Manhattan Offender

Obiter Dictum - Brian Moylan is probably a pretty nice guy, but why does he write like a modern day Stepin Fetchit?

In response to this:

1. "We"
2. "This is the best thing to happen to gay people since poppers!"
3. "And thinking about the show gives us the same kind of dizziness as Jungle Juice." 4. "all-gay, all-day"
5. "fabulous"
6. "hello, what gay boy doesn't want their own Big Poppa?"
7. "gay-listers"
8. "There might even be a riot at Beige!"
9. "Squabbling about the Fire Island house, bitching about not being invited to the Marc Jacobs after party, twinks stealing sugar daddies from their best friends!"
10. "It's going to be—what do the gays call it?—fierce."

Is somebody forcing this methed-up/just-jack minstrelization or is it a style choice?

Just curious ...

* - Stepin Fetchit

Interesting article reveals Nick Denton to basically be Carrie Bradshaw

Chloë Sevigny, David Dinkins, Andy Samberg, Cindy Sherman, and More Share Memories of Their Early Days in New York -- New York Magazine.

Once protected by Gawker, Michael Musto and his fleshly follies are now fodder.

For a brief moment early this year, Gawker ran some gossip written by me.  It wasn't really a good fit for me, as my full time job is my priority (and better paying).  (Oh, and I'm not much of a gossip writer either.)  One item pitched to Publisher (and then Managing Editor) Nick Denton explored and exploited the sexual habits and habitats of Michael Musto.  Denton replied back noting that he didn't want to embarrass Musto.

Gawker has a new Managing Editor.  And perhaps a different tolerance regarding the sex lives of New York gossips:  What Was Michael Musto Doing in a Porn Store?.

In a quick edit, a Gawker post moves from promising fantasy to grim reality

The post started with a title that was full of the promise that the event offered.

At some point though perhaps after an internal memo or a bracing shot of Stoli Blakberi, the title of the post changed to something more reflective of the event.

Link: Party Report: The Media, Meshing in Its Natural Environment.

Yes, I am fucking everyone at Gawker Media

At a party last month, I overheard a conversation of a few people standing near me.  Its topic was something dear to my heart:  me.  Apparently, according to the party-goers, I was dating Choire Sicha right before I had a column at Gawker.

Also?  There is this persistent question about whether I know Seth Abramovitch from Defamer.  Because he's a beard-y gay and I'm a beard-y gay?  (Although now I'm just a mustache-y gay.)

Now?  I'm reading that I have a "huge crush" on Sheila McClear.  And that I am a tool.

Next?  I might hear that I'm having threesomes with Jory, the IT-gay.

For the record:

• I've never dated Sicha.  My column was in the works before he started at Gawker.  If anything it would have been Doree Shafir or Alex Balk that I diddled, but didn't.
• Not all beard-y gays know each other.  Just most of them.  And Defamer is in Los Angeles.  Do people even have beards in Los Angeles?  Isn't Nair pumped into the air there?
• I'm not bisexual enough to crush on McClear.  Were she more the Pam Anderson-type, I might.  (I like big boobies.)
• Any rumor about the IT-gay can fly. 
• I have no association with Gawker Media and haven't written a thing for them in almost six months!
• Finally, and most importantly, I don't date or diddle media people.  They are all poor.  And gossipy.  (Also?  Probably why I don't have a regular writing gig.  If only there was an editor with whom I shared an attraction.)

Link: EV Grieve: How good places are ruined: One perspective (aka, Sex and the City II: Carrie's Abortion).

Fine. I'll mention the New York Times Gawker thing

Yes, I read the NY Times Gawker pieces (I,II)this weekend.  My take? 

• It was remarkably lazy reporting.  Choire Sicha is not pleased with how he was quoted in the piece.  The story shouldn't really be "Gawker changed".  The story really is "How Gawker has adapted to the Amurkanization of New York and pop culture".  As I said before, it's a bit early for a Gawker Deathwatch. 
   
• More?  It is amazingly smug that Allen Salkin to assume that those writing blogs "covet an increasingly rare slot among the news media establishment".  Were Salkin to exit his fully-mirrored biosphere, he might realize that many of us are simply tired of mainstream media feeding tired baby-boomer bullshit fluffery.  Lazy.
   
• The real Gawker Media story is the TV-B-Gone stunt pulled by my straight lover Richard Blakely at the Consumer Electronics Show.
   

The present of Future, Tense

As mentioned, there are changes afoot at Gawker.  One of those changes is that Future, Tense is no longer part of the line-up.  I've chosen to carry the project forward and will post a new episode semi-frequently. 

