By Alex Distefano
By Scott Snowden
By Anna Merlan
By Steve Almond
By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
D List RadioDaniel Nardicio's show on the Internet airwavesneeds to be seen to be disbelieved. A marathon of aggressively eccentric guest stars, it's taped in such a tiny storefront on First Avenue that it spills out onto the sidewalk, making for a combination street party, boho free-for-all, and nightmare for Mayor Bloomberg. The other week, the show featured an alleged talent contest, with three contestants belting out dance songs about stripping, fucking, and other high cultural pursuits, kicking gay culture in the crotch with every note. At least they practiced what they preached, thanks to Cristofe, the show's curly-topped British go-go boy who has way too good a face and body for radio. Cristofewhom I've spotted making out with various alkies at Splashstarted sticking that very puss in one of the singers' underwear right out in the street and devouring the guy's privates as the guy kept blithely crooning and rabid dogs gathered in search of the bone.
That turned out to merely be a happy appetizer. By the time the final contestant sang some pesky ditty about how "whores have more fun," his pants were lower than my jaw and the irrepressible Cristofe had moved in and began licking the singer's ass, while a middle-aged woman in a bodice looked on, beaming with pride. She turned out to be Cristofe's mother! "No wonder Brits have bad teeth," muttered drag performer Bianca Del Rio.
By the way, Del Rio was also irked by all the bachelorettes interrupting the fun by bothering her to ask where Lucky Cheng's was. It was right across the street, next to Ortiz Funeral Home. That's handy one-stop shoppingeat the food, then enter your coffin. So kidding!
Compared to that little taste of Sodom, other recent slices of the night have been blander than a Nick Lachey song about hurt feelings, but it's my duty to pull my jaw back up and tell you about them: One night at Duvet, I heard a queen moan, "At Vlada Lounge, the guys are cute and there's no attitude whatsoever. Then the same guys go to Mr. Black and put their noses up in the air!" Well, just spin 'em around and they've got their buttsup in the air. Whores have more fun.
Meanwhile, Splash has been cutting into Duvet's Thursday-night energy, even when Cristofe isn't gyrating his tongue around the place. The rebounded club is filled with bare-butted go-go dancers and cruisy college cuties, all hankering for a wankering. But Duvet still has the edge, partly because of the extremely ill entertainers that break up the night, from the British performance artist who "gave birth" onstage, seemingly unaware that he was directly copying Leigh Bowery, to the drag queen screeching an old disco song without adding any punchlines. These show-ettes often leave the audience completely dumbfoundedand that's preferable to utter complacence, no?
As long as our heads are pounding: Tylenol PM has had a big presence in gay media for a while now and I'm just guessing it might be because it helps bring you down off crystal. Oh, but if you a see a clubbie bopping about with sunglasses and a lollipop, I assure you they're not mething around, posing, or mixing metaphorsthey're exing! The glasses cover the sensitized eyes and the lollipop diverts the gnashing of teeth. OK, ouch-gnash?
But let's take off the shades, put the lolly back in the nearest aperture, and lower the blinds for a big, gay finish. I'm talking about those dirty, salacious blind items concerning famous people too icky-poo-poo to even mention by name. Brace yourselves, kidstwo, three, four'cause here come the queries:
What dyed-haired right-winger obviously didn't realize I was two feet away when he turned to his friend at an event and loudly blurted about me, "He doesn't know shit about anything"? How twisted genius is it that he then recovered and gave me a phony, ass-kissy greeting? Whose stage showdespite having very little overheadsupposedly never made a cent because of the star's living and transportation demands? Which actress who's quietly gay was a beard for a soap actor way back in the '80s? Who got that part in that serious gay play partly because the director liked him in porn flicks?
What hideous gay fashionista gargoyle was spotted scratching his balls shortly before shaking hands with an editor from Harper's Bazaar UK? What Oscar-winning actor is rumored to have gone out with that handsome businessman? (Yes, the latter is supposed to be straight, but his most famous female conquest always attaches herself to sexually ambiguous men, so think again.) Who walked out of watching a live game show at a gay bar when they asked the panel to "name an '80s celebrity who thinks he's still famous" and he came in at number two? Was he mad he wasn't number one? What heartthrobby young actor was told by his publicist to lose the gay friends because that's how rumors start? (The rumors may have also started because the actor is indeed a big, old faygeleh bottom, which some find a shame seeing as his dick is even bigger than his ego.)