Via HuffingtonPost: The literary birth of a chorus boy.
Where in the world is Matt Lauer's fan club?
1/4 of men sit to pee in order to keep texting.
The ultimate Kyliedonna megamix.
Which Madonna era are you?
LIKE A PROGRESSIVE: Ask yourself what Madonna would do.
Over 60% of Americans think marriage equality is inevitable.
Smash moves to Saturdays.
A "fierce Latina superhero Web series."
Little League raffle's top prize is an AR-15 assault rifle.
"Gus Mattox" (aka Tom Judson) defends the honor of gay porn.
Jesse McCartney's all grown up and releasing a new album.
TN Senate opts to "pray away the gay."
World's largest gay nightclub, Krave Massive, opens in Vegas June 15.
World's oldest cat turns 27.
Stephen Fry &. anti-gay Russian politician go at it "hammer & tongs."
HAPPILY NEVER AFTER: Best Disney parody of all time.
And...fins.
"Know" one hotter than Cheyenne
Cheyenne Jackson's "Don't Wanna Know" is a 2000s "I'm Still Standing".
"Don't Wanna Know" features Broadway Bares beefcake.
Andrew Corvin is as hot as it gets.
Madonna's original "Vogue" boy is visually remixed.
Madonna releases "Superstar" with fan-art cover in Brazil.
PRIVATE DANCER: Mesmerizing movie trailer.
How the gay press bred gay power.
French 1st Lady can't wait for marriage equality.
Easy—not cheap—way to meet Barbra Streisand.
Lunatic #1 shoves NYC man under train. Lunatic #2 photographs it.
Boy Culture's new Facebook page.
Papa John's loses favorability over Obamacare.
Jan Brewer M.I.A.: Surgery? Affair? Back to Mars?
The 8th Annual Out Music Awards hit Vegas.
The Baby Wait at full term tonight.
Little House child actress abused/disowned by mom.
SEND YOUR LINK SUGGESTIONS HERE.
Tix to Kinky Boots—by Cyndi Lauper/Harvey Fierstein—on sale.
Official Pet Shop Boys "Memory of the Future" lyrics video:
Via press release: The 2012 Honorary Parade Grand Marshals for Las Vegas Pride are Kathy Griffin, Margaret Cho and Joan Rivers.
Fifty years ago, this would be like landing Judy Garland, Phyllis Diller and Sophie Tucker. What a line-up!
With thanks to Boy Culture reader Warren: Performers from Absinthe at Caesars Palace demonstrate their balancing routing in Vegas. I could easily balance watching them, and if not, I'd have a kickstand to keep me up.
Joey Lawrence is the latest celebricoup in recent Chippendales history, agreeing to front the show in Vegas at the Rio All-Suite Hotel & Casino from June 7—June 24, Thursdays through Sundays.
They check in, you check them out
My recent trip to Las Vegas wasn't to gamble (even if I lost $360 on slot machines) and it wasn't to indulge my personal fetishes (even if I wound up at a Chippendales performance and attending The Hollywood Show Las Vegas—read on for both), but to have meetings for work. Unfortch, my main business contact was forced to stand me up through no fault of his own, so that left me with gambling, men and starfucking.
Before I did anything, I pigged out at a late buffet with my autograph-show buddies Brian, Rich and Don—pictured. Don is pals with Jane Withers, 85...and how many people can say that? We feasted on fatty foods, sweet celebrity gossip and even salty sex talk. I won't say which one of us, but somebody had been Manhunting earlier and had been successful, even if bagging the prey had involved a premature shot.
Meat-and-greet
For later that evening, I had gotten myself invited to the Chippendales show at the Rio. I don't know if you've ever gone, but I hadn't, and going to see something that is so ubiquitous in the culture with very little idea of what to actually expect was quite nerve-wracking. And yes, they totally allow men in these days. In fact, I saw quite a few men with their girlfriends or wives, and was told of one couple who saw five or six shows in a row because, as the hubby confessed, "She fucks my brains out after seeing this stuff."
