Filed under: New York City, gay, openings & events, theater | Tags: Ana Gasteyer, Broadway Beauty Pageant, Cheyenne Jackson, michael musto, Mr. Broadway, New York City, Symphony Space, Tovah Feldshuh
As the rest of the world fussed over Miss USA, the only pageant that mattered to gal pal Michael Musto and I was last night’s “Broadway Beauty Pageant” held at the fabulous Symphony Space on Manhattan’s upper west side. The third incarnation of this event to benefit the Ali Forney Center (an incredible organization that shelters and mentors lgbt youth) sang, danced and laughed the night away with extraordinary men from the casts of The Little Mermaid, Wicked, Hair, The Lion King, and Billy Elliot. Each contestant went head-to-head in talent, swimsuit, and interview competitions for the coveted title of Mr. Broadway…and a one hundred dollar gift certificate to Bamboo 52.
The hilariously Jewish four-time Tony nominee Tovah Feldshuh hosted the pageant, and though the winner was ultimately chosen American Idol-style by audience vote, the panel of judges consisting of Charles Busch, the side-splitting Ana Gasteyer, Beth Leavel, and accompanist extraordinaire Seth Rudetsky. All were graciously on hand to provide some hilarious (and sometimes inappropriate) commentary that kept the show moving.
Although the competition was tough and all performances were fabulous, Hair’s Anthony Hollock brought down the house with his awkward combination trumpet solo/tumbling gymnastics/Irene Cara impersonation and ultimately accepted the crown as Mr. Broadway 2009. My vote was for the adorable Mr. Billy Elliot, but to each his own.
Last year’s pageant winner, Mr. Marty Thomas, closed the show with a breathtaking (and often hilarious) rendition of I Will Always Love You before releasing us downstairs to the after party. Never have I heard such an easily blundered song performed so beautifully…and by a man! Well…an effeminate man sporting a bedazzled silver blazer, but a man nonetheless!
Sightings: Tovah Feldshuh pushing her way in through the throngs of gay men crowding the box office ten minutes before the show started. Broadway heartthrob Cheyenne Jackson & his mystery baseball cap-wearing chemist boyfriend looking adorable up in the balcony.
Two weeks ago I had the privilege of attending the opening of a new Broadway play revival, “The American Plan” starring Mercedes Ruehl and a handful of equally brilliant cast members. A good friend, Village Voice columnist Michael Musto, had invited me along, and although it took the audience awhile to get settled after the likes of Joan Rivers, Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick were whisked in (to just a few rows ahead of us), the wait was well worth it.
Set in a small resort town in the Catskills (i.e. where I grew up), Richard Greenberg’s meiculously crafted and brilliantly written play unfolds the story of Lili Adler and her mother Eva, who spend their summers across the lake from a bustling hotel. When a handsome young man enters their world (first seen dripping wet in a skin tight bathing suit – hummina hummina) the emotionally fragile Lili finds herself falling in love, as did half of the audience. As her imperious mother learns of their relationship, Lili’s chance to escape Eva’s control may be lost forever, and with a surprise twist in the second act that, judging by the gasps, very few expected, this is guaranteed to be a hit. (check out the NY Times review if you don’t believe me: NYTimes http://theater2.nytimes.com/2009/01/23/theater/reviews/23plan.html)
The after-party was held at the Times Square Hard Rock, which I initially thought would be painfully tacky but in fact was a pleasant surprise. Being the free buffet and open bar whore that I am, and after chatting it up with the likes of Tony nom Orfeh (Legally Blonde) and Patricia Clarkson throughout intermission, I knew the after party was bound to be pretty fab. And it was. I ran into pal David Evangelista, and after loosening up over a few glasses of wine, was introduced to his longtime friend and client, the star of the evening, Mercedes Ruehl! Stuffed, satiated and feeling incredibly lucky, I bid my adieus and headed back uptown.
Filed under: Uncategorized
It has been a busy few weeks. Let me digress, as I’ve been metaphorically treading water to accomplish what I set out to do starting January 1, 2009.
Work out, get in shape. Learn another language. Make an ass-load of money. Join a sports team. Join a book club. Join a community organization. Meditate. These are just a handful of the three long pages I so carefully crafted last month to guide me through ’09 (a solid chunk of which I’m still working feverishly to maintain). We have a new president, a new direction, and when the ball dropped I vowed that this would be my personal year for some change. Enough of that “stay the course” crap. The old me is back – you know, the one with disgustingly high self-expectations and the feigned energy to actually make himself believe they’re all achievable?