With the publisher's permission, I'm now moving all of the previous episodes to this site so that the collection is all together.  I'll be putting them up over the next few days to revitalize the series, but not logjam the site with them for now.  Also?  They'll be posted as originally written, not as edited.  Expect more curse-words and different word choices for certain body parts.

Next step: rebuild the audience!

So, like, what's up with Gawker?

A typical conversation during the holidays, be it with friends or acquaintances, almost always included one question:  "So, Rod, what's going on at Gawker?"  To which I would give the ever-same reply:  "You know as much as I do."  It's never been a secret of mine that I'm not in some secret Gawker fraternity.  I never had coffee with Emily Gould.  Never made out with Choire Sicha.  In total, my face-to-face interactions with Gawker editorial could be counted on one hand.  Actually two, as Choire and I would see each other on Fire Island randomly and say quick hellos at the Pantry and other odd places.  As for Nick Denton, I saw him once at a friend's party, introduced myself, and then quickly ran back to where I had stashed my bottle of Veuve.  Summary:  I sent stories which were then edited and published.

Some of my inquisitors were at holiday parties.  Others were at more ethereal (a word I've always preferred to virtual) places.  Many have been up in arms about changes made recently.  There has been a stated change to a make Gawker a more "news-gathering" organization with more exclusive content.  There are new writers.  Some columnists are, well, no longer columnists. Some that use Gawker as the crutch that gets them through their fluorescent-lit office day are expressing dissatisfaction.  As I seem to be continuing to send in my occasional contribution, maybe I can put these transitions in a different light.

What follows is sort of my take on the situation.  A poorly-researched hodgepodgery ramble of factoids that form the basis of my opinion.  That opinion?  Yes, Gawker is changing; just like it always has.

Future, Tense

Have I really not written about this?  Ugh, what a busy couple of months.

First off, Past, Over ended at Gawker.  Not that anyone wanted it to do so other than myself.  It was reaching a point where I was running out of topics.  In its place I proposed that instead of The Past calling, now The Future would call.  I've created a landscape of a New York circa 2018, exponentially extrapolating current events in local and national news.

But don't call it a feature.  The key thing about everything at Gawker is that it must always be reporting.  Past, Over told the story of what some 1990's icons of New York have become.  Future, Tense tells of potential outcomes of the present.

This week's installment tells of the Bleecker Street Mall.  On a random afterwork stroll with a friend, the changes in this area were striking.  Brash and vapid women filled the streets with shopping bags in tow shouting out, "Oh my god" like a poorly trained macaws of fanciful plumage.  As we walked down the street we noticed all the shops that evoked excitement from the shoppers.  And began to make parrot noises at them.  The experience stuck in my head and evolved, in part, to this piece.  (Other influences include riding a Colonial Transport van with Jason Preston and Sex and the City shooting near my office recently.)

Talk dirty to me

Coming in from a bright Sunday into the dark Bijou sex club, my eyes take a long time adjusting.  My mind is on finding an appropriate space to talk to people attending this event, the beginning of a Sunday salon series hosted by Daniel Nardicio.  This week is a screening of Caligula, one of the best worst movies of all time.

Still blind, I have no idea who has suddenly grabbed me while I'm still scouting out locations to interview people for Gawker.  Tons of spots are found for B-roll.  The bar where Dimitri Santiago is posing for a life drawing 'class'.  The booths of course.  The crowd watching the movie.  Turns out my grabber is Daniel himself who is amazed that I have jumped a foot in the air post-grab.

He introduces me to a few folks.  A "pass-around party bottom".  Sean Van Zant from rentboy.com.  The Tangle, who had filmed Daniel's pilot.  Others.  Then I settle near the pool table, waiting for my video guy to arrive. 

Suddenly, I switch into "obnoxious guy in sex club with iPhone" mode, having to answer texts and emails relative to the event.  Over ten times, I step into a hallway to give instructions or clarify time.

Returning to my 'safe place' by the pool table, the scene where Caligula is testing the virginity of an engaged couple is on the screen.  I've been joined by this guy Jono that has no idea that he's completely my type (see pic above or video).  To the point that it makes me nervous.  (Or maybe it's Caligula prepping to fist some poor guy.  Or maybe the fact that the fistee isn't arching his back.)  Jono's even dressed in what I have decided for myself to be perfect attire for the evening, a zip-up hoodie with no shirt beneath. 

When videographer Alex arrives, we tour around.  He shoots some good B-roll.  I then grab Daniel to have a chat in a better-lit space.  A locker area is lit in a way that, both being 40, we reject.  Eventually, I convince Daniel to sit on the bathroom floor with a trash can behind us and a plunger in between his legs.  And as we begin to have a discussion about what is dirty in New York these days, passersby chime in and magic happens.

We have this great little conversation with people joining us on the floor.  In the bathroom.  Of a sex club.  And it's all on video.