The Dark Shadows convention at the Marriott Westchester in Tarrytown brought out swarms of diehard goths, including an assortment of autistic types, people with hunchbacks, and all sorts of other outsiders who’ve found solace in the ’60s show’s glamorization of the Other. (Yes, I’m one of them and didn’t go only because I was busy getting an anal bleaching. Weirdly connected friends filled me in.) The event served as a 40th anniversary in the role of Barnabas Collins for the elegantly creepy Jonathan Frid, who explained to fans, “I never played a vampire. I played a man with a secret.” A fine distinction—sort of like sherbet versus sorbet. To perhaps inadvertently add to the gay subtext, Frid showed a clip from the series that had Barnabas describing his relationship with another male character as “a duel. I plunge my sword in you and you plunge your sword in me . . .” I can only hope they used condoms! While Frid bared his sheath, the persistent buzz at the convention was all about the Dark Shadows movie being made, starring, of course, he who plays all weird bloodsucking men with secrets, Johnny Depp. I bet the subtext comes prancing out like a drunken pirate.
Meanwhile, attention, all chicken hawks: For young men without a secret, get thee to zailen.com, which plugs all the weekly Zailen Entertainment club nights where inebriated (on life) young gays hook up for swordplay. Drew Zailen and his co-promoters have practically taken
High School Musical out of the closet, producing a schedule that consists of Erection Wednesdays at Boys Room, which promise “free shots to those who loose [sic] their clothes”; Thursday-night Pop Rocks bashes at Bar 13, with “three floors, go-go boys, roofdeck with smoking permitted”; and Fridays at Rush, which used to be Heaven and is now, apparently, heaven, or at least a trashy enough waiting area. Zailen’s no longer involved with Hot Mess at Porky’s—where your shoes stick to the Jell-O shots on the floor and the go-go boys spazz on the bar as drag queens call out raffle-ticket numbers—but he’ll relocate soon enough to another appealing Sunday-night hellhole. His crowd? They’re generally hairless, unformed, semiclothed, and just like puppies—until they tell you their bizarrely vivid sexual histories or launch into wicked, violent dances that would scare even Jonathan Frid. They are shameless and without overly rehearsed game-playing—or money—and clearly enjoy releasing all that pent-up school energy from whenever they managed to show up there.
In the more grown-up gay world on Sunday at Hiro ballroom—sorry, no Jell-O shots—I wondered what’s been up with porn idol Michael Lucas (who’s always moaning that he’s too old to hustle anymore)? “I had a fight with an Arab cab driver and had to call 911,” he told me, furiously. “I ended up with head trauma. Also, my tent in Fire Island caved in and I hurt my back. And someone on the island was OD’ing, so his friends gave him a bump to revive him and that killed him. They’re being investigated.” Nice to see you too, dahling.
I plunged my sword back into my pants and walked into Tenjune just as Hamptons magazine cover boy Andy Roddick was scruffily taking the stage. “I didn’t know I was gonna make a speech,” he cutely stammered, with spiky hair trauma. “Turn the music back on.” Over the thump-thump, I screamed to Roddick—the rare sports star I’ve heard of—that he’s the first public figure I’ve ever seen not seize the chance to filibuster to his ego’s content. “I don’t want to hear myself talk,” he said, laughing, and I realized neither do I, but damn, he’s plenty cute.
There were tons of talkers at the Brasserie Ruhlmann luncheon for The Hunting Party, like director Richard Shepard, who told me the movie is based on an Esquire article about journalists who hunt for a war criminal and get mistaken for a CIA hit squad. “The article struck me as absurd and utterly compelling,” said Shepard. Especially when the guy played by Richard Gere had that scary meltdown? “In the movie, Gere has a meltdown,” Shepard explained, “but the three lead characters are composites of the guys.” So no one actually had a scary meltdown? “I’m having a meltdown right now,” he said, laughing. Does Shepard make big enough money to sugarcoat such moments? “I directed the pilot of Ugly Betty,” he said, “and that’s the gift that keeps giving. I don’t think the network had any idea it was gonna be big. Permeating the production was a sense of ‘No one has much confidence in this.’ But America Ferrera is really lovely and is so real in the part. I remember how we took Patricia Field‘s actual glasses off and put them on her for the show. Pat was blind, but it worked!”