Filed under: Uncategorized
In the off-chance you haven’t received one of these forwards from at least one friend of yours, you may want to consider getting out a bit more. Just thought I’d share.
Once you’ve been “tagged” you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged, and so on. Here goes:
- I tend to run up and down the subway stairs like I’m in a race even when I’ve got time to kill.
- My biggest pet peeve is when people don’t know the proper usage for the words there, their and they’re. It honestly makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.
- Although I’m by no means rich, there’s nothing that gives me greater satisfaction than spending money on my family & friends, no matter how much debt it gets me into.
- There’s nothing more cathartic than playing the piano, or sitting in your apartment reading with Radiohead playing in the background.
- I have a serious weakness for Judge Judy episodes (online, of course)
- I’m not ashamed to shop at the dollar store for everyday things. It’s a silent protest to the bastards that created the overpriced yet unavoidable Duane Reade conglomerate that took over our fair city. You suck, Duane Reade. There, I said it.
- I love getting my news through actual newspapers. I still maintain that there’s way too much to do in NYC than sit in front of a television.
- I truly think I have the greatest group of friends in the world. It’s so cliché and overused, but it’s true. From the completely random group pieced together from high school to every hilarious and accepting friend in college, not to mention my family in Spain and here in the city, you never cease to make me laugh and keep me grateful.
- Living in Manhattan rocks. If you haven’t, do it.
- I’m by far the pickiest out of all my friends when it comes to potential mates for both them and me, which is probably why I’ve been devastatingly single for as long as I can remember.
- My list of resolutions for 2009 is currently 3 pages long, and I’m sticking to a solid 75% so far.
- I’ve recently started cutting back on giving homeless people money. Sometimes I feel like an asshole, but when they’re wearing brand new sneakers and haven’t gotten desperate enough to even pawn the watch on their wrist? Come on now…
- The one guy I will tip, however, is the sixty year old blind black man on the n/r/w train. He gropes his way up and down the train singing “if you want my body, and you think I’m sexy, come on baby…let me know!” He shakes all eighty three pounds of drooping skin, tapping his stick to the beat, blind as a bat, and I love him.
- I think very few celebrities are fascinating people.
- Although I don’t have cable, I keep a healthy rotating supply of Cosby Show, Will & Grace, Seinfeld, Little Britain, I Love Lucy, Weeds, Desperate Housewives and Family Guy courtesy of the good folks at Blockbuster, and any newsworthy must-sees are taken care of by Raven’s 1,482 inch plasma flat screen.
- I rarely finish all of the food on my plate. Maybe it’s psychological, but enough people consistently point it out to me that I feel like it deserves a mention.
- I once gay-bashed someone in Barcelona. Leaving an absinthe bar that was once frequented by the likes of Picasso and Hemingway after one too many rounds, I caught the glimmer of a skinny guy wearing tight glitter jeans a few feet in front of me. He scampered away down a side street soon after I opened my mouth, and I hope to this day he didn’t speak a word of English. I was told the next morning that I said some things I shouldn’t have. If you’re reading, I’m sorry.
- I still to this day can’t stand the sight, smell, taste, or concept of eating mushrooms. Grey in color? Check. Fungi? Check. Grown in shit? Check. Three strikes, you’re out.
- There’s truly nothing more annoying than strollers on subways. Or anywhere, for that matter.
- A week is not complete until I’ve polished off each current issue of the Voice, NY Magazine, NY Press, L, TimeOut and NY Times Magazine. It’s kind of a sickness. I’m often up until 3am on a Sunday finishing up one of the bunch.
- I have a serious weakness for good tiramisu. I’ll travel to Brooklyn (I know…) and eat my weight in it on any given day of the week.
- The one thing I hate about being single is that there’s no one to give you a massage at any given moment when you’re feeling stressed. That’s the best.
- Screaming children really (really) irritate me.
- I hate having a blackberry for work and a phone for my life. It really gets annoying sometimes. You girls with your purses, you really don’t understand.
- Obamarama.
Filed under: Uncategorized
It’s been one of those few nights when the world fades away and suddenly you can actually hear the rain hitting the window pane, and I’ve gotten to thinking. The spirit that comes with the dawn of a new year is one that you either shrug off or embrace, and although I’ve never really been one for sticking to resolutions, the quarter century landmark has finally hit home. I’m twenty five, and not getting any younger.
