A Future in Busking

You may not know this, but I put on my busker's uniform from time to time (top hat, tails, tap shoes, nipple clamps) and troll on down to the subway with my viola to earn extra dosh to support my boyfriend and my cat. I tend to play a selection of popular favorites--crowd pleasers from ABBA to Connie Francis to some guy called Vivaldi. I hadn't busked in a while, but for some reason, on Christmas Eve I was compelled to drag my unwilling viola down to the southbound F platform at 6th Ave to see what kind of Christmas cheer I could forcibly inspire.

So, above is a picture I snapped as I stood on the platform, playing my heart out for cash. It was my first annual Christmas Music Revue, and, though I had only rehearsed five Christmas songs, it was a smashing success for about an hour, at which point I got REALLY tired of playing the same five songs over and over and over, even though I love Santa Jesus.

I did make a decent amount of paper for only playing 5 songs 5 times, though, so here's my plan for Our New Great Depression: I'll put together a much larger setlist and then, once the bottom falls out and Congress declares that Christmas will be year-round in order to stimulate the economy, and I lose my job and my apartment and my socks, I'll wrap my feet up in gauze, slip them into a couple of Converse High Tops, put on my Santa hat and play on the subway for the good people of NYC and become rich, rich, rich! Then I'll lose it all in a foolish series of investments (who knew aquariums made of papier-mâché would never take off?!) and throw myself down the subway steps to get on government assistance, yay!

Christmas Wishes

I'd like to take this opportunity to wish the sea turtles of the world a happy holiday season and the best for the new year. May your Christmas be filled with laughter, song, and gratuitous displays of underwater Santas.

Santa Unable to Save Christmas This Year

Well, it's official. Christmas is officially ruined forever, thanks to the immense debt Santa and his wife have taken on in the past few years buying up x-boxes, Wiis, and stupid Elmo dolls for spoiled, truculent children the world over whose parents couldn't repay the loans and figured that Santa would just take care of it. Well guess what, dummies, Santa is only human, and he cannot be expected to just absorb your bad debts, like he was the US government or something.

Anyway, because his sleigh has been repossessed and most of his reindeer have died of starvation, now poor Santa and his lone remaining reindeer, Blitzen, have to use a complicated (but cheap) system of pulleys, wires, and harnesses to scale what were once—in better times—easily scalable buildings so they can get inside and deliver a bag full of depressing toys—like the window squeegee pictured above—to sad, desperate children who will just cry when they realize that the squeegee is all they're getting because their parents are complete and utter bankrupted failures.

Also, sleighless Santa has had to start his delivery two days early, which means, children, that the squeegees very possibly didn't have time to go through his usually rigorous safety testing and will no doubt fall apart when you get them wet, and may very well kill you since they're made of second-hand razor blades.

But look at the bright side: one of these years we'll look back on 2008 as the good old days.

What Christmas is All About

During this, our New Great Depression, it is so easy to get discouraged by the fear of losing your job, your house, your car, your children, your dealer, your sense of self-worth, your wireless Internet service, your gym membership, your cat, and your Echo and the Bunnymen CDs. Sometimes it just seems like the world wants you to have nothing, nothing at all. Then along comes a website like Elf Yourself and you remember what the Christmas season and the Internet are all about--making other people look foolish, for free. Above is my Christmas gift to y'all: a video of 5 different Jimmys dancing the Charleston. Don't mention it.

Thanks, All You Awesome Faggots and Dykes

It's not often that I get earnest on this blog, but, sorry suckers, I'm about to. Jimmy and I just got home from watching Milk, the biopic about slain gay right activist Harvey Milk, and I'm all verklempt. I feel the overwhelming need to take this opportunity--right here, in front of all three of my readers--to thank all of those courageous gays who came before us, who put their asses on the line, who lived or have lived lives full of balls out honesty. Some of them were nuts, some of them still are. What's not to love about that? And courage is what I want to pay tribute to right now—displayed by both real and honorary gays—so, without further cringeworthy emoting....[updated with names from readers!]