Wearing his own specs, Jesse Eisenberg—the youngest of the Hunting Party
Sarajevo rompers—told me he’s started a website called Oneupme.com, which offers a daily wordplay competition to drive everyone crazy. His other recreational joy is bike riding, which he admitted “has saved me from suicide many times.” It’s even saved him from meltdowns.
SLUTTY SLUTTY BO BUTTY
And now I’m gonna boil it down for you and serve it back up in the form of tantalizing blind items, which are my very own idea of a crazy-making wordplay competition. And so: Which Tony nominee was actually relieved that he lost to that other Tony nominee rather than a third one he has an intense rivalry with? What movie star is a little less congenial—in fact, she’s a demanding diva— now that her A-list status is a bit tarnished by the aging process Hollywood so despises? What much younger actress—a TV star—mysteriously left a bedpan filled with pee-pee in her apartment, as the guy who took over the place found out to his distaste? What gay club promoter will gladly go on a date with guys who ask, but adorably demands 100 bucks before he starts to loose his clothes? What other downtown promoter is so supple he can enjoy double penetration without even batting an anus? What French legend looks so damned good because she supposedly has a gold mesh wire implanted in her face to keep it all trés tight?
What wacky singer flinches when asked if she feels she’s influenced a current superstar? (She feels the superstar can’t really sing and therefore the question is kinda insulting.) Which old-time movie star—a perennial screen virgin—actually slept with all her male co-stars except the two gay ones and the morally upright one? What sinewy guy spoke at that closeted gay’s funeral, fueling rumors that the dead gay was a generous supporter of the sinewy guy when he started out? Which soap star doesn’t gain an ounce mainly because her husband threatens extra sadism if she does so? What businessman involved in a successful payment system has lavish parties for boys, boys, boys, but still isn’t out in the world? What rapper with children can never help cruising the cute guys, boring into them with his eyes in between boring us with his attitude? What actress who’s played a trannie bristles when asked about her size-11 feet?
What’s the worst way to travel to and from the Hamptons? (It’s a tie: The jitney, which never arrives at the scheduled time and is overrun with people disobeying the cell-phone time limit—though you do get some trail mix—and the LIRR train, which is cheaper but, the last time I took it, completely broke down, leading to a six-hour schlep home. Fun vacation, huh?) Who’s currently directing a documentary about piano bars? (Free answer: Xanadu director Christopher Ashley. Kiss today goodbye—and point me to the camera!) Whose anal bleaching backfired to the point where his butt now looks like a diseased Chihuaha? Turn the music back on.
Wait, turn the music off again and listen to this: Tiffany Limos, the publicity seeking actress who’s dated Larry Clark and Michel Gondry, obviously can’t get enough intimate time with directors. She recently arranged for Quentin Tarantino to be honored at the Cinemanila film festival in the Philippines, after which a source spotted the twosome’s antics on their return to L.A. It was an indie movie in itself. In the Manila airport, says the source, “Tiffany was pushing Tarantino in a wheelchair in the first class lounge. Apparently he had injured his back to the point where he couldn’t walk. Camera crews and paparazzi were trying to catch a glimpse but they were surrounded with a swarm of body guards. On the flight, Tarantino made one of the stewardesses cry because he didn’t want to sit in his first class seat. He wanted to sit on the floor or in one of the flight attendant’s seats. When they refused him he told them to call the sky marshall. Congressman Aquino had to come from business class to break the fight up. During the flight Tarantino was telling Tiffany how much he loved her and to not worry. He called her ‘the wife,’ whatever the hell that means. As soon as the plane landed, I saw them getting their luggage and Mr. Tarantino was barely walking, refusing a wheelchair. I saw Tarantino try to kiss Tiffany on the lips, but someone arrived to pick her up as Tarantino was standing there. I was a little annoyed about all the drama that those two caused during the flight. Tiffany was ordering the President’s people, the one doctor that was on the plane, and the whole flight crew to cater to Mr. Tarantino’s needs. I suppose I would too if I had to sit next to the grumpy older man!“ My prediction? A part for Tiffany Limos in Kill Bill 3.
Hold on, I’ve got another tidbit. Playgirl magazine is finally recognizing that it might not be just straight women who enjoy its, um, articles. They’re putting out a gay series of DVDs called Playgirl Blue—Collector’s series, the first volume of which will be called “Boys of Blue” complete with bonus material of “Campus Hunks” auditions. The twinks alone will put the girl back in Playgirl.