Success doesn’t come easy, but it comes to those who work hard and earn it. Bruce passed down some advice from Barbara Corcoran tonight, who said that the times her business truly flourished were the most economically desperate and unstable. When you churn the milk, the cream rises to the top, and it’s in this kind of market that separates the successful and the ordinary. Who wants it worse? Guess we’ll have to wait and find out.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: club touch, cross dresser, crystal meth, D'or lounge, Dream Hotel, liquor, manhattan, NYC, open bar, out lounge, pr, public relations, Real Housewives of NYC, Richie Rich, vegas, vodka, way out, weddings
Following Wednesday’s “Way Out” bash marked Thursday’s first Out Lounge party of the season (and at a new location – Club Touch), and I have to say I’m surprised the entire Western side of Manhattan didn’t plunge underground because of all the extra weight of 34,509 homos piled on top of each other, impatiently clamoring at the door & both of their understaffed (yet chic, touch-sensitive and luminescent) bars. The theme was all Vegas, and the feathers, boas, and surprisingly hot (yet female) performers were slutting it up with the ‘mos until the cheap vodka wells ran dry. I even got a card from a cross-dresser advertising “her” “promotions” which in New York City means anything from weddings to crystal meth. It’s really anybody’s guess when you get it at an open bar.
Which leads me to my next point.
Why is it that the gays like to party so much? The liquor companies have definitely caught on, and they’re practically pouring their profits down our throat just to get the slightest brand recognition. I’m being honest when I tell you that I can’t even remember the sponsor of half the events I’ve been to, but I thank them every time I’ve only had $4 to last me through the night, so it works out in the end…kinda. Moral of the story: Disappoint your parents, be discriminated against, never be able to marry, and you’ll drink for free until you die. It’s awesome.
Soon thereafter I whisked my unsuspecting straight friend over to D’Or lounge in the Dream Hotel where a young pr exec was hosting her 24th birthday party. The girl was 24 and there’s little doubt in my mind she had the open bar comped, space comped, and photographer at cost. Gotta love public relations, people. I can’t say I’m not seething with jealousy, but the event really was gorgeous; the basement lounge glowing from gold uplights and antique mirrors amid Richie Rich’s radiant “natural” blonde hair and some Countess (from that retarded “Real Housewives of NYC” show) being fawned over by aspiring socialites.
Not too much planned yet this week, but it’s only Monday…I’ll keep ya posted.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 60 Thompson, D'Or, Dream Hotel, Genre Magazine, HK, Jared Kushner, NYC, Puck Building, real estate, soho, The Observer, Thom Bar, V2 Vodka
So I found myself (after a hasty last-minute pseudo-invite involving a little truth-stretching and smooth-talking) at Thom Bar last night in 60 Thompson, that breathtakingly beautiful hotel in Soho, attending a follow-up event to The Observer’s high-profile real estate expo just two weeks ago, which I also attended (due to the free mimosas calling my name) over at the Puck Building. Not that I’m in the market for a $650,000 one-bedroom apartment, but still…
Needless to say, the glamorous space was packed with sexy real estate execs, even sexier bartenders and one adorable (and newly single, though straight) owner/publisher, Mr. Jared Kushner. I politely introduced myself, since we’ve been emailing back and forth for months without ever actually meeting (after I brazenly called and asked to speak with him, and he – to my great disbelief – actually took my call) so I figured it was only the right thing to do. He’s a dashing fellow, I’ll give him that, but he kind of looks like he’s 12 and has the charm to match… which is endearing, mind you, but as the owner/publisher of one of the most influential papers in New York, even though I’ll be the first one advocating against ageism, it just seems a little weird.
I just returned from the WayOut event sponsored by Genre magazine (and by Genre magazine I mean V2 Vodka) where a VIP bracelet buys you all of a stupid seat on a couch. The area is loosely monitored by a beautifully ditzy boy, constantly glancing down to ensure its vague exclusivity in between scoping out fresh meat en route to the bar. It was held at HK (as per usual lately) and I swear that every time I go there that place looks completely different. Although their first attempt (from what I saw at the opening party) had a painful amount of Miami-esque flare, they’ve toned it down and gave it a shot of mojo to make it more palatable up here in New York, with subdued house music, sexy lighting, candles and our “special” VIP lounge.
