Washington Irving, Updated

Would Ichabod Crane

Have gone insane

Had he'd met the headless horsemen of Manhunt?


Back in Sleepy Hollow

Would he have dared follow

A fellow who called his ass "mancunt"?


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Scariest. Halloween Thought. Ever.

Fuck! Will somebody please give me one good reason to vote for sad-sack Democratic New York City mayoral candidate Freddy Ferrer? As it stands today, I'm going to hold my nose and vote for the entirely charisma-free Michael Bloomberg, and voting for ANY Republican may just cause my head to explode.

How You Durrin'?

It's not escaped my attention that some of you, my gentle readers, have come to the opinion that I'm an uptight, humorless , politically-correct prig, when it comes to sensitive social issues.

Au contraire, mon nelly frere.



That's me and Shirely Q. Liquor, taken during her concert tour in 2002.

Happy Halloween, y'all.

Space Sissy

I rarely comment on current events, but I can't resist noting that George Takei, 68, better known as Star Trek's Lieutenant Sulu, has just come out.

He was so not on my Space Gaydar.

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Email Of The Day

"At what point does allying with bigots and not calling them on it make you a bigot yourself?"

- from Andrew Sullivan's "Email Of The Day"

I wonder what Sullivan's cadre of Chelsea buddies think of this sentiment?

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RU-486? Well, RU?

I took this picture outside of Grand Central Terminal, during an anti-abortion rally. There was lots of really bad chanting, like rhyming "baby" with "baby". There were misspelled protest signs, like "Life Begins At Conseption!" And there were lots of really bad outfits. I saw gauchos, people. Gauchos.

And Meg Ryan is really looking tired these days, poor thing.

Foreshadowing....

"If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about other people."

- Virginia Woolf

Starting November 1st, on Joe.My.God.

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Obligatory Tourist Photo

Well, you know I couldn't go all the way to Minneapolis last week and not do this. Fortunately, this was taken very early in the morning, so not very much of downtown witnessed my foolishness.

Special note to Ms. Mary Tyler Moore: Apologies for standing on your statue. Please consider this double-dumbass photo an homage, rather than a mocking. Seriously, Mare...you rock.

Scary Sex Talk

1. It always looks like that.

2. Does it always look like that?

3. Is that blood?

4. It's just blood.

5. That's not the way your father does it.

6. That's not the way my father does it.

7. Hello, I'm Amanda Lepore.

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30 Years And Still Truckin'

The Parliament House, which I visited for the first time 29 years ago, on my 17th birthday, is celebrating its 30th year in business.

I would have never dreamed that the place I visited on that scary night so long ago, would still be the riotously busy center of Orlando's gay life so many years later.

(And it's still a little scary.)

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"A Better Version"

Big thanks to Mush for pointing me to this image. Yes Mush, this is a much better version than this.



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Bear Breakfast Biz Boffo!

Best Bear Bust Blurb

Full Moon Saloon, Orlando

Bear 1: Oh my god! That guy is so hot.

Bear 2: He sure fucking is! Last year he gave me syphillis, and it was totally worth it.

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Sign Of The Times

This billboard confronts the customers of Orlando's Parliament House as they make their way home. I almost wish I still lived in Orlando, because I would gather a huge group of my people in front of that sign and stage a jubilant group photo.

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Winter Party 1998 Flashback

This morning I found this picture in a frame on a shelf in Terrence's home office and insisted that he scan it for me. We were at Winter Party in South Beach and I impulsively put on Terrence's silly trident hat, which is his Winter Party trademark. I think I had it on my head for about 10 seconds.

Note: Never again will I shave my chest. Ow ow ow.

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I'm Gonna Shake It After All

Does anybody have some mouse ears I can borrow? Minnie, if you got 'em.

I'm in Orlando.

For five days.

I'm here for Bear Bust 2005 , the annual Orlando furfab of big brawny menz.

I'll be staying with my former boyfriend from Fort Lauderdale, my former boss from Los Angeles, and my former roommate from San Francisco. Interestingly, they all get along fabulously.

In fact, last year they all stayed together, without me.

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Cat Food

Eckerd Pharmacy, 68th Street & 2nd Avenue

All efficiency, before I left the office for the subway, I'd called my order in to Wok-N-Roll. "Beef broccoli, white rice, egg roll....and have it ready for me at 6:30pm, please. " I don't like missing the beginning of Law & Order.

