Manhattan Offender

The Fire Island Listening Project: Pre-Pines Party and Post-Pines Party

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 30, 2007.  All dialogue 100% verbatim.

EXT. THE JAMAICA LIRR STATION, ONE DAY BEFORE THE PINES PARTY

The crowd flows en masse from the 4:40 Long Beach train across the platform to the 5:03 Patchogue train. As the train arrives into the station, BUSINESSGAY (wearing a plaid dress shirt, suit pants, and well-shined square-toe black shoes) is displaying a court jester's hat to CASUALGAY (dressed in an untucked white long-sleeve button-down, jeans, and Asics running shoes) and CHANELGAY (in a sleeveless tank top with Thai script, displaying his array of tattoos, including the Chanel logo on the back of his neck). The jester's hat is tucked back into a black canvas weekender bag as the three begin to board the train.

CASUALGAY wears a face of concern as they board the crowded train.

CHANELGAY Go down. Go down.

CASUALGAY leads the other two downstairs where seats are procured. As the train affords no seats together, ALL choose aisle seats with BUSINESSGAY and CASUALGAY in the row in front of CHANELGAY. Once seated, BUSINESSGAY's cellphone rings.

BUSINESSGAY You're there already? It's what? I ... What? I'm in Jamaica so my signal is strong, so it's you, not me. I'll call you back on the house phone. (BUSINESSGAY quickly ends the call and places a new call.) So you just got there? 94? 94 and what? 94 and 94?!? The number you can't change is the number that it is and the one you can change is the temperature you want it to be.

CASUALGAY
Our house doesn't get that hot and it's all glass!

BUSINESSGAY
Do you know someone that has a house with a pool? 'Cause just go for a swim. Cool down. (BUSINESSGAY finishes the call and turns to CASUAL GAY and CHANELGAY.) Every time it's the same thing. Every house should have a list. Isn't there a list? Something to check off. "Done. Completed."

CASUALGAY
Just got a text from John. John, John and I do everything together. The three of us are like the Three Musketeers.

BUSINESSGAY
You know too many Johns.

CASUALGAY
Oh, I know. The other day I answered the phone, and I was, like, "John in L.A. or John in Denver?" and he was, like, "neither." This is going to be a good weekend. Mikey isn't coming out so I've got a room to myself.

BUSINESSGAY
A room to yourself during the Pines Party? Look out! (Laughs.) Last year I had a roommate just half the time, but when Mark was there, I didn't have to share. Gor-don has taken two full shares.

CHANELGAY
I like to be alone.

EXT. THE BLUE WHALE, ONE DAY AFTER THE PINES PARTY

The Sunday brunch crowd is mostly quiet with the voice of Sting heard clearly, singing "How Fragile We Are." WAITER, wearing jeans cut just below the knee, an Ascencion tee shirt and Nike Air Hi-Tops is moving a table to seat a party of five. Four are seated while TYPICALFORTHEMOMENT stands shirtless, shifting from one foot to the other and blinking arhythmically. As he waits, another party of five arrives.

The second party consists of four gay men, mostly indistinguishable from one another, all wearing sunglasses, tee shirts, and cargo shorts. Accompanying them is a tall brunette woman in sunglasses and a white cotton dress with a tan lobster pattern. Two of the INDISTINGAYSHABLEs are on each side of LOBSTERHAG, assisting her to walk. Her face, although covered in large sunglasses, exposes a look of pain.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE A (To WAITER) I wanna sit where I can cruise! Are you wearing eyeshadow?

INDISTINGAYSHABLE B
Ten-point-oh for originality.

The party is seated and peruses their menus. LOBSTERHAG stares into space.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE B Maybe she doesn't need to go to the hospital. Maybe just some aspirin.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE C
She has every prescription you can imagine.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE A
Sometimes you actually need medical care.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE B
Just wrap it. Wrap it in an Ace bandage.

A loud siren rings out throughout the bay.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE D It's just noon. When did you get back to the house?

INDISTINGAYSHABLE C
Four-thirty? Five? Maybe later. I didn't really sleep. And I have no appetite.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE B
Bacon. Bacon. Protein.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE A
If you're going to be waiting in the hospital for hours, you have to eat something. Or they'll have two patients.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE D
I need more room.

WAITER
Okay, boys, are we ready to order?

INDISTINGAYSHABLE B
I haven't even looked at the menu! But get me a Ketel One bloody. And put olives in it. This table means business.

INDISTINGAYSHABLE A
Ketel One Bloody Mary for me too.

LOBSTERHAG puts down her menu and searches the table for eye contact, which goes unmet. A conversation about different types of Bloody Marys begins. In the distance, TYPICALFORTHEMOMENT has folded his arms on the café table and rested his head upon them. His eyes remain open, blinking endlessly.

The Fire Island Listening Project: The Lowest Tea

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 June 20, 2007.  All dialogue 100% verbatim.

