NY Mirror

You had to practically be a vicious little gangster bastard to wangle past all the barricades and get to AMC's GoodFellas panel discussion in a theater not far from ground zero, but the def nostalgia jam—a real "mob" scene—was up my mozzarella-laden alley. Robert De Niro got kidded for his cryptic answers, with Joe Pescichiming in via satellite, "I like the way he says nothing—he says it brilliantly." Actually, he said more than usual, but when the event became too much of a love-in ("Mr. Scorsese, please give me another job!" pleaded Pesci)—and when we became overcome with the desire to really hear about The Gangs of New York—I pushed back past the barricades.

The gays of New York came out for Out magazine's Ace Gallery party for the Out 100, the ranking of successful, proud pros who make all the closety failures really look pathetic. (Disclosure: I write for Out. Admission: I still didn't make the cut.) Half-dressed neon cowboys served Absolut Citron cosmos as Aneesa Ferreira from The Real World Chicago told me that getting on the list was "cute." (I nicely didn't bring up her vibrator, which MTV has made famous, but which also didn't make the list. Not cute.)

Another honoree, Malcolm Gets, was upset that his Broadway musical Amour had just closed, saying, "There have been shows with much worse reviews that the producers didn't abandon so quickly. But the last week was like a rock concert. The entire industry came out to see us!" Forget rock—Gets is an opera guy now. He recently performed with Deborah Voigt at the Met, singing a song about the first gay caveman, and they want him to reprise it on New Year's Eve. Cute! Like the last gay caveman, I seized on the parting gift bag, which couldn't have been queerer—it had Calvin Klein briefs, five kinds of body lotion, an Elton John CD, endorphin sachets, and a nice big bottle of KY. As a result, you could liberally lube your boyfriend and store all the gifts up there till you got home.

Finally, let's loosen up with some gay movie news, shall we? I hear The Hours is the most sapphic-friendly work du cinema ever, featuring no less than three lesbianic kisses—between Meryl Streep and Allison Janney; Julianne Moore and Toni Collette; and Nicole Kidman and Miranda Richardson. They probably all eat mangoes too.


musto@villagevoice.com

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