Thank you to Oscar Wilde
Merci to Quentin Crisp
Arigato to the Stonewall drag queens and gay boys and girls
Gracias to Busby Berkley,
Andy Warhol,
Wanda Sykes,
Rosie O'Donnell,
Tony Kushner,
Derek Jarman,
Martina Navratalova,
Gus Van Sant,
Francis Bacon,
KD Lang,
Melissa Etheridge,
Susan Sontag,
James Baldwin,
Gore Vidal,
Langston Hughes,
Karen Finley,
Boy George,
Gertrude Stein,
Phranc,
Keith Haring,
Dan Savage,
Pedro Almodovar,
John Waters
Rainer Fassbinder,
Sandra Bernhard,
Larry Kramer,
Klaus Nomi,
River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves,
Rachel Maddow,
Margaret Cho,
Divine,
Todd Haynes,
Sir John Gielgud,
Tennesse Williams,
Ellen Degeneres,
Andrew Sullivan,
Truman Capote,
Barney Frank,
David Sedaris,
Debbie Googe,
Edmund White,
Neal Patrick Harris,
Jimmy Sommerville,
Neil Tenant,
Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal,
Walt Whitman
Sean Penn, James Franco, Diego Luna, Emile Hersh
Harvey Milk

Each of you (and the tons of folks I've forgotten), in your own way, has stomped your foot down and kicked up some dust in the fight for gays to be left alone to go about living their lives. We are the last minority it is ok to hate on in this country. And the above people have done their part to make it safer for a 13-year-old gay boy in Nowheresville, Idaho in 2008 to go to sleep and dream of waking up next to James Franco stripped bare, smiling, and sporting a hell of a hot '70s perm in the morning.

That is all.

Finally, the True Story of Baby Santa Jesus on Display

I know from nativity displays, y'all. My mother is one of the world's premier collectors of nativity scenes of all sizes and shapes, which she puts out every year to complement her singing moose-head wreath and her creepy life-size Christmas gnome that swings from the banister. But none of the tens of thousands of nativity scenes owned by my mother really tells the true story of the real circumstances of baby Santa Jesus's birth in that manger those hundred or so years ago.

And the truth is this: the savior of mankind was NOT born in a stable. That is a complete myth that has been passed down as gospel fact through the years by the likes of Rick Warren, Fox News, and A Charlie Brown Christmas. The manger part is true, as is the presence of swaddling clothes. And there were kings, a virgin, and myrrh (and cows and sheep). But, and I can’t emphasize this enough—there was no stable. What there was was a giant hollowed out French batard. Yes, a moist, warm, buttery batard loaf hosted the birth of our savior.

This is the delicious truth.

Mom Visits NYC, Does Whatever She Damn Well Pleases

My mom visited me in NYC last weekend and made lots of friends.

Now, mom is not shy and she believes everyone could use a "hello, how are you?" every now and again. She is perfectly comfortable beaming a friendly "good morning" to the drooling old Polish lady hanging her head out of her second floor window all zombie-like in my neighborhood in Greenpoint. It's just good manners.

She is also comfortable stepping over a bunch of wires at Union Square subway station to sing with a pair of surprised Mexicans, forcing herself on some Santas in Rockefeller Plaza, and demanding a free ride on a man dressed as a reindeer. And why the hell not?!

Moms are awesome. (Except for Jimmy's. She's got snakes for hair and thinks that our 11-year relationship is somehow less legitimate than each of her 27 awful marriages. Anyway......)


There was a Santa convention in town (for real) and Mom invited herself.



Mom never makes such a big deal when I play the lute.


I'm not sure if she told him she was Mrs. Clause, a doe, or a cute elf.


That's the exact same look I used to give her when I was his age!

FIT Looking to Douche Up Its Student Body

Attention young readers who are also smug douches/failed reality show contestants that ride the subway: FIT wants you to bring your charming sense of entitlement to their classrooms. As this subway ad clearly shows, you may not have to be irritating and pretentious to attend, but it sure helps! And obviously your race or gender is not an issue, because women, men, blacks, whites, Asians, Latinos--anyone can be a dreary a**hole. So chop chop! Get yourself into some of your parents' grown-up clothes and get on down to the Fashion Institute of Technology, where a future full of nauseating the public with your tedious creativity awaits!

Snowy German Owl Doesn't Believe You

This may come as a shock to you, but this snowy owl, who lives at a zoo in Duisburg, Germany, doesn't believe a word you're saying. I know you think you’re presenting a pretty convincing case, but this white owl, for one, is not fooled. He wasn’t born yesterday, you see, so a lot of the double talk and downright pablum that you’re employing to drive home your point just aren’t going to work with him.

