Manhattan Offender

The Fire Island Listening Project: Do she? She do.

Last summer saw me eavesdropping on and reporting back from Fire Island Pines.  Gawker isn't running "And the Brand Played On" again this summer, but with "the season" rapidly coming up, it's time to re-visit the concept.  The following originally appeared July 19, 2007.  All dialogue 100% verbatim.

INT. THE "GLO LOUNGE" IN FIRE ISLAND PINES
The lounge is a new construction with fresh wood encasing a modern-look bar with ample seating and tables, with large open windows that overlook the bay. The event known as "High Tea" is just beginning and the crowd is starting to grow. Near one window, sitting on a sofa are RAYBANTWINK and PRADATWINK, wearing of-the-season sunglasses as befit their names. As the crowd enters from the stairwell to their right they look around the room.

RAYBANTWINK That's that bartender that does porn.

PRADATWINK
Do she?

RAYBANTWINK
She do. Darren is all ga-ga for him.

PRADATWINK
I don't like redheads.

RAYBANTWINK
Me neither, but he's got a big dick.

PRADATWINK
Oh, do she?

RAYBANTWINK
She do. You ready for another vodka soda?

PRADATWINK nods and winks as he finishes his drink. RAYBANTWINK gets up to leave for the bar. One sofa over at another window, IRONICTEEBEAR is caressing the sofa with SLEEVELESSBEAR.

IRONICTEEBEAR I'm not sure. I think it's real. They make really good imitations now. But it feels real.

SLEEVELESSBEAR
But leather sofas on the water just don't make sense. Saltwater is bad for leather so it's not even going to last a season.

IRONICTEEBEAR
We're on the bay side, so maybe it's okay. It still seems like a waste. I think it's fake. (Again caressing the sofa.) But it has a really nice hand. I sort of wonder where they got these. They're too nice to be IKEA.

SLEEVELESSBEAR
Probably the designer had them built for the space. They all look the same, just different shades of brown. (Pauses.) Why brown?

IRONICTEEBEAR
The tables look IKEA. (Pause. Looks around room.) Is it me or can you not smoke in here?

SLEEVELESSBEAR
Nobody else is. There's no cigarette butts on the floor. I saw people smoking on the way in though. In the other room.

EMACIGAYTED is speaking loudly into a black RAZR phone and approaches the sofa holding the BEARS and walks past to lean out the window.

EMACIGAYTED Yeah, I'm on Fire Island, the Pines... (Remaining on the phone, reaches for pocket, pulling out cigarettes, and lights one.)

SLEEVELESSBEAR
(Pointing at EMACIATWINK.) She's smoking.

IRONICTEEBEAR
Good enough. (Pulls out a pack of Marlboro Mediums.)

EMACIGAYTED
(Crossing back across the sofa.) Girl, I know, but the best time to be unemployed in New York City is during the summer when your share is paid for...

EMACIGAYTED walks away from the BEARS, cigarette in the hand that is covering his ear. He leaves for the main High Tea bar to the left, passing RAYBANTWINK, carrying two drinks.

RAYBANTWINK Why do they call this the Glo Lounge? There ain't a damn thing glowing in here.

PRADATWINK
(Points into the growing crowd.) There's Vinnie. He knows that dealer that sells those little baby jars of coke.

RAYBANTWINK
I can't believe how much we've gone through. No more sharing. People need to pony up.

PRADATWINK
Tell me. But we should talk to Vinnie. He has the guy's number.

RAYBANTWINK
Do she?

PRADATWINK
She do.

In which I imitate Bearbra Walters

What happens when you squeeze the "world's first bear band" in a room with a publicist, manager (Cyndi Lauper's ex-husband), another publicist, a videographer and, well, me?  Find out in this video interview with Bear Force One, done last night for Gawker.