At the corner of 68th Street, I popped into the new Eckerd. It's been there on that corner for about six months, and I still do a double-take when I see it, as I have always associated Eckerd with my life in Florida. There's an Eckerd on every corner in Fort Lauderdale.

I grabbed a couple of Mountain Dews from the cooler against the back wall. Wok-N-Roll doesn't sell Pepsi products. Third in line at the register, I scanned the screaming headlines of the celebrity tabs. Somebody is pregnant! Somebody is cheating! Somebody is head over heels in love! Yawn, yawn, and yawn.

The old lady in front of me placed 3 cans of cat food on the counter. Fancy Feast. Grilled Chicken Feast In Gravy. She clutched her coat tightly closed with one hand and swung her purse up on the counter so she could reach into it with the other one, while keeping it safely in the crook of her elbow. The clerk, his shirt slovenly untucked, his tie loosely knotted, frowned at the old lady because she didn't have her money ready. People who suddenly realize at the end of the transaction that they actually have to pay for their items...ooh, there's a special place in hell for them. And hopefully, it's at the end of a very long line.

But this time, uncharacteristically for me, I wasn't annoyed at the old lady. She didn't look like one of the typical hard-as-nails Upper East Side old ladies, the ones with their whiskey-soaked voices and their tightly pulled faces and their short leather skirts and their tiny dogs with brightly lacquered nails painted to match their own. Those Ruth Gordon-esque scary old ladies wouldn't be caught dead in an Eckerd anyway. No...the old lady in front of me looked kind of...sweet. Her hair wasn't "done", it was drab. Her coat wasn't couture, it was cotton.

The old lady hadn't reached for her money yet, because she was inspecting a stack of flyers lying by the register. She seemed afraid to actually pick one up, so she pushed her face close to read the flyer on top, not a far trip from her tiny height. She squinted. She wrinkled her nose. She traced the headline with a bent index finger and mumbled the words. The clerk rolled his eyes at me.

The old lady looked up at me, "The handwriting on this is terrible! I can't read it."

Handwriting? I picked up the flyer, "Oh, I can make it out, I think. Want me to read it to you?"

The clerk dramatically slumped his shoulders, which I ignored.

"Can you please?" she said.

I nodded, "Flu shots at this location. Stop by your local Eckerd Pharmacy on October 31st and for a $25 fee, you can get your flu vaccination by a professional nurse..."

"Oh my. $25? Do you think that it's worth it? Oh my."

I said, "Well, I just got my flu shot yesterday." I almost said something like "And old people really need them more than anybody." But I didn't.

"But...$25?" She touched her fingers to her mouth.

I said, "Well, it also says down here, that 'Medicare recipients get vaccinations at no cost when they present a card with valid Part B coverage', see right here?" I pointed at the bottom of the flyer to show her.

The old lady smiled. She clapped her hands together. For a second, I thought she was going to hug me.

"That's wonderful! Thank you so much for noticing that! That's wonderful!"

I felt like I'd just given her a present. And I felt...wonderful.

The old lady counted out a few singles to pay for her cat food. She turned to me and waved before she walked away, "Thanks again, have a good night."

"Oh, you too!"

I smiled at the clerk, which pissed him off. Which made me even happier. I mentally bestowed myself with several dozen Boy Scout badges and paid for my Mountain Dews. When I got outside the store, the old lady had only made it a few feet towards the corner. I watched her clutch her coat tighter as a passing bus whipped the brisk fall air around us. I watched her step into Second Avenue and I wondered if her building had the heat on tonight.

And I hoped she really had a cat.

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God

I'm not sure why, but it really tickles this raging atheist's heart to see that I'm now the 119th highest result when the word "god" is googled. Out of 171 million results.

God.

God god god.

Heh.

Piss shit pussy cock twat cunt.

God.

I'm cracking myself up.

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You'll Be Sorry

(from the ladies room wall of the same
midtown Manhattan dive bar as below...)

no matter HOW many times he asks you?

DO NOT TRY ANAL BEADS!!!!!

you will be SO sorry!

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Zombie Crisis

(From the men's room wall of a
midtown Manhattan dive bar....)