EXT. THE BOARDWALK OUTSIDE THE BLUE WHALE, FIRE ISLAND PINES
The boardwalk along the harbor is a throng of gay men. The entrance into the afternoon event known as "Low Tea" is not dissimilar to a fallopian tube: Freshly washed and coiffed gays travel up the narrow stairwell like thoughtless sperm. The crowd-flow directs us to the stiff angular movements of FLAGHAG. A bubblegum pink shirtdress and an organized mop of caustic blonde hair move in opposition to her tiny, sunburned frame. She is surrounded by men more than a half-foot taller. In her hands are napkins.

FLAGHAG
Look guys. Semaphores. (She laughs at own joke and then sings with background music.) You can stand under my umbrella . Ella-ella-eh-eh-eh. (Looking back toward the men standing over her, she raises her napkins above her head.) Wanna' stand under my umbrella, Brian? Brian. Umbrella. Ella-ella-eh-eh-eh. Brian!

BRIAN (Looking down to FLAGHAG.)
You want another Pink Panties? (Arches right eyebrow.)

FLAGHAG
Omigod. I love the Pink Panties. Ella-ella-eh-eh-eh.

The flow moves us in a new direction, at first following an unspeaking, pouty BRIAN and a singing FLAGHAG toward the front bar, but then shifting us through sliding glass doors to the interior dance floor. JAGHAG dances to Loleatta Holloway's Relight My Fire with a male friend. They both make jazz hands that occasionally touch the other's waist.

JAGHAG (Yelling over music.)
I've never even been with a girl, Brian.

ANOTHER BRIAN
You should. You've got the short hair. The butch attitude. Girls would love you.

JAGHAG
I don't care. I love penises. Love. Love. Love.

ANOTHER BRIAN
There was a picture of you and a lesbian at your apartment. Who was she?

JAGHAG (Punches ANOTHER BRIAN.)
Shut. Up! What are you talking about?

ANOTHER BRIAN
In that front hallway. You and a lesbian.

JAGHAG (Pauses, mouth agape.)
That's not a lesbian! That's my brother!

As the music changes, the crowd pushes back toward the middle entrance of a full back hallway, which leads at one end toward bathrooms and at the other toward the service bar. The area around the back bar is less crowded and FASHIONHAG stands near the bar smoking a cigarette. An Hermes scarf holds back shiny-healthy shoulder length hair. Perfectly applied blush and lipstick adorn her Asian-American features and her white strapless jumper minidress. FASHIONHAG approaches the bar and puts the cigarette out. ALEX runs toward her.

ALEX
That's not an ashtray! (Holds up the metal bartending implement that has been mistaken for an ashtray. The cigarette remains on the bar.) See, no bottom.

FASHIONHAG
Omigod. It looks like an ashtray. A simple perfect ashtray. I... Omigod. I was wondering why they had such nice ashtrays. It's so Philippe Starck. I... Laughs.)

ALEX (Laughs too.)
Omigod. I love you. I'm Alex.

FASHIONHAG
Jennifer.

ALEX
I'm so drunk. I need a bump. Do you have a bump?

FASHIONHAG
Of cocaine? I can't do cocaine. I'm on Oxycontin.

ALEX
Can I have one?

FASHIONHAG
All mine, sahhhh-ree.

ALEX (Points at a SOUTHEAST ASIAN TWINK.)
Do you know Sanjaya?

FASHIONHAG
Who? (She looks.) Oh, you're bad. But that's not Sanjaya. That's Sanjaya. (She points at a TALL PUERTO RICAN that looks even less like Sanjaya than SOUTHEAST ASIAN TWINK, and who wears a skin-tight plaid shirt and calf-length pants.) Omigod. Sanjaya's feeling the music. I don't want to go to rehab. I said no, no, no.

RANDOM PASSING GAY (Loudly, over the music and crowd.)
I don't wanna go to Meatrack. I said no, no, no.

JENNIFER
Omigod. Sanjaya is trying for Thom Brown but just giving clam-digger. (Seeing a camera, holds metallic purse to face, yells.) Gerard! I'm giving you the Meisel!

The crowd is now flowing toward the front entrance again. As the entrance is approached, napkins can be seen fluttering wildly from the hands of FLAGHAG.

FLAGHAG
Yes I been black, but when I come back. You wont know, know, know. (She looks up, yells.) Brian!

Yikes.

Poor neglected website.  Here's a scattershot post.

This week's And the Brand Played On had me zeroing in on "Fag Hags" of the Blue Whale which was a complete and total blast.  I now have a technique to listening in on people if I don't have a notepad handy.  By repeating verbatim what is just heard into the voice recorder of my cell phone all is pretty effectively captured.

Double-dipping, Past, Over is all about the Pride.  It's easy to hate on Pride.  It's hokey, odd, and outfield.  Which is why I will still go to the parade and give my support.  Only eight years ago my sexuality was still disclosed from my parents.  Granted they had already figured it out years before, but it was great blossoming for me.  Pretty much a self-actualized gay at this point, I see it as a responsibility to lend my support to both my predecessors and to communities that are still emerging. 