The original chick magnet
If you haven't gone before, I recommend doing what I did and going with Miss Texas USA and her equally pageant-ready friend. It was very Suddenly Last Summer the way they attracted a large percentage (the straight percentage) of the dancers, all of whom are so big even Herman Munster pants would've looked like floods.
Michael is a chick magnet, too
But I'm also a dick magnet...(with Michael & out news anchor Chris Saldana)
My friend, his friend and I were seated in the back while the women sat front and center, all the better for one of them to be pulled onstage and mock-manhandled, it looked like. If that isn't what it was, maybe I'm just projecting, but if I could've done some astral projecting, I would've.
The show is 75 minutes' worth of female fantasies, a non-stop series of classic scenarios—firemen (so 98 Degrees! sorry I missed your stint, Jeff), businessmen, the mandatory bowties—with the bulky performers moving with surprising fluidity. I would not call it tasteful considering all the bumping and grinding and the occasional bare ass, but it's not like you're at NYC's late, great Gaiety or in Canada, either, so let's say it's racy but doesn't cross too many boundaries. I loved seeing the men invade the audience and hit up the absolutely pussy-soaked patrons, who were screaming their fool heads off from the word "go."
Stronger than any closet
A cute blond guy kept looking back at us, sizing us up and wordlessly wondering why the hunks kept bear-hugging or high-fiving my buddies (one of whom runs the show's PR). Later, our peeper shyly confessed to being "a closet case" with a highly Christian job. Oh, well, more for me—I shamelessly went onstage and posed with the guys after, though it sucks that my green shirt made me look shapeless, the worst effect when you're standing amidst human statues.
Some frisky business!
The guys were as nice as they were nimble, mingling with guests in the Flirt Lounge after, where I nabbed this:
Lind Walter, me & Nathan Minor
I highly recommend taking in a show if you're in Vegas—the dancers could not care less if you're a guy or a girl. At least...if all they're doing is dancing for you.
Rippie was a no-show in spite of my artistic handiwork
The next day was The Hollywood Show Las Vegas at Harrah's, a satellite version of that autograph show I've attended three times in Burbank (here, here and here). I'd already gone to the pre-show to see where all the vendors were set up and to greet my buddy Roy of Baby Jane Collectibles, so I knew the lay of the land. I'd been shocked to see that the show's #1 name—Joan Collins—had been set up right by the front door, so wasn't surprised on Saturday when she'd been resituated in the far corner, where she could more properly hold court.
Bright 'n' early, one of the attendees' helpers was asking someone at the show about all the changes that had happened overnight and the short answer was: The bigger the star, the more right to change his or her position. They might as well have had letters on their foreheads denoting who was A-list, B-list, C-list and beyond.
I arrived early even though I only had about 10 names I wanted. I'd decided to attend based on Joan Collins and Tippi Hedren (one of the last, but not the last, great Hitchcock actors), but was also excited to meet '70s heartthrob Richard Hatch. If the first thing you think of when you hear that name is a fat, thieving survivor, you're oh-so-tender and oh-so-young. The first thing I think of is a gorgeous brunet who was all over the teen mags even when he was in his late twenties.
Spotting Richard's asscrack (he was hanging his own poster and it was a stretch), I headed over. For 66, he looks pretty good and couldn't have been nicer. An oaf was talking to him and once it was my turn never ceded Richard—this happens a lot at these shows, people don't realize their time is up. I presented him with a great still from The Hustler of Muscle Beach (1980) showing him being held up by a bunch of beefcakers in Speedos. Hatch correctly IDed the photo.
Richard Hatch is my homeboy
Next, I had him sign an at-home spread from a German magazine sporting images that a modern-day publicist would not have allowed because they made it look like he had no pants on. Hatch reminsiced about his home (it hadn't been a fake set) and then happily posed for me and with me. I had to take a picture for the oaf, too, and it was all I could do to keep from shaking his camera as I took it.