Tomorrow’s a busy day, though, so I should probably cut this short. Work all day, networking happy hour from 6-7, Out party at 8, PR/birthday party at D’Or in the Dream Hotel – all before going home. Guess I should be starting right about now to help my odds of looking presentable in the morning, but not without:
Overheard on 210th St & Bainbridge Ave -
15-year-old girl to group of friends: I be takin’ AP English this year, yo. I the only one in that motherfucker that don’t be lookin’ like they be deliverin’ yo’ egg rolls when they ain’ts in school an’ shit.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 24 prince, bette midler, broadway, crocs, fashion show, flatiron, gucci, Gypsy, jimmy choo, louis vuitton, national jean company, nikki cascone, NYC, Patti Lupone, prada, slate plus, soho, top chef
Just a few words: Run to see Gypsy starring the legendary Patti Lupone. Truth be told, she’s an awkward-looking woman, but she wears this part like a custom-made suit and owns the stage as only she can. I just had the odd pleasure of seeing the movie starring Bette Midler AFTER already seeing the broadway show, and I’m still not sure which one was better. But there are enough rave reviews out there of Miss Lupone’s stunning performance confirming this opinion, so I’ll move on for now…
Last Tuesday I found myself at a soiree highlighting Soho’s “24 Prince” restaurant in all its glam. Even walking to the damn event I noticed my posture shift as everyone passing me was more gorgeous than the last. Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton and Jimmy Choo absolutely smother the streets down there, and I love it. Though I’ve always said the Upper West Side is for me, I had to rethink my position that night and consider the possibility of finding a home someday in the fab-glam streets of Soho.
Anyway, the event was to promote this charming restaurant’s 2 year anniversary and their chef’s stint on Bravo’s “Top Chef” by passing around tray after tray of increasingly delicious nibbles while serving tasty house wines. My favorite was the white truffle popcorn, surpassing only the gorgonzola-dolloped filet mignon on toast points out of the numerous scrumptious offerings. Having found a nook near the kitchen door (a trusty trick o’ the trade at these events supposed to replace a heavy dinner) I casually attacked the servers with every new tray they procured, trying desperately to act like I hadn’t just devoured the previous server’s tray of the exact same thing. There are events you go to and think “well that was nice, but I’ll never go there again” and then there are the events where you go to and they’re so full of people, yet the space is so inviting and food so wonderful that you wish you could clear it out for a private party right then and there. This was that kind of place. Free wine, delicacies, and jaw-dropping eye candy lured me back to actually pay for dinner and drinks, as there’s no doubt in my mind that their sumptuous menu is worth every penny.
A little while passed before we had to bow out to attend National Jean Company’s fashion show, where I smooth-talked my way in front of a 300-person line into a max-capacity Slate Plus lounge in the Flatiron district. Again, grabbing a few (free) cocktails at the bar, I once again smooth-talked my way into the lesser of the two VIP areas (you take what you can get with a press pass and no name on any list) but without foregoing a fabulous view from the end of the runway. The show was resplendent, despite not having any male models (a big downer in my book) and on the way out I snickered quietly at those hoards of unfortunate souls just then gaining admittance into the event, inconveniently when the free vodka ran dry and the show ended, while bemoaning their obvious D-list status.
On another note, to continue my trend of cutting and pasting overheardinny.com quips, I had one of my own today when, upon looking outside and realizing it was one of the nicer days we’ve had lately, I decided to break out my dusty crocs from the back of my shoe closet. It was daring, but I threw caution to the wind and slipped into last year’s craze, my feet thanking me for the breath of fresh air. As I walked down Broadway to return some movies at Blockbuster, however, I strutted comfortably in my forgotten kicks past a homeless man who yelled mockingly from his perch on the sidewalk: “Hey, you! We’re gonna have to sit down sometime and discuss those shoes, man.”
What could I say? I’ve always lived by the principle that you sacrifice comfort for beauty, and the one day I didn’t, a toothless bum on the street reminded me of it. The crocs go back where they belong…at home in Woodstock.
Until next time (and in the spirit of Soho) -
Overheard on Spring St & 6th Ave:
Yuppie girl #1: So he said he couldn’t date me.
Yuppie girl #2: Why?
Yuppie girl #1: He said he likes to date normal girls.
Yuppie girl #2: What?!
Yuppie girl #1: Yeah, like who likes normal girls?
Filed under: Uncategorized
Alright alright, I’m going to be lame and merely re-post what has already been posted elsewhere, but some of these are so f’ing funny I can’t help myself:
Hot girl #1: It’s the guy on the end of the train.