In the event of a zombie crisis:

1. Find a good man who's got your back.

2. Always aim for the brain pan.

3. Save a bullet for yourself, dude.


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Minneapolis Box Score

(Ratings employ the Joe.My.God. five-star scale)

Airport - 4.0 Stars

Minneapolis-St. Paul International feels brand new and well planned, with trams to the terminals and logical gate layout. However, a big point off for having the recorded announcements done by a breathy British woman. Gate announcements done by Miss Moneypenny seem like a painfully Midwestern stab at sophistication. Otherwise, a good travel experience. I'm down with MSP, yeah you know me.

Transit - 4.5 Stars

The new light-rail took us to the door of the Mall Of America for only $1.50, a incredible bargain for a 40 minute trip. We were so happy with the service that we took it back to the airport the next day, saving over $35 on our arrival taxi trip to downtown. Taxi service is spotty and best reserved by phone, as hailing cabs outside the core of downtown is chancey. We waited 30 minutes for a cab on one occasion, an outrage by New York standards. Still, the cabbies WERE chatty and amiable, a nice change. One even gently teased me for naively referring to the skyways as "those people...crossing over...thingies." We never used the bus system but Minneapolis appears to have a robust service, judging by the numbers of buses and riders we saw on most downtown corners.


Downtown - 4.5 stars

Minneapolis is sparkling clean, easily navigable on foot, with broad sidewalks and logical street signage. My only quibble is that since almost all retail (food, services, shops) is located up in the skyways (enclosed bridges that connect all the downtown buildings), a little more direction to those stores might be nice. I walked around for almost an hour, trying to find a barbershop. But I actually enjoyed the walk, so again, just a quibble here. Best store name: Typo, the deli next to the newspaper's offices.

Mall Of America - 2.0 Stars

Over-hyped, over-built and over-crowded...but you knew I'd say that, didn't you? I'm not sure what my expectations for "America's Largest Mall" were, but I think I expected more than a fairly standard suburban mall wrapped around a C-grade amusement park. Granted, the mall portion is massive and three levels, but the stores comprise your standard mall store inventory, with some local flavor mixed in. There was a cheese store, of course. There was a Vikings store, of course. There were also stores devoted to fly fishing, camping supplies, Lake Wobegon, and an entire store devoted to glass and plastic farm animal figurines. Add the dozen or so nightmarish, Laura Ashley-ish, crocheted toaster-cozy-ish stores and the fact that the entire mall is carpeted and you get the effect of a big ole jam and jelly show. With rollercoasters.

The Saloon - 3.5 Stars

The Saloon is a fairly big space, with multiple rooms (video, game, disco, patio). It somehow retains a pub feel, despite its size. Interestingly, even on Saturday night, everybody on the packed dance floor kept their shirts on. Youngish crowd, average age about 25-30. Here, I was recognized by local blogger and young hottie, Aaron. We chatted for a few minutes in front of the enclosed elevated shower stall where young men take nude soapy showers for the audience. The Saloon also has a rather suspicious looking hotel above the club.

The Gay 90's - 4.0 Stars

The Gay 90's is huge. Massive. Seven bars, 3 dance floors, 2 drag shows, even a restaurant. Locals told me that the place is getting "oppressively straight" on the weekends, but I found a wildly diverse crowd, lots of black lesbians, queens, pretty boys, AND straight couples. The 90's might be the most diverse gay bar I've ever been to. Hip-hop in the front room, techno in the bigger disco. I was particularly entranced by one tall black queen in the hip-hop room, who with his enormously oversized glasses and short blond afro was giving the room some old-school Grace Jones fierceness, working a black veil and a huge turned-up collar. Very smiley crowd. On my second visit, a young thuggish black dyke came up to me, asking "Say what?" I said, "What." She walked away, satisfied. Oh, and there's a bar inside The 90's called "The Men's Room", which, logically, must be accessed from a door inside the men's room. Porn video was found inside. Sweet.

The Minneapolis Eagle - 2.0 Stars

The Eagle is a standard railroad-style (that's a NYC housing term, look it up) pub. Not much happening here on either night I visited, most of the patrons seemed to gather on their small outdoor patio. They did have a great jukebox and a very hot short bartender named Dave. Other than that, I give the Eagle an "eh".

The Bolt/Underground - 2.5 Stars

Attached to the Minneapolis Eagle and from the same owner, the Bolt is two levels. On the ground floor you find a low-style video bar with a few screens and one video projector. Good tunes the one time I was in there, but as in most video bars, the crowd is glued to the screen, rather than each other. Downstairs is Bolt Underground, a much larger room with a continuation of the video theme, only with slightly more naughty (Guys Gone Wild, on the night I was there) videos. The Underground also has medium-sized dancefloor, no one on it when I was there. Could be fun, but I didn't anybody having any.

