMCA’s and public lapswim pools (because usually I’m poor), and I’m currently a member of the YMCA in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, which is blessed with a delectable collection of rough and tough Polish meatheads yet, sadly, is probably the least gay gym within a hundred mile radius.

So it’s been a while since I’ve had to brazenly display myself at a gym where everyone looks like a manicured porn star, so I'm a little gun shy. (See what I did there?) I don’t know about you, but when I visit a porn set, I’m generally either roundly ignored or asked to go fetch the fluffer, so I fully expect to be treated in the exact same fashion at DBG.

Whatever, I've activated my two-week membership at the David Barton Gym on 23rd and signed up for a training session with Jeff Stryker. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The Nation's Best-Catered Gay Cruising Destination: Corning, New York

So one of my colleagues recently visited the Corning Museum of Glass in Corning, New York with her hubby and 3-year-old (hey Hilary, Mark, and Maia!) and, because she knows what Jimmy and I like to get up to during our vacations, she sent me this photo of a section of a restaurant menu that she took through tears of laughter.

This is great, because if there's one thing I'm always craving between blowjobs from random truckers it's some chicken fingers with dipping sauce. (But why is the menu so vague about what's in that dipping sauce?)

By the way, a "glory hole" is actually a term used in the "glass blowing" community, apparently. And, interestingly, "glass blowing" is a term used in the "glory hole" community.

It all makes sense.

Laydeez I Love: Rachel Maddow

Ok, I know. She's a political pundit on MSNBC. You're thinking, "Jesus, Tim, she's on cable. Cable." But Rachel Maddow is freaking brilliant and seeing her smack down awful Pat Buchanan on a regular basis really justifies MSNBC's existence.

Plus, she's a lesbian. And not a harmless one like Ellen. She's got a girlfriend and a point of view and she isn't afraid to talk about either one if you ask her. You know Pat Buchanan leaves the set every night just wanting to hate f**k her. And when a skeezy Republican bloviater wants to hate f**k a Democrat, you know that Democrat is doing something right.

Shootin' It: In Which Tim and Jimmy Briefly Discuss the Issues of Our Times

While watching the scene in Volver when Penelope Cruz is digging a grave for her murdered husband.




Tim: Have you ever killed someone and-
Jimmy: Had to bury them?
T: Yeah.
J: Only twice.
T: Wow, what happened?
J: They got all up in my grill.
T: What'd you do with the weapon?
J: [cracks his knuckles]
T: Oh.

Birthday Blogging: Happy Thirty-somethingth Birthday, Dani!

August 25 is a very significant day for me. Every year on this day I forget my best friend Dani Nation’s birthday. It’s a tradition begun way back in the 80s and it has been marked by many highpoints, such as in 1991 when I went away to college and called Dani on her birthday to cry and say that I hated college and wanted to die/drop out, completely forgetting that it was her special day as I spent the entire conversation talking about me and my problems, which were so much more important.

Well, Dani, this year I’m breaking with tradition. Not only am I going to call you and wish you a happy birthday ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, but I’m also blogging about it—which tells you how important I think this day is.

Happy Birthday, Dani. I’ll call you later to let you know what’s been going on with me lately.


Dani with her alien baby Beatrix in Blur-o-vision.

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Old Timey Ice Cream Man in White Car on Avenue A

Scenes of Our Lives: Muriel's Wedding

In this week's Scene we travel to a magical place in Bali where dirty double-crossing bitches get what they deserve courtesy of your one true friend and then you get to dress up like Agnetha and Anni-frid from Abba and then those same dirty bitches get in a bar brawl while you're busy winning a lip-syncing contest. Just like in my dreams.

Happy Hump Day

Go get a hilarious ecard here and send it to me. It's free, tightwad.

Here's one I just sent myself. Click to enlarge.

See Tim Return

Ok, I'm back from my vacation to Atlantic Beach in the '80s. I spent four days getting savagely tan and sticking to a strict Michael Phelps diet and, trust me, it's a challenge to eat like a hot Olympian day after day. You wouldn't know because you're not disciplined enough to stick to it. I have no such weakness, which is why I'm so handsome and fat.

Above is a picture of me with my beach bitches. That's Shayla, Euclidia, and Jerome. I asked Jerome why she had such a masculine name and she said I should meet her mother Jesse.

Me and My Main Ho Gotta Go, Yo

Me and my main ho Trina are headin' down to NC's Atlantic Beach for some fun, sun, snow cone syrup, and Trina's court date. Back next week after she gets sick again in the back of a police car and has to arrange next month's court date.


Stella doesn't want me to go. She says Trina is nothing but trouble.

So Long, Chastity!

My bike Chastity recently had a nervous breakdown on Bleecker Street and had to be released back into the wild. She was no longer happy carrying my gay ass to and from work every day, so after some soul searching I realized she needed to be with someone who could better take care of her, maybe just use her to go to the grocery store a few times a week.

And, yes, Chastity is a girl’s bike, so what? In fact, she’s the girliest bike I’ve ever had (and that’s obviously saying something), even girlier than the light brown Desperado bike with the banana seat my dad got me when I was 13 that alienated me from the entire neighborhood, causing me irreparable social damage.

Anyway, I’m happy to report that, after I took her chain off for the last time and left her sleeping peacefully at a bike rack at Bleecker and Lafayette, it took less than a few hours for some thief to spirit her away and claim her as their own.

Farewell, sweet Chastity. Sorry about calling you a “useless piece of shit” that one time, but parents make mistakes!


