D List Radio—Daniel Nardicio‘s show on the Internet airwaves—needs 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. Cristofe—whom I’ve spotted making out with various alkies at Splash—started 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 shopping—eat 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 butts up 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 dumbfounded—and 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 metaphors—they’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, kids—two, 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 show—despite having very little overhead—supposedly 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.)
What female designer has long been dating an ex– Gaiety dancer? What hey- world-I’m-straight business titan supposedly beats up partners during gay s&m sexploits, then pays them off to shut the fuck up about it? (And I guess it works; I sure can’t hear them.) What fabulous downtown drag queen dates a supporting male player on Desperate Housewives? Who was recently married, but went through a lengthy “phase” as a lesbian, hitting on New York waitresses with typical aggression?
What acclaimed theater-and-movie actor has a decent-sized schlong, but it never gets that hard and it tends to drip with string cheese? Do I maybe know too much about some of these people? What British movie star, say the rumors, had to pay a guy $100,000 to go ta-ta when the gent produced photos of the Brit getting intimate with another male in a dog park? (No wonder Brits have bad teeth.) What streety actor goes clubbing a lot but doesn’t want it known because when the mother of his baby reads about his cavortings thousands of miles away, she blows like a geyser?
What star who put out with his director to get that coveted role wouldn’t do so any more once it was in the can, as it were? (I guess he won’t get the sequel.) What director’s ex-lady perennially tortured him to give her bigger roles (he didn’t) and wasn’t terribly supportive of his own achievements? Why do I suddenly feel less sympathy for the bitch? What stomach-stapled mess dropped her napkin at a restaurant, and when the waiter was about to get her a new one, she said, “No. I want this one,” so—stay with me—he had to try to pick it up as her foot stubbornly stayed on top of it? (PS: She didn’t tip, so the actress she was dining with nicely came back the next day with flowers and some money.)
Are even sitcom reruns being censored now because of pressure from the religious right? (Free answer: Yep. On the Golden Girls episode in which Blanche exclaims “Oh, Jesus!” she now just says “Oh, Jeez!” Oh, Jesus.) What’s one of Michael Pitt‘s more elegant utterances in the upcoming Jailbait? (Another freebie: “I love your cock throbbing inside me.” Me too, Mikey.) What brilliantly sick duo is doing a month on Broadway starting in August? (Kiki & Herb!) Which gossip queen is doing a reality show with World of Wonder? (No, not me—though I’m beyond certain I’ll be the most frequent guest star. It’s Perez Hilton.) What was the most resistible PR pitch of the week? (It was the e-mail headed, “Interview Opportunity: Tony winner John Lloyd Young discusses performing with allergies.” No, thanks—though that would have given me the chance to make wildly funny puns like “Ragweed Doll.”)
What funny lady has been making the gay rounds lately, from Cherry Grove to Beige? ( Wanda Sykes.) What’s the most intriguing thing about the naked Britney Spears cover of Harper’s Bazaar? (It’s the coverline, “487 Best New Ideas Inside,” which is placed smack between her legs. I knew that was a fertile region, but I had no idea there were that many exciting ideas up there!) Who would have gagged at the casting of light-skinned Beyoncé in Dreamgirls? (The property’s dead co-creator Tom Eyen, according to Sheryl Lee Ralph, who played that very role in the original Broadway version. Ralph tells rockacandy that Eyen felt the Dreamgirls had to be “obviously black” because when an “obviously black girl” makes it, she truly deserves it, since no one was pushing her there. I bet Ralph would like to push Beyoncé—off a cliff.) But who supposedly have the supporting Oscars already all sewn up tighter than a female-to-male’s vagina? (Final freebie: That same movie’s obviously black Jennifer Hudson and Eddie Murphy. You heard it here first—unless it’s wrong. I don’t know shit about anything.)
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on June 27, 2006