The Mississippi River - 5.0 Stars

Wide, fast, with waterfalls and impressive dams and locks. What's not to like? I was amused to see a huge operation take place to open and close one of the locks. Bells, sirens, horns, flashing lights. Millions of gallons of water drained, the hundred-feet high doors open.....and out comes a tiny, tiny ski boat, its two passengers sheepishly waving at the hundreds of tourists lining the rails above the locks. Hilarious. Lots of vigorous waving back ensued.

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Minneapolis, Day 4

It's 10:36am and I've just had 3 beers.

The streets of Minneapolis are awash in a sea of red shirts, as today is the football portion of "Border Battle", the year long sports competition between the Minnesota Gophers and the Wisconsin Badgers.

This morning I was awakened by the sound of a marching band, its horns and drums spiraling up the glass and steel canyons of downtown, up to my 29th floor hotel room. From my window I could see a huge throng of football fans enjoying what has to be the earliest pre-game drinking party I've ever witnessed. I pulled on a sweater and went downstairs to find the lobby was jammed with Wisconsinites who are apparently overflowing every downtown hotel.

Just a couple of blocks away, outside the Metrodome, the street party is in full swing. Hot college boys are slamming kegs of Budweiser and swing dancing with old ladies wearing hats festooned with supporter pins. There's a table with the largest piece of cheese I've ever seen. The sky is clear, the temperature is low. The air is bristling with anticipation and cheering and the talk of football and man is this Americana or what?

I walked up to the block party, intending to snap a few pictures, and before I reached the barricades I heard, " Hey, buddy! You need a beer?" And with that, a large draft beer was shoved between the rails and into my hands. I said, "Oh, I'm not a Badger, I'm just in town from New York." The guy laughed and said, "Anybody who's not from Minnesota is a Badger TODAY!"

And thus I was helped over the fence and into the party.

Midwestern charm and friendliness is not a myth, my friends. On the other side of the barricade I even found some local Minnesota boys wearing their school colors. Can you imagine a bunch of Red Sox fans invading a Yankees party? How long would they live?

This town has completely bowled me over with its grace.

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Minneapolis, Day 3

Line item blogging over WebTV: (Because my miserable laptop won't start. Grrr.)

1. Minneapolis is the cleanest city I've ever been to.

2. The mayor is a total hottie and a nice guy to talk to.

3. The Mary Tyler Moore statue is about 125 feet from my hotel's front door.

4. City Hall is the most beautiful municipal space I've been in, outside of SF's City Hall.

5. Last night I had a blast at The Saloon. Towards the end of the evening, we dropped in at The Gay 90's, a cavernous two-level club which has about 73 rooms, featuring simultaneous drag shows onstage on both levels.

6. What IS this rap song where the chick is saying "Lick my lump, lick my lump"? I've heard it four times and I must have it.

7. Did I mention that the mayor is a hottie?

8. I met a few blog fans and other online friends. Hello to Zurich Horst, St.Paul Andy, Minneapolis Dan,and Disco Ball Brett!

9. The skyway things are cuh-razy!

10. The Minneapolis area known as Uptown, is *south* of Downtown. And that just don't make no kinda sense.

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Minneapolis, Day 2

Still no sign of Prince.

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I'm Gonna Make It After All

Does anybody have a beret I can borrow? Raspberry, if you've got one.

I'm in Minneapolis.

For five days.

I'm gonna hunt down the Mary Tyler Moore statue and take the required tourist photo.

Any local wanna play Hazel Fredrick to my Mary?

Seriously, what is there for a gay man of a (ahem) certain age to do in this town?

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Ivy Beleaguered

A tropical storm arrived on Saturday evening delivering one of the most thorough drenchings that New York City has experienced since I've lived here. And as usual, Eddie arrived at my apartment two hours late, delivering one the most thorough drenchings of ennui a little man can carry.

I managed to hitch a horse to Eddie's perennially tardy buggy and get us out of the house and over to the Farmboyz pied-a-terre on the Upper West Side, where they were hosting a small cocktail party prior to our trip up to Columbia for my Ivy League debut. Unfortunately, cabs are rare enough on a Saturday night during curtain time on Broadway, but during a downpour, forget about it. Hence, Eddie and I slinked over to the party via the ignominious midtown bus.