Still waiting for my pals to show up, I decided I could take on The Brady Bunch's Christopher Knight (aka Peter) alone. It was an odd encounter! He was engrossed in his phone, then as I appeared, his helper sent me over to pay at the end of the table where all things Brady (Susan "Cindy" Olsen and Mike "Bobby" Lookinland were there, too) were taken care of. On my way there, I noticed Joan Collins had arrived. The legendary burlesque star Tempest Storm was leaning over to shake her hand and Joan was saying, "I'm not shaking hands with anybody!" apologetically. Ouch!
After paying, there was another mix-up as Knight's assistant thought I had overpaid and that pictures with him were supposed to be free. It was more awkward than having your voice change in the middle of recording a hit record! Finally, he signed for me and answered my question about what it had been like to be in a teen magazine all the time as a kid:
"Odd...none of it, truly, was all that meaningful to me since I wasn't a consumer of it myself, it was just really odd to be on that side of that kind of attention. It could be really draining...I always thought their descriptions of me were always better than the ones I could come up with...'What's your perfect girl?' It's like, I don't know. I have no idea what I'm lookin' for. If I'm even lookin' for that."
Just to make the whole thing perfectly imperfect, my pictures with him were dark because my camera refused to flash, leading to some discussion on his part that he was going to figure out how to make it work.
Knight Mother—Christopher then 'n' now
Next, I found my sidekicks (or rather, the guys for whom I was the all-purpose sidekick), Brian and Rich. Brian is tall and aggressively gay in a way that could put some people off but that almost always does the opposite, softening people up right away. "We're fags, you know we want more than one picture," he'd say, leading to appreciative laughter and near-total compliance. He can also take a great pic-with for you, and will not be shy to insist on doing one horizontal and one vertical. Rich is the uberfan who knows everything about Dynasty and various other TV shows. He's shyer than Brian but not too shy to get what he needs from each and every star he cares about.
Both of them are Joan Collins superfans, so I ran into them as they got into Joan's shockingly short line. Immediately, a fan came up to us and was bitching about his treatment—already! Seems he'd objected to her prices ($25 per autograph, $25 per pic-with, $40 for both, $40 for a signed book—sounds like Krystle prices for Alexis if you ask me!) and said to Joan's young hubby, "I'm poor!" to which the hubby, Percy, 46, had said coldly, "How do you know she's rich?"
All-signing, all-dancing...
Well, I know she's not worth $50 million or she wouldn't be at this autograph show, but I hope she's worth a few million or somebody's ass needs to get fired!
But I was Team Joan on that one. The prices are what the prices are, and hers were a steal.
As we got closer, I could check her out better. At 78, she looks fantastic. The wig is the only thing that ages her. Otherwise, she's fit and sexy and was in good spirits despite being dressed for a TV character's funeral—all in black including gloves and sporting a necklace that looked like it weighed about the same as a filing cabinet. Really dazzling.
I'm hoping to be her next husband
I had a vintage shot for her to sign, to which she said, "Oh, gosh...This is a classic!" She dutifully signed that and a book for me, a photo for a Facebook friend and then posed for a photo I took and for a photo with me that came out flawless.
The host with the most
Hot off the presses: It may be "The Hardest Thing" to believe, but 37-year-old former 98 Degrees star Jeff Timmons is teaming up and steaming up with Chippendales at Rio All-Suites Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas from May 12 to June 5. Though he's got the body for it, will he actually be, you know, dancing? And if so, can you break this hundred for all ones and fives?
Cool down—he's billed as the emcee and special musical guest, so while Timmons will be shaking his moneymaker, in his case that moneymaker is his golden throat and not his pec-tacular physique.
It's been years since I last interviewed Timmons, one of the nicest people I've ever encountered in teen idoldom, but I got in touch with my old buddy with plenty of burning questions about his surprising gig...