Chastity just wants to be left alone.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy Dept: Being Gay for Bush Means Never Having to Go to Jail

Former Attorney General Alberto Gonzales says "heeeeeeey."

Oh, so this is why it's so important that the Justice Department not be politicized. I guess when you have a hyper-partisan employment policy (sample question: "What is it about George W. Bush's balls that makes you want to lick them?"), with a hyper-partisan Attorney General at the helm, it's possible that justice might could maybe be skewed a little and all of a sudden there could be a huge distinction made between committing a crime and violating the law. It's true. They are such different things! In the words of Attorney General Mukasey, "not every wrong, or even every violation of the law, is a crime." So true. That's from Paul's letter to the Ephesians, right?

U.S. Olympian Michael Phelps is Very Excited About My New Bike

I don't blame him. It's a 10-speed.

Unnecessary: Nightline Co-anchor Martin Bashir Forces Us to Imagine His Big Boner

Martin Bashir, the polished Anglo-Pakistani Nightline co-anchor and former BBC correspondent, is making me want to throw up. In an appearance at the Asian American Journalists' Association the other night, he made reference to the sexually frustrating number of "Asian babes" in attendance and then indicated that it was a good thing the podium was covering his jock.

Gross.

If Ted Koppel were dead, he'd be spinning in his grave.

Jukebox: Las Ketchup

Yes, this Spanish trio's name is Las Ketchup. Look it up. Anyway, a few years ago they had a massive hit with "Asereje." There was a dance that went along with this song that the three ladies in the above video try desperately to execute in synchronized fashion. Alas, they are Spanish and way to free-wheeling to adhere to the strict rules regarding synchronized dancing. In short, it's a disgrace. The heart trembles at the thought of what a good old-fashioned American stage mom could have done with these girls. But whatever, it's Friday, and when you really think about it, successful synchronized dancing isn't really that important. I guess.

Shootin' It: Jimmy and Tim Briefly Discuss the Issues of Our Times

Today's Topic: Gossip Girl




Tim: Hey, should we netflix Gossip Girl? Looks like there might be some good sex scenes.
Jimmy: No. Fucking no.
T: Why not?
J: That shit's retarded.
T: But don't you want to keep up with the zeitgeist?
J: Zeitgeist? What's that?
T: I think it's a character on Gossip Girl.
J: Oh.
T: Anyway, I feel like I'm hopelessly out of touch. I just discovered last week that Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana are the same person.
J: Who?
T: And New York magazine...
J: You mean Bourgeoi Weekly?
T: Yes, it said Gossip Girl is the show to watch, and, God knows, they're never wrong.
J: Wait, isn't Miley Cyrus Britney Spears' little sister?
T: Yeah, and I think she plays Zeitgeist on Gossip Girl.


Thank you, good night!

My Cat Stella Not Sold on My New TROMSÖ IKEA Loft Bed

Like all gay men, I’m really good with cats. I understand and, in fact, greatly admire their need to sit, stretch, eat tuna directly from the can, wash, throw up, and be left alone. (I remember college.) I also understand their need to sleep on or near your face. My cat Stella is no exception, and for 14 years she has happily arranged herself on my upturned palm as I lay on my side sleeping like an angel. If I should turn onto my other side, she simply tiptoes over my face and arranges herself anew on my other palm. We’re both fine with this. Which explains why she’s a bit put out with the arrival of my new TROMSÖ IKEA loft bed, which stretches to the sky on its 6-foot steel legs.

Now, I’ve always felt that I should be sleeping while suspended in mid-air, so in a way, this new bed is my birthright. Sadly, it’s not Stella’s. She is unable to make the giant leap up into the thinner, warmer atmosphere where my new mattress (and upturned palm) resides, and it is tearing her world apart. If I want her up there I have to place her up there, and once she’s up there she immediately moves to the edge to start planning her escape from planet TROMSÖ. This does not make for a good night’s sleep.

We’ve got to figure this out. My upturned palm is cold and lonely and turncoat Stella’s taken to sleeping in the other room with Jimmy (he sleeps there because I snore, and he can't be dealing with that).

And no, that is NOT a yoga balance ball under the bed. It’s my bowling ball, and its name is Sheila.

Advertising Alley: How Did Gwyneth Paltrow Get Stuck in a YouTube With All These Nobodies?

Hot new video here, which ostensibly is meant to make Americans abroad want to vote in the upcoming election (for Obama) and is NOT, I presume, meant to make you—a slobbering, knuckle-dragging American actually living in stupid America—want to throw up on your YouTubes. In that respect, readers, this mighty commercial has failed. Because I, for one, did want to throw up. Heaps. Even golden-haired Gwyneth Paltrow, who of course lives in London with her husband Prince Bono, cannot hide her irritation at being the only famous person featured in this ad. "I mean, couldn't they have tried to get Tina Turner?" Paltrow is surely thinking. "Doesn't she live in France or something?"

Now, I love Michelle Obama as much as the next guy and think it is EXTREMELY important to the history of the world that she be our next First Lady. BUT, I do share Paltrow's frustration with all these horrible common libtard types—living in communist countries like Buenos Aires and Paris and Rio and with not a single Academy Award to their name—just splattered all over this freaking TWO MINUTE COMMERCIAL. And never has my very soul cried out more desperately for a moratorium on ads lasting longer than 30 seconds. (Though that Evista commercial is a close second.) And making things worse, the ad has people talking over each other but saying the same thing again and again and again, which is usually the approach taken by commercials for new drugs. (Perfectly understandable; people actually do talk over each other and say the same things again and again and again when they are in need of new drugs.)

Share my misery by clicking on the above link, won't you?