The Farmboyz already had a handful of smiling gentlemen gathered in their soon-to-be-gutted studio/alcove/junior/one bedroom. I was given a quick rundown of the planned renovations, but while they were talking about gas lines and moving walls, all I could think was, "These guys are going to make a fortune on this place".

Aaron arrived and soon the party conversation turned to the usual Upper West Side topics of architecture and building preservation. Interestingly, no one seemed to be a strong supporter of the movement to save 2 Columbus Circle , a hideous monstrosity that I used to think was a ventilator shaft for the subway. I know very little about architecture, so I mostly just nodded my head and glanced at my notes for the Columbia show.

I left the party first and headed up to Columbia at 9PM for the sound check. Not being a musician or a singer, I wasn't sure what I'd have to do, but that's what the organizer requested. If only the musicians and singers had been so prompt. Mostly I milled around and ate cookies from the huge dessert table and watched the organizer attempt to quell his panic attacks that the torrential rainstorm was keeping both the performers and the audience at home.

At 10pm, the planned showtime, a small platoon of Joe.My.God. supporters arrived, at that point constituting about half of the audience. The Columbia students slowly straggled in, arriving in groups of four and five, descending the staircase to the basement auditorium in choruses of whoops and giggles. We took up position in the back of the room and watched these rich kids, these priviledged children, enjoying the unprecedented luxuries of position, power AND an open welcoming place for their nellie persons. I was conflicted between resenting them...and envying them.

At 11pm, the show finally commenced, with an Alicia Keyes-ian singer and band. The audience continued to drift in during her 4 song set, finally overfilling the space. My friend Captain Steve, whom I've seen take initiative in these situations before, brazenly invaded the wings of the auditorium and returned with a rolling dolly of stacking chairs, which my relatively elderly supporters gratefully accepted.

And so, with an now overpacked house, the show proceeded. And proceeded. And proceeded. The emcee, a gay lounge personality named Scott Nevins, had advised me that I was to follow an act called The Fire And Reason, ninth in an 11 (eleven!!) act roster. There was a gay rapper. There was a middle-aged drag queen, whom we'd previously been speculating was probably just a very supportive faculty advisor. There was a bizarre female performance artist. There was a dyke folk singer who tortured us with a song called "My Nips Are The Clits Of My Tits", which trust me, is MUCH funnier to read than hear. "C'mon, now EVERYBODY sing! My nips are the..." So. Not. Kidding.

So I sat there. Watching my friends squirm and check their watches. Midnight arrived and I started apologizing to everybody as my still-unseen 15 minutes onstage began to suck the life out of their Saturday night. I rifled through the four short stories I'd selected to read and mulled some time-conserving deletions. At 12:15AM I watched the always charmingly bizarre Dan Fishback, scheduled to follow me, pack up his stuff and leave. By then, half of the audience had been driven out by the "By the way, I'm not gay" not-so-punk rocker. The remaining half of the audience was clumped in the back of the room, talking loudly and doing their best to ignore the stage.

At 12:30AM, the organizer came by and asked me if I was going to completely lose my shit if he went ahead and ended the show with the performer on stage. Not in so many words, but that's what he meant. I looked over at my yawning fan club who'd been sitting there for 2 1/2 hours. Tony said, "Absolutely not! We CAME to hear JOE!" The issue was taken out of our hands a moment later when unseen university officials began blinking the God lights, signaling their decision to pull the plug, literally.

And thus it ended. Sans Joe.My.God. I hadn't been sure that my stuff was gonna work with a bunch of really young kids, and even if I had gone on, by that point I would have had scant attention from the audience, so maybe the God lights were a blessing. I collected my fan club and we emerged on the street to find the rain had stopped, but that the temperature had dropped about 30 degrees.

Captain Steve and Brian (thanks guys!) exited towards their new place in the West 100's, and the rest of us returned to the Farmboyz pad to plot salvaging what remained of our evening. We walked in to find their houseguests ready for sleep, reporting that they'd just returned from a visit to an empty Eagle. They inquired about the show, and when Tony indignantly reported that we'd had to suffer through an old drag queen doing a number from Chicago, his houseguest interrupted, "Oh! WHAT SONG?", which just killed me. I. Love. My. People.