Stepping off the soapbox to dish some Fire Island dirt:

• Pavilion on Fire Island still is incomplete.  Apparently they filed permits as a renovation and not as a reconstruction and therefore are now being denied a certificate of occupancy.  The government official needed to fix the problem will not even come to the area until sometime in late June.
• The Meatrack path between Cherry Grove and the Pines was perfectly painted in a vibrant orange paint.  The painters hit every toe-stubbing stump and thorny vine.  Unfortunately though, the rains of last week pretty much washed the paint away, leaving only a slight orange tint on the path and problem area.
• Every member of my house to date has seen me naked.  Oops.

Other randomness:

• For the first time in my life, I've hired a housekeeper.  While out on the island last weekend, she came in and caught up all of the cleaning that was neglected during the three months of illness.  Perhaps the best present ever given to myself.
• Sybil the cat is doing great, but I'm wondering if I'm a good father.  Abandoned two weekends in a row (one of the neighbor's kids feeds and plays with her - a bargain at $20!) she is now much more affectionate and runs to the door when I come home.  Also, my own eating disorder might be passed along to her.  After having two cats die two years ago, one from diabetes, keeping her slim and healthy is important to me.  Every day she plays fetch for a good half hour, running through rooms to get the thrown toy.  At the end of these sessions, she vigorously pants, something I've not seen a cat do before.  Similarly, her quantity of food hasn't increased in her two months with me, but she has grown substantially.  Maybe I'll buy her a little scale that measures body fat and rewards her with a treat for BMI of 13 per cent or below.  Video soon.

So begins the season: a look inside the Belvedere Guest House (for men)

Almost invariably, people will tell you that the Belvedere is a dump.  The faux painting, the peeling paint, and pervy cohabitants are all mentioned.  There remains though an allure to the place.  Sitting palatially on the east end of Cherry Grove, the Belvedere is iconic in status.  As it is in it's 75th year now, I was determined to stay there, if but for a night.

This weekend presented a perfect opportunity, as a house and housemates needed to be checked out, a deposit made, and a few other errands needed to be done.  With less than perfect weather in the forecast, the call was made for reservations.  My only requirement?  That I take a "luxury" room, and that I get a discount.

My room, right on the water was quite nice, with an iPod alarm clock, flat-screen (13") television, full bath and kitchenette.  The staff was invariably friendly and helpful (and cute). 

That being said, there are parts in disrepair and less than perfect.  Further, as I was not in the more commonly taken economy or standard rooms, there were no issues that come along with a shared bath.

The video above, which admittedly isn't great, gives you a general idea of the place.  Sound was removed as it was pretty windy the whole time.

I'll have video later in the week of the Mr. Fire Island Leather contest, the NEW Pavilion, a walk through The Meatrack and a few other tidbits.

Popper Monster escapes, wreaks havoc

There he is in a red camp-style shirt and vivid yellow knee-length shorts.  Looking like a cross between a high school gym coach and a high school cheerleader, he arrives at The Blue Whale for Low Tea.  He socializes, smiles, and chats with several people.  My camera is out of my pocket and is set to take a picture of him, the infamous Popper Monster.

Then it strikes me that Popper Monster is doing no wrong here (other than the outfit).  Maybe there has been a reformative episode in his life.  There is no apparent offensiveness happening; his demeanor is quite sober.  This is no pedophile whose picture should be posted as permanent punishment.  The camera is pocketed.

Several hours and one outfit later it is a different scene.  As DJ Escape spins an unmemorable set the floor at Pavilion is packed with a shirtless dancing crowd.  Suddenly, over the aroma of testosterone and sweat, another scent is in the air, familiar and terrifying.  The Popper Monster is in full swing searching out a shirtless back on which to lean.  My hand reaches for my back pocket, where the camera had been in my shorts for most of that day.  But the shorts are gone, and the back pocket of these jeans holds no room for a camera, just ass. 

The Popper Monster escapes my lens yet again.  Fire Island

Live-blogging Oscar

7:40pm - A pot-luck for the Academy Awards?  Okay.  But, um, where are are guests?  Roro is what?  Sick?  And the others are on their way?  But I'm hungry.

7:45pm - There was just a video montage of romantic movements of nominated films in the past year.  It was okay to see with a PROSTITUTE and her trick.  It was okay to show a romantic scene with a woman and an APE.  But no romantic scene with two men.  It's going to be a long night.

8:02pm - First shot of the stage.  The font for "Oscar" looks like a soda logo.

8:04pm - Billy Crystal and Chris Rock?  George Clooney in bed with Jon Stewart?  It's gonna' be the gayest Oscars ever.

8:10pm - Charlize Theron may be the best looking woman of the night.

8:12pm - Brokeback Mountain joke count - 1 (a big one)

8:20pm - George Clooney just arrived on the stage and the music is already playing?  What is that about?