Manhattan Offender

It's just not a party until the drag comes out

As mentioned before, the Offenders invited a few friends over to ring in 2006. At one point one of the guests caught the twinkle of a sequin in a closet and all hell broke loose. In a move that I really expect to regret, I now present my own little new year's present to you all. The cinematography requires some twisting and turning of the head and the file has been compressed to hide the details.

If you dare, go here.

Wigstock: bring the kids?

Dear Lady Bunny,

I want to bring my niece and nephew to Wigstock.  Mister Offender says no.  I say they'll love the fun atmosphere, music, and colorful ensembles.  Mister says that their parents are on the conservative side and may have to answer 'uncomfortable' questions from the kids.  I say it's just another day in New York.  Mr. Offender says I'm a troublemaker.

Bunny, to be honest with you, I just want to dress as Angelina Jolie, put the nephew in a faux-hawk and the niece in black face, carry a Saks bag in my hand and a vial of Jennifer Aniston's blood around my neck.  I think the kids will love it.  What do you think, gurl?

At Wigs' End

High Life Low Life serves up Softees, kills self

The long-running Daniel Nardicio party "High Life, Low Life" came to an end last night, or, um, this morning.  To say 'thank you' or maybe just to fatten up the skinny crowd, Nardicio and hostess Miss Sweetie served up a Mister Softee open bar from 1 to 2 a.m. with The World Famous *BOB* as cone mistress.

Many a familiar face from the years of High Life, Low Life were on hand.  Former Slide bartender (and current Cock bartender) Chuck worked the door and the crowd.  Sweetie was joined on stage by Sha-Boom-Boom, Carrie, and *BOB*.  One of the fastest wits in town, Rose Royale, found her way through the bevy of boys.  And of course, the infamous go-go boys (including this one).

Couldn't close the place out (as we have too many times before) as other venues beckoned, but no doubt there were many inebreations, erections, and infections resulting from the big buh-bye.

Photo evidence of the high jinks (and low jinks, too) is here.

What happens in Vegas ... um, probably shouldn't

After reading about the replica East Village planned for Las Vegas, I can only think of what a fine job the project's developer previously did replicating New York.  At the New York, New York Hotel and Casino (gods, the embarrassment, I've stayed there ... long story), it is like being at home, but in the desert.  You can visit all of your favorite NYC hotspots, like ESPN Zone!

Although the East Village project is not a hotel and is mostly retail/restaurant/office space, perhaps a few suggestions are in order for our oxygenated friends in the desert:

• You must must MUST have a methadone-themed shop or restaurant.  Ruby Tuesdays, meet Methadone Mondays!
• Ignoring the East Village's bathhouse history would be a shame.  Maybe a St. Marks Bath ... and Bodyworks?
• It's great that other East Village landmarks have been included, like the Washington Square Park arch, the Meatpacking District, and the beloved Diamond District.  But why not include the wonderful East Village Cloisters and East Village Bronx Zoo, too?
• Retailing gold goes to whomever capitalizes on the East Village drag movement.  A Wigstock venue (Lady Bunny's Vaginatorium?) is a must!
• And to keep it all modern, you must remember that the East Village has been 'gentrified' so be sure to keep it on the sterile side and just a little twatty.  Oh, you are?  Perfect!

Cher? Check. Liza? Check. Star Jones? Um, yeah, check.

The blasts of color were amazing! The crowd was a chorus of oo's and ah's! And it was all in perfect harmony with great anthems of our people ... by the likes of Donna, Diana, and the Weather Girls. No, it's not those bourgeoisie fireworks; it's the Fire Island Invasion. The event started when a drag queen from Cherry Grove was refused service at a Pines establishment and has grown to a gigantic cornucopia of silicone and taffeta. With celebrity presence ranging from Robyn Byrd (who is in almost every one of my pictures) to the amazing Kevin Aviance, this event was a blast. A few of my pictures posted here.

Fire, works

It was like an odd alignment of the planets.  A three-day weekend, me 
finishing a major project in my slave-wagery, Junior Vasquez spinning 
in the Pines, the Drag Queen invasion of the Pines, Scott Parent's 
art hanging in the Cherry Grove Art Gallery.  For the first time in 
almost two years, Offender has gotten out of town for a trip that 
doesn't involve work, family, or anyone else's needs.

Just a few quick thoughts:
  - Look, your need to get your sex on in the Meatrack is completely 
fine.  But my need to get to Pavilion on time is also completely 
fine.  You don't need to pull up your pants.  You don't even need to 
pull out.  Just get me back on the right path, girlfriend.

  - The Pavilion attracts great DJ's and has a sound system that is 
so much better than one would expect.  But for thirty dollars, I'm 
expecting a bathroom that doesn't reek of poo.  And maybe it wouldn't 
reek of poo if you would provide toilet paper.  The lump of jet black 
poo sitting on the dispenser where the toilet paper should be might 
be a clue.

  - Now I am certainly not a nosy neighbor, but when a room has 10 
different (dare I say hot) teenage boys, one gorgeous trannie, and 
one 30-something, balding guy occupying it, with the windows blocked 
out by Spider-Man and Batman wrapping paper, my interests are 
certainly aroused.

  - When you and the folks with whom you are conversing are all 
somewhat unsure of what day it is, maybe it's time to try some 
consumables that are masticated.

Sephora throws gay pride drag-tacular

Sephora, the Starbucks of 'beauty', is throwing a huge gay pride event in Union Square right now!  My assistant insisted we go collect a goody bag at this party 'celebrating' the opening of their newest store ever.  Thousands of drag queens
and a smattering of gay men are in attendance with long lines for products of all sorts.  It's wonderful that the community can come together in the spirit of free shit.

Oh.  Wait.  Closer observation reveals the drag queens to be actual females, palette-faced with newly made faces, glowing in the excitement of their beauty bounty.  And the gay men are, well, gay men.