Eddie, Chris, Tony and I wrapped up the long, pointless evening over a long, pointless beer at Candle Bar. Big thanks to all my guys for enduring. And thanks to those of you who've asked how it went.

Folks, you dint miss nuttin.

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Bob Mould Band At Irving Plaza

Last Wednesday, Aaron and I attended Bob Mould's concert at Irving Plaza. Being the bigshots we are, we were on Bob's VIP list which yielded us access to the balcony above the stage. Suh-weet! Before we even got upstairs, I was stopped by an attractive young straight couple, who've been reading this blog after following the link on Bob's page. They spoke very knowledgeably about some of the stories I've written, which was very flattering. For some reason, I'm always surprised to meet straight readers, isn't that odd?

The concert was unsurprising, because it totally fucking rocked. With sexy Daddy Rich Morel on keyboards, Bob led his band through the Greatest Hits Of Mould, hitting at least half of Sugar's Copper Blue , and closing (before returning for TWO encores) with Husker Du's "Celebrated Summer", possibly my favorite non-Zen Arcade track. Oh wait, he also did "I Apologize", also from New Day Rising, maybe that's my favorite. And of course his recently released Body Of Song was well represented. I particularly enjoyed "Paralyzed" and "Circles", which was featured on last week's episode of The O.C. (I found the complete set list for Bob's Chicago show here, and it seems to be the same as the Irving Plaza show.) If you don't have Body Of Song yet, get it. It's turning out to be my favorite album of 2005. I recommend the deluxe box set, which features two Rich Morel remixes. (By the way, Rich Morel's Lucky Strike was my favorite album of last year, do yourself a huge favor and check it out.)

After the show, Aaron and I hung around the VIP lounge and schmoozed a bit with some familiar members of the Cult Of Bob. The Nasty Pig boys were there, attended by their in-house boy blogger. I stood near the entrance for a bit, where SNL's Jimmy Fallon mistook me for security, which was amusing. Bob and Rich came out and glad-handed their admirers, then we spirited them away to Nowhere Bar, which was holding its weekly tribute to short men, Runt.

Runt, hosted by Magnetic Fields' Stephin Merritt, is turning out to be quite a hit, the place was packed with hot shorties. Bob, Rich, Aaron and I found ourselves squeezed into a corner by the DJ area where I met a guy who'd flown in from Honolulu for Bob's show, only to miss the concert because of a delayed connection. (Honolulu guy: I'll add the pictures of you and Bob to this post as soon as I can locate my camera's docking cradle. Grumble grumble.) DJ MattChew was killing me with some obscure disco oldies, rocking us with Kano's "It's A War" and Bobby O's "I'm So Hot For You". Nice.

Before I grabbed a cab for uptown, Rich let it slip that he is working on some major remixes for some very iconic 70's rockers. I'm already very excited that he's going to be reworking tracks from the largest selling album of the Seventies. And that's all I can say about that.

Bonus: I got felt up by a handsome shortie on my way out of the bar, making it just about a perfect evening.

Weekend Reminder

What: Queer Awareness Month Kickoff Party

Where: Columbia University, Lerner Hall

When: Saturday, Oct.8th, 10pm

Who: ME! ME! ME! (and a lot of others)

Presented by the Columbia Queer Alliance.

This a free show, with donations accepted to benefit the New Orleans AIDS Task Force.

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Wolf!

Yawn.

Another subway terrorist threat as the government tries to rachet up support for the war. This one suspiciously announced with perfect timing for the evening news to do their breathless stand-ups on the subway steps during rush hour.

This morning, my normally cop-free subway station was crawling wid 'em. One at the top of the stairs, three outside the turnstyles, three more on the platform. The three outside the turnstyles, charged with examining bags, were discussing the Yankees.

Down on the platform, I saw the usual morning crowd, clearly unfazed by the headlines of the papers they held: "Subway Threat", "Train Terror Alert!", and the mocking "Here We Go Again". And what were all these terror-stricken commuters reading? Not the front page, nope. Everybody, and I mean everybody had their noses stuck into stories about the Yankees and the playoffs. As it should be.

The 6 train arrived with passengers jammed up against the glass, as usual. The doors opened, but only a few new passengers could squeeze onboard. Two trains later, I managed to find room for myself.

Mighty New York City glanced down at today's headlines and did what it always does.

It shrugged.

