By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
Meanwhile, the gay bar scene is partly staying afloat thanks to the fun block on Second Avenue where Urge, the sleek new DTox, and the Cock come together to provide a strip mall of pseudo-sleaze. Try going when Rajene's Ass Wednesdays at Urge bring out enough butt cracks for Andres Serrano to fill a whole gallery show with.
Gays piled into a mixer at Angels & Kings, which got an advance mention on Jossip, prompting a co-host, socialite Kristian Laliberte, to take credit and gloat about it. But the plug took pains to say the event was B-list! And I was one of the other hosts!
At Beige (at B Bar, aptly enough), the fruits like me can no longer go home with the oranges. The piles of them exposed in baskets for almost a decade are suddenly covered with netting so you can't grab one and find solace with it after midnight. Another sign that the recession is hitting the fruit market.
And though Splash briefly had a weekly poker event, it ended after only one week because they realized gambling is illegal here! Except for not using condoms!
I silently bet my turd-art collection that judging the Mr. Gay Philadelphia contest again would be fun, and I totally get to keep it; the pageant was a scream, especially when a contestant was asked which "classical movie actress" he'd like to be, and he seriously responded: "Vanessa Williams." (He lost.) In the judges' room, Jesse Archer (Out columnist and A Four Letter Word star/writer) was posing on the lap of Jack Mackenroth (the HIV guy from Project Runway), who blurted: "As if I'm a top! Look at me—my legs are crossed!" Apparently his fingers were, too. Mackenroth told me he wants to come back to TV, but not in Top Chef—or even Bottom Chef. He's pitching a design show "with the straight guy from season four of Project Runway." That's like saying "the white guy from Showtime at the Apollo."
But where was Jesse Archer's hot Aussie boyfriend, pray tell? "He's in Australia," the actor-writer explained to me. "He donated his boy butter to a couple of lesbians in Sydney. They put it up their clackers, and boom—they've got a gay-bee!" Well, Auntie Jesse would make the kid proud; he almost got kicked out of three clubs later that night for doing cartwheels over the dance floor and prancing on a piano. (My idea.) He was a regular riot! Must have been the brown chardonnay.