I would suggest trying again after spending a little time refining your argument and perhaps thinking of some better examples to back up the pretty fantastical ideas you are suggesting. Maybe use some visual aids, like a Power Point presentation? (Owls generally respond well to those.)

Also, it’s really hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing a clown costume. You should probably put on a collared shirt and some khakis, at the very least.

Prince Harry Volunteers at London Leather Daddy Phone Bank

England’s Prince Harry, who is not typically known for his selflessness, visited a leather daddy phone bank yesterday in London’s gay-riffic Soho district to help underprivileged leather daddies in the greater London area get the help they need. You know, it’s so great to see a young person make sacrifices for a cause larger (and harrier) than himself.

Yes we can.

The Gift That Keeps on Asking for Money

You know, everyone is so poor these days that when freebies are offered on the street, on the train, or in the bathroom stall, you obviously just take them. Am I right? Anyway, lately I’m so desperate to get something for free that I did a double take when I received my daily email from the increasingly tedious Obama campaign this morning with the subject heading “The Gift of Change.”

“Finally,” I thought. “An email from Barry that’s not asking for money. So what am I getting?”

Alas, if I want the above limited edition Obama coffee mug, I’m going to have to steal one of Jimmy’s paintings and sell it on eBay, that site where Sarah Palin sold her Alaskan airplane or helicopter or whatever and where Obama’s current senate seat is the hot item of the week.

I think the abstract one he did of me arm wrestling a penguin should command a pretty decent price. Maybe I can buy two coffee mugs.

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Elmo and a Gorilla, 44th Street

So yesterday I was leaving the 21st Annual Indie and Small Press Book Fair, which was held at the Center for Independent Publishing on 44th street, where I was trolling around looking for deals, and who should I run into as I prepared to turn down 6th Avenue but famous muppet Elmo and a random gorilla inexplicably just hanging out in front of a row of newspaper boxes. I said hello and asked them what they were doing.

Apparently, things aren't going too well on Sesame Street. Elmo's been spending a lot of time in midtown these days and s/he had just gotten busted for soliciting a john driving a cab who was just stopping to ask for directions to the letter L. So Elmo had to call his gorilla friend to bail him out and I interrupted them as they were planning their next move: a bank robbery/puppy abduction on the Upper West Side.

This cratering economy is touching everyone.

Karl Lagerfeld, President of Fashion, Appoints Britney Spears Secretary of Tophats, Fishnets

Britney Spears had a wicked tough primary battle for sure, full of manic head shaving, baby dropping, crotch flashing, and, of course, bloat. So it gives me great pleasure to see that the newly elected President of Fashion, ponytailed retard Karl Lagerfeld, has tapped her to be his Secretary of Top Hats and Fishnets. Britney is such an inspired choice for Sec of THaF; she obviously has experience with top hats dating back to her first tour in 1999 and, of course, she has worn fishnets ever since she was 12.

She sure has her work cut out for her, though, thanks to the embarrassing job performance of current Sec of THaF Lindsay Lohan, who, in direct contravention of her job duties, has been trolling around for the last few years wearing only a ketchup-stained white leather t-shirt (no underwear). Hopefully, Secretary Spears will be able to repair the image of American fashion abroad. Though she better watch her back because I hear Sarah Palin was totally gunning for the job.

Economic Downturn Hits Cindy Crawford

Some folks are better equipped to handle a great depression than others. I, for one, will probably be fine once I lose my job and have to start turning tricks for cash and chocolate. Because when it comes to economic matters, I'm 100% my father's son. I keep very close watch on my money: I rarely buy CDs new, generally preferring to wait until someone else is done with theirs; I consider K & S Cafeteria a 'fancy' restaurant; and I can treat the dried yellow flakes left on the bottom and sides of a pan after frying or scrambling an egg as leftovers if I need to. Point is: I'm cheap and live like an immigrant college student, so I won't be jumping from a tall downtown building the next time the Dow drops 1000 points or whatever; I'll probably just go to the store to stock up on Cup Noodle and steal some coins out of the "take a penny/leave a penny" cup.

But some folks will surprise you with how well equipped they are to deal with a cratering economy. And one of those folks is surely former supermodel and giant mole-wearer Cindy Crawford. The poor thing has had to take a job at some fast food joint in LA, God love her. But she still looks great and has that customer service thing down. I don't remember when I've ever ordered onion rings from someone this attractive. Best of all, she's already a management trainee!