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The Ones That Were Wrong For Me

Section II, 1990-2000 (Abridged)

- The one that always said her name "Donna Summers", with the "s" on the end, even though he knew it was wrong and knew that it bugged me.

- The one that told everybody he was Italian, when in fact he was Mexican.

- The one that chastely put off any sex until the fourth date, and then when we finally got naked, literally recoiled from my hands, saying "Um, I'm not really into touching."

- The one that laughed out loud, actually hooting, actually slapping his knees in glee, while watching reruns of Too Close For Comfort or Perfect Strangers.

- The one who relocated our date to the restaurant right behind his house, because it was within range of his electronic monitoring bracelet.

- The one that got down on his knees and prayed for forgiveness after we had sex.

- The one that had long conversations with the fish in his aquarium, asking them how their day was, and whether they were hungry, and did they want any new roommates. All in his funny, squeaky "fish" voice.

- The one that asked me how I could stand having such queeny friends.

- The one who during the first (and only) time we had sex, asked me to fuck him, during which he whimpered "Why Daddy, why? I'm just a little boy!"

- The one who consulted his astrology chart before he'd get on a plane.

- The one who slept with the sheet tucked in all around his body, including over his head, like a cadaver.

- The one who "playfully" liked to trip, tickle, pinch and push me.

- The one who voted for Bush the First.

- The one who listened to Color Me Barbra at least 5 times a day.

- The one that insisted on an empty seat between us at the movies, so we didn't look gay.

- The one that was rude to waiters, clerks, delivery men and hotel staff.

- The one who believed that man had never actually been on the moon and every other conspiracy theory he read.

- The one who lavished me with gifts of designer clothing, which it turned out he'd been stealing from his employer, Neiman-Marcus.

- The one who wouldn't meet me for lunch at Sizzler, because he was afraid someone would see him there. Not with me, but AT a Sizzler.

- The one that was married and said that his wife "knew", and that it was OK with her that he dated men, and that they were only staying together for the sake of their FIVE kids. Then he had her call me to say she didn't mind if I was dating her husband.

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Things I Don't Hate, Part 3

Julius, New York City's first legal gay bar, is still open and busy after more than 40 years. And I don't hate that.

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Things I Don't Hate, Part 2

Every day I get to see beautiful horses, and sometimes the cops riding them are beautiful themselves. And I don't hate that.

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Things I Don't Hate, Part 1

This view from my office window? I don't hate it.

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Read These Guys, Sayeth The Joe.My.God.

Taking my cue from the scene in "Miracle On 34th Street" in which Macy's employee Kris Kringle tells customers that they could find what they were looking for at over at Gimbel's, Macy's archrival, I'd like to offer up a few suggestions to my gentle readers.

If you find yourself unsatiated by the "endless tales of death, drugs and disco nonsense" that appear on Joe.My.God., I recommend checking out a trio of New Yorkers, all Gimbel's to my Macy's. Actually, wait a minute...these guys aren't my archrivals. Bad allegory. I'll go rewrite this lead while you guys go check out the blogs below.

For gorgeous, florid descriptives, startlingly vivid metaphors, and almost achingly old-soul takes on the Catholic Church, his decades-long relationship, or the ritualized behaviors of secretive men visiting adult bookstores, all woven through through the endlessly ribald adventure of his life, a frank and unblinking picaresque , I recommend Perge Modo. However, if do you step into the erstwhile Father Tony's confessional, be aware that he may try to slip you something through the partition. And it won't be no rosary.

Next up is Daily Blague, easily the most erudite destination on my blogroll. Delivering thoughtful takes on literature, film (not "movies"), restaurants, New York City, and many other topics, the prolific R.J. manages to tread that elusive line between common-man opinion making and intellectual punditry, a blogospherically rare achievement. Shamefully, the man behind Daily Blague is a self-confessed heterosexual, yet he can still write a fawning review of Rufus Wainwright, which is doubleplus cool.

My last recommendation, while technically not a New Yorker, still gets full Gotham cred for his keenly aware posts on Manhattan life, which he delivers from the far edge of the Hudson River, atop his Jersey City highrise. Aaron, at Meanwhile, is an devoted foodie, so expect reviews of unusual cuisines and dishes. Also expect reviews of beers, dissections of urban gay cliques, clear-headed opinions on world events, and anti-jingoist commentary on what it means to be American. First time vistitors might start with this brilliant recent post.

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