By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
Check your attention spans at the door and dive on these quick bites, which I assure you will add up to a richly rewarding meal that you'll never forget. (Vomit bag not included.)
First off, Tony nominee and screen legend Jane Fonda will be thrilled to know that I just peed on her! See, I went to an affair at a veterans' social club in the outer boroughs—don't ask—and found that smack-dab in the bathroom urinal is a strategically placed red circle with Fonda's face in the middle and the words "Hanoi Jane Urinal Target" blaring around it. They're still mad at her Vietnam stance 37 years ago! While I've long forgiven the woman, I had no choice but to relieve myself on her illustrious visage.
Want to wet yourself? In the trailer for The Hangover, you hear a crude character (he's supposed to be crude, mind you) screeching, "Paging Dr. Douchebag!" But in the actual film, I hear, it's the even more enchanting "Paging Dr. Faggot!" Go see the movie, I guess, if you feel the trailer somehow cheats you on this witticism.
Paging all gays, the Friday-night Rock It bash has been drawing scads of them to Amalia, and that's apparently been denting Mr. Black's business. But no need to rename it Mr. Black and Blue just yet; the clubland pendulum swings every which way but loose, with moves as unpredictable as those of a wet gay cockatoo.
Paging all fruit flies, the Miss Fag Hag contest at Comix was a scream, starting backstage when my fellow judge Hedda Lettuce asked if we should put itching powder in the contestants' clothes, while another judge, TV star and new mom Caroline Rhea, wondered, "How come I'm not getting Miss Fag Hag?" I assured her she was getting the Lifetime Achievement Award.
Rhea went on to tell me that she and some other stars of Sordid Lives would be performing at the same club soon. "Oh! All the people fired from Logo," I joked. "We weren't fired!" she replied. "The producer wouldn't pay us residuals!" Rhea sardonically called me nasty, and I responded, "At least I don't breastfeed." "That's true!" said Rhea, biting my bait. "I can't accuse you of sustaining a life!"
Then came the real contest, where the finalists were a girl who sang a hard-boiled version of "Tomorrow," another who did a clog dance while spinning hoops and juggling bowling pins, and a third who screeched, "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morissette with angry fag-hag lyrics. (The "I put the ho in Soho" gal, who demonstrated safe sex with a banana, was sadly shut out, as was the first female Liza Minnelli impersonator in history. Too radical.) The Alanis girl won, even though her sash misspelled "West Village."
For a palate cleanser here, let me tell you my personally researched list of the top five sayings uttered by gays on the circuit—and let this be the last time we're subjected to their tiredness, girl. In ascending order of frequency, they are: "How very dare you!"; "I'm an ass-half-full kind of guy"; "Physician, heal thyself"; "Well, smell you!"; and, of course, the immortal "You can't rape the willing." No, dear, but you can certainly tell them to shut up!
A drunk at Pieces bar wouldn't plug it up the other night, but at least he managed to tell me that he'd heard a TV commentator unleash this gem of an observation: "Leave it to Madonna to find the only Jew who's a hot Latino with an uncut penis."
The uncut version of what happened on the plane to Vienna for the Life Ball—the big AIDS benefit/fashion gala—was that Paper magazine's Mickey Boardman found himself in the middle of some liquid mayhem involving Katy Perry and Kai Kuhne, the perennially tipsy ex-member of As Four. As Boardman explained it to me, "Someone dared Katy to kiss a sleeping man on the flight. She did it. Then Katy dared Kai to teabag me with a wet teabag in my face. I woke up and saw him doing it and pushed him away. His whole glass of champagne spilled all over me, though he said it was an accident." With him, it always is, but, in any case, two particularly vivid questions come to mind: Katy kissed a boy, and she liked it? And, more important, you can do teabagging with an actual teabag?
At the event itself, some were rumoring that Bill Clinton was making out with a female from the Huffington Post, but I'm sure it was just a dare from Katy Perry.
I sucked proverbial face with the performance crowd at the benefit for the Kitchen, where a roomful of lawyers and corporate sponsors watched Laurie Anderson and Sonic Youth put the "ah" back in avant garde as I schmoozed with Butthole Surfers' Gibby Haynes. "Johnny Depp is a real motherfucker!" Haynes told me, eyes a-popping. "Really? Why?" I asked, panting for some scoop. "He had two children that aren't twins, by the same woman," he said, grinning. Oh, a real jokester! Haynes went on to tell me a Jew joke and a Jesus gag and to crack that he may have had oral sex with Dr. Timothy Leary, "but I didn't witness it. Apparently, it was my penis. I didn't suck his dick, that's for sure." How very dare you!