Hot girl #2: Wow. It’s amazing the human body can smell like that and still be alive.
–Coney Island-bound F train
Guy: Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention for a second, please? [All the straphangers look at him.] Thank you for your attention. [Gets off the train.]
–6 train
Big guy: My grandmother is a science teacher, my father is a math teacher, and my brother is going to be a professor.
Little chick: And you want to be an actor — what a disappointment.
Big guy: Well, if the acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll be a gym teacher, because those who can’t do, teach. And those who can’t teach, teach gym.
–Olive Garden, Times Square
Customer: Maybe you should just quit your job.
Employee: Maybe you should just shut the fuck up!
–PATH train, 125th St
Bus driver, about traffic jam: Ladies and gentlemen, Fifth Avenue will be the next stop. We will be arriving in seven to ten days. [Minutes later] Attention! The waiter will be around shortly to take your dinner orders. The next crosstown movie will be Gone with the Wind.
–M79 bus
Professor: Did I tell you guys I’m going to be a father? I’m going to be a father.
Class: Awww!
Professor: I had a little accident. Now I have to get married.
–NYU classroom
Conductor: 207th Street. Last stop. Everyone wake up and get the fuck off my train; I want to go home. Thanks for riding MTA.
–Uptown A train, 207th St
And last but not least:
Woman: This is the second time I been to New York, though, ’cause last time my girl was like, “Do you like the nightlife?” and I said, “Yeah,” and she was like, “Then you gotta get to the city, bitch,” and I got arrested for smoking a blunt on someone’s brownstone.
Man: That’s terrible.
Woman: Oh no, I mean, it was like the second time I got arrested, you know, so it was like no big deal.
Man: What happened the first time?
Girl: Oh, that was just a misunderstanding. I was like 14, and I was wit’ ma man, and we was having words–like, we was having a disagreement–and I stabbed him, is all. It was just a misunderstanding.
–Chinatown bus
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: best friend, bridge and tunnel, elizabeth arden, ex, fifth ave, free booze, free wine, gay sex, guest house, jockstrap, marketing, meatpacking, michael musto, New York City, NYC, porn star, real estate, sahara davenport, soiree, splash, suite
12 words you’d never expect to hear out of your best friend’s mouth.
Granted, there was no crotch-grabbing or jockstraps, but there he was. Yes, he looked good, but a fact is a fact. The man is in a new real estate marketing partnership with yet another good-looking fellow (who rumor has it is quite the accomplished porn star from years gone by) and with their combined physiques are hoping to attract the elite homosexuals with their dashing good looks highlighted by professional (cough – photoshopped – cough) headshots. The scary thing is, it might just work.
In other news, I continued the unrelated girly event galavanting with a trip to Elizabeth Arden’s flagship store on fifth avenue last Friday. A friend’s company was having a little soiree (read: free wine) so I thought I’d go and check it out, get a little tipsy, and maybe a gift bag or two to save until I can pawn them off as lavish Christmas presents. Surrounded by aging women trying desperately to look younger by maxing out their credit cards, I drank myself into oblivion, saw my friend get a stunning makeover for free (while the stylist not-so-discreetly gathered up all twelve of the products he used to make her look red-carpet-ready to have them handy should she care to purchase them) and hoovered some cheese, crackers and delicious smoked salmon finger sandwiches.
We stumbled through the famed Red Door entrance back onto fifth and headed over to Guest House in the meatpacking district for a little open bar soiree of their own. It truly is a miracle how much free booze one can get in this city if you know the right people (or at the very least, have an email address specifically to hand out to promoters like candy). An hour of house music, dizzying wallpaper and bridge & tunnel (though I hate that term, but it was stark and apparent) human debris left us both ready to call it a night, which meant go home and keep partying for a good 4 more hours.
Saturday was complete with Suite, Sahara Davenport resplendent in all ”her” glory, high-kicking it to Beyonce and God knows who else. They had a mango margarita special so needless to say I was in dancing it up with complete strangers and getting groped by a drag queen whose energy even Michael Musto quipped should be bottled up for sale. A good friend of mine had just been offered an incredible job opportunity, as have I (if you haven’t been keeping up) so the free shots came a-flowing.
This week is gearing up to be a riot, with a benefit at Splash on Wednesday (for what, I have no idea…does it matter?) and my Scottish one night stand-cum-houseguest arriving that evening. Details to follow… 