YouTube Tuesday: Mystery Date

Scruffystache, not to be confused with scratch 'n sniff

Going back to sixth or seventh grade, there was a competitive feeling amongst the guys regarding the development of facial hair.  Some claimed to have developed early and would talk about shaving but you could see no indication on their faces.  Others would brush the subject off and say they were glad they didn't need to shave, which was a complete lie as everyone wanted to have facial hair.  In fact, some of those whose claim of shaving made little sense when observed in the post-gym shower, not that I was looking, but I was.

As the first glint of peach fuzz developed in the sideburn area and upper lip, there was a determination to be among the shavers.  The problem was that there were no books on the subject and it seemed embarrassing to ask my father how to go about the process.  As my parents left one Saturday morning for a boating excursion (common during the summers when you grow up on a river), I stayed behind and decided that would be the day that I would become a shaver.

The process involved first trying to figure out how the razor worked.  My father sported a full beard throughout most of his adult life and rarely shaved.  The safety razor he used seemed to possess strange mechanical properties and to not possess a blade.  Finding and applying the blade, there still seemed to be something amiss as nothing was being removed.

Having the shaving cream shoveled off with the (probably with the blade facing the wrong way) safety razor, my face still was covered with glistening peach fuzz which at a distance of one foot from the mirror was so very obvious.  The next thing to catch my eye was a blue Gillette Good News.  (For comedic effect a round pink Daisy razor was almost put in here, but that would be a lie.) 

The blue agent of death was not only successful in removing the peach fuzz but also resulted in at least twenty cuts all over my face.  With fault being more in my lack of knowledge than in the razor, just as Jack Tripper would have done in Three's Company, tiny pieces of tissue were applied to the assorted cuts, creating a bit of a papier mache beard of their own.

Shaving has never become something enjoyed.  It was merely something that was supposed to be done.  Years of sustained scruffage resulted in conversations regarding the professionalism of being scruffy, resulting in a well-shaved face for several years.  Which was misinformed, really.  The look now is sometimes beardy and, more recently, a scruffystache - sort of a trimmed down beard with a mustache.  The beard left unfettered can get a bit amishy but the scruffystache affords the tactility of facial hair and the lines of the beard.  Plus the ability to store extra liquids in the mustache section is always useful on a hot day.

YouTube Tuesday: Battle of the dancing bears

Buhbye beard, hullo handles

The awesome quality of a beard to catch and retain chin sweat was finally enough to entice action.  With beard trimmer in hand, the beard was hacked away after being thoroughly dried.  Not being a precise manscaper, the handlebar was chosen as it requires less skill than the formation of a mustache.  And scruff was maintained for friction.

SCORES scores with the gays

The Folsom East Street Fair always features something interesting to see.  Although nothing may ever top the sight of a man carrying a cat on his shoulders and that same cat pooing on the man from two years ago, this year features another event right in the neighborhood.  SCORES will be going gay for the day with a benefit for the Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project.  Since my last visit to a strip club was Billy's Topless back in the day (sigh ... Billy's), this seems to be a good chance to get out of the sun on Sunday.  Granted, SCORES is no Billy's (as this virtual tour verifies) with Daniel Nardicio running the show you just know it's going to be fun.

(Via Queerty.)

Are you tuft enough?

It's that time of year that usually sees the purchase of a new razor, shaving cream, astringent, and a soothing moisturizer.  Having let the hair on the body and face grow unabated since October of last year, typically, it would be time to shear this coat down to a manageable level.

But this year maybe it will be a hairy summer, something never actually attempted before.  The dermatologist insists that every exposure to the sun is really not a good idea for pale semi-nordic like myself. 

To carry off a pale, hairy summer look, what is needed is big muscles, but is that too bear?  Or is bear the new black?  It's all so confusing.

UPDATED:  Ken just informed me that the Times wrote about the lumberjack aesthetic today.  Which means that it's over?  More confusing than ever.

Ought I be an otter?

A friend with more knowledge of the "bear community" than I informed me that I am an otter. It's a new term to me, but I am so terribly in need of a term to describe myself, just languishing for a label. Are there other otters out there? Have I at long last found a home?