Manhattan Offender

A weekend of discovery and emotion

Just a few notes from the past weekend:

Discovery:  Their is no awesome happy hour after work on Friday.  No place beckons.  There is no crowd that is full with a diverse crowd and great music and people just thrilled that the work week is over and the weekend has arrived.  Or maybe my standards are too high.

Discovery:  One of my favorite afterwork places is still around.  And while it has a good happy hour, it's in a different way.  It's a pub just off of Washington Square Park.  While the owner sits like a latter-day Night of a Thousand Stevies royalty serving court off of the pool table, some of the city's best burgers are served up with three dollar pints.  And by best burgers, there is no implication of gourmet.  The is the thick and juicy dream burger of your youth.  Additionally, it's one of those places that you so love so as to NOT mention the name, as attention would bring twattery.  Not that there are twats reading this, except that one.  (Yeah, you know who you are, you twat.)

Discovery:  In addition to doing interesting things with cucumbers, my bud is a very good player of the video game Buck Hunter.

Discovery:  A Bear's Life magazine (to which I subscribe out of curiosity) advertises on Logo.

Discovery:  According to a conversation overheard on the subway, there are people working at military bases on the west coast who call war protest groups who snitch on the military.  If there is to be a troop or weapons movement, those inside the bases inform protesters who then form blockades against the military deployment.  Now if this is true, is it just me that has never seen any mainstream media reportage?  Whatever happened to reportage?

Emotion:  Just kidding.

Guiloliani

So former mayor and probable Cialis user Rudolph Guiliani today stated that he was for domestic partnerships up until he was against him.  Hopefully the gays that took him in after he left Donna Hannover to shtup Judith Nation aren't too upset.  Meanwhile, over on that newest thing, LOLgay, Guiliani 2008 is advertising.   Very contextual(ol).

Past, Over: Piers for Queers

It's Thursday and thus time for that Gawker thing.  The only clue this week is some video shot over the weekend.  Of salsa dancers.  White, middle-aged salsa dancers.  A link to the post will come when available is now here.

White people dancing salsa on the piersUploaded by rodmo

One minute on Christopher street

Contemporary philosopher Madonna started her epic poem, Vogue, with the line, "What are you looking at?"  Despite the dangling preposition, the line was appropriate during a walk down Christopher Street.  All eyes were to the sky, encouraging my upward gaze.

Nothing was seen other than a vast and vivid clear blue sky.  Being unattracted to any of the people looking up, it was a choice to rather figure out the puzzle by osmosis rather than extract an answer from a Stonewall patron.  So more visual clues were sought.

Distraught looking ladies and a man with a bird.  Well, there are distraught looking ladies everywhere in our fair borough.  And a surprising number of men with birds.  But it's the combination thereof that was the important clue.  Why would distraught ladies be chatting up Harvey Birdman?  Again, my gaze was directed upward.

There it was.  A little blotch of color hidden in the trees.  Suddenly all the clues came together. 

A distraught lady lost her bird.  As distraught ladies love company, she called her friend, who knew Harvey Birdman.  Thinking that maybe the bird was lonely, they brought out the other bird.  They forgot, however, that birds are inherently racist and the bird in the tree was all, "I ain't coming down to hang with no white-ass bird."

Or at least that's my interpretation of it.

And this of course begs the question, "What happened to the bird?.  No clue. To which the reader is reminded:  this isn't Gothamist. On Gothamist, they would give you details down to the bird's favorite brand of suet.  If you really want that, maybe read Metropolitan Diary.  But if you're just reading this and going, "Heh, Harvey Birdman," you're in the right place.  And I'm glad you're here.

LOL, click me

Or click here.

Feeling out of assorts

Just a set of ideas that aren't worthy of a post.  Which isn't true, everything has a story.  In fact everything has some uniquely amazing aspects to it.  So the truth is that the following are a bunch of thoughts that I'm too lazy and/or/actually too busy to expound upon at present.

• Webster Hall hosted Hot Chip (and Ratatat), prompting my first visit to the space as a performance venue.  The sound is very good and there are risers on the balcony level to facilitate a good view for all.  My nostagia from the place brought back a ton of old memories and curiosity as to whatever happened to the regulars of Reign Voltaire's Makeup Room.
• Walking past a car with its scantily clad leaning out an open door to vomit, a friend gasped, "Oh my god!"  Having enquired as to what was so shocking about this, the friend pointed out to me that the plates were not from New Jersey.
• People are rushing the season.  Over ten pairs of white pants were seen over the weekend.  And to the flimsily dressed out there, a little expression my mother used to use when the weather was in flux:  "Bring along an extra layer, because it's pneumonia weather."
• Random overhear on the subway:
  • Southern Teen Girls (three) and one Mom
  • Mom:  "Think about Britney Spears, girls.  There is a girl that just could not handle being a celebrity.  There is a whole parcel of goods that comes with being in the public eye."
  • Girls then stare at her because the way she announces her discovery implies that she know about being a celebrity.
• I didn't end Gonorrhea Awareness week because of that Hot Chip concert.  What was missing was the story of my diagnosis with it back in 1997.  After testing with the HMO-compatible, picked-for=proximity doctor determined this, my immediate reaction was to rule up my sleeved so that more plood could be drawn.  As he did not have the capacity to understand that it was now in our best interest to look for syph, herpes, and HIV.  My next visit to a doctor was to Fabulous Gay Doctor, farther away, but "knows my peole."
• This is going to be a bullet-point kind of week.  There are some things in flux, which will be covered as appropriate/appropriated/accepted.

Happy 4-20!

Past, Over: Firsts

This week on that thing at Gawker I talk about my first time. 
No, not that one.  A different one.  Clues?  Okay. 
Avenue B.  Models.  Euro-trash.  Seven in the morning, or maybe ten.  Sand. 
A link will go up when available.

MOTV: Melissa virexed

Do you ever think about words?  Like not the ones that people actually use but the one on the TV?  Like "penultimate".  Was someone all, like, writing and whatever and thinking, "This is the second to last pen I will ever need," or something?  Yeah, words are hard.  And so's thinking.  Which is why I love Pussycat Dolls Present:  The Search for the Next Doll Buttaface Dogs Present:  The Search for the Next Dog.  It's not like words or thinking.

The biggest twist happ ...   The episode begins wi ...  I ... Um ... No ... I am stronger than this.  Look inside and find your voice ... Do it ... C'mon.  Oh. God. NO. 

I submit.  I submit to the almighty ability of Ken Mok.  As he as done with America's Next Top Model, Executive Producer Ken Mok has yet again put together an overwhelmingly mediocre television show with seemingly hopeless people striving for a life outsize to their own.  Yet again, assorted personalities are on the screen and with mild layers of juxtaposition and polarization.

You see, call it a sea change, but if Biracia Asia doesn't win this thing I'm going to be furious!

GAW: Travel Advisory

When you're travelling to Nebraska, the last thing you want is to catch gonorrhea.  Clearly, the harpies of Sarpy, Cass and Douglas counties are to be avoided.  Opt instead for a nice clean Southwest boy (although the sheep should be avoided).