2276 posts categorized "POP CULTURE"
Exxon-Mobil accused of anti-gay bias.
President Obama hands Carole King the Gershwin Award.
Latest ES undies collection is a sight for whore eyes.
No gay sex in 5 years? Give blood in Canada.
Anti-Muslim attacks as Woolwich retribution.
Boy Scouts of America begin deliberations on gay scouts.
Buff cadets climb greased obelisk.
Kenneth & his bro have a Fontaine/de Haviland scene brewing.
Right-to-lifer thinks getting raped is like being in a flood.
David Cameron "proud" of marriage-equality vote.
Dying, he set out to become a famous musician. And is.
Salt Lake City, UT, has most same-sex parents.
Gay tcotchkes, with a % of profits going to LGBT charity.
Above, an occasionally shirtless gallery of photos from The 7th Annual Broadway Beauty Pageant.
Monday night was The 7th Annual Broadway Beauty Pageant, a ribald affair that pits chorus boys from various Broadway shows against each other based on their talent, their ability to sell the good in a swimsuit and their answers to random questions. It raises money for The Ali Forney Center, so attracts a lot of support. The show's celebrity judges don't hurt, either—this year featured Andrea Martin (Pippin), Michael Urie (Buyer & Cellar—best play I've seen in years) and Billy Porter (Kinky Boots—I hate that I could not get review tickets to this show, of all shows!), all of whom had just won Drama Desk Awards for their performances the day before.
For the first time, the event was held at NYU's Skirball Center in the Village. Timing being what it is, the event fell on the same day that people from all over the city were gathering down the street to protest the wave of anti-LGBT violence that has swept NYC, including the cold-blooded murder of Mark Carson. It was quite a night-and-day experience for anyone who managed to hit both events, a chance to experience rage and grief before settling into irreverent tomfoolery and balls-out (not literally, unfortch) entertainment.
We arrived early for the red carpet. An adorable couple macked on my companion (why do people assume we're not together?), I had a juicy political chat with an anybody-but-Christine-Quinn operative and I saw my buddies Curtis and Peter. The carpet was somewhat disappointing this year in that two of the judges avoided it, I somehow missed the superdreamy Max von Essen and even the contestants only popped out for a brief photo op. (In the past, I've sometimes interviewed the guys before the show and have had access to the judges.) But on the bright side, the one judge I did get, after she sat with Cindy Adams for a Q&A, was the one I was dying for...the legendary Andrea Martin!
I have not yet seen Pippin (I'm gonna!), but I have heard nothing but raves. Martin, a household name among households with taste for her SCTV past alone, was a total delight. Before our brief interview, she did a pic-with and used it as a way of checking her hair and makeup. "I wish I had someone do that for me tonight!" she fretted, before saying her dress was ridiculous, too. (It wasn't. She is 66 and looks amazing!)
After I'd reassured her that my video camera had a cheap light on it that would blow her out like an Andy Warhol Polaroid of Joan Collins, she answered my questions warmly and gamely, including my query about what, if anything, in her career was something she still can't believe she did or is even embarrassed to admit she did. Who knew that she made a movie in 1971 for Ivan Reitman called Foxy Lady in which she had a brief nude scene? (She claims no one has ever seen it.)
I was also excited to connect with Paul McGill, whom I had encountered when he was plugging his 2009 role in the remake of Fame. He's an amazingly gifted dancer; if you never saw his beauty in the reenactment parts of the spellbinding documentary Man on Wire (2008), you're missing out.
Inside, we were treated to box seating, which was great for the view but less than ideal for shooting. (The judges were stage left, as were we, so I got precious few shots of them.) Great venue, though.
Carl Siciliano said my Encyclopedia Madonnica was a staple of his youth. Wondering what he looks like nekkid is a staple of my oldth.
Oink Tank: Dave Hughes (VP of marketing & PR) & co-founder David Lauterstein of Nasty Pig.
For the sixth year in a row, Tovah Felshuh, 60, was our filthy emcee. The show is set up very loosely, so there's plenty of awkward time to fill. Tovah is the ideal host for the times when you need someone with a faulty filter to vamp.
Before getting raunchy, though, Tovah gave a moving speech in remembrance of Mark Carson that brought down the house and reminded us all that along with fun and games, our community knows how to get pissed off and get involved.
The show was a hoot, as always, from its Our Gang-esque let's-put-on-a-show opening (McGill was the evening's volunteer choreographer) to featured performer Nathan Lee Graham's appearances as a Diana Ross-esque "Fairy Godmother."
The guys competing for the title of Mr. Broadway were:
Callan Bergmann (from Silence! The Musical), Orion Griffiths (Pippin), Julius C. Carter (Spider-Man), Matthew Goodrich (The Nance), Paul Heesang Miller (Mamma Mia) and Yurel Echezarreta (Matilda).
Mr. Pippin, Orion Griffiths, wins 7th Annual Broadway Beauty Pageant.
Virginia GOP nominee might be craziest right-winger yet.
"Gif" is pronounced "jif." Who knew, besides Dina Martina?
Giorgio Moroder, 73 plays his first DJ set.
Daft Punk bonus track "Horizon" appears.
Via Towleroad: Man, 30, underwear-dances with himself, 20:
Why Madonna has endured for 30 years.
Madonna & Li'l Wayne on Nicki Minaj's road to Billboard.
Yet another racist claims his racism wasn't racism.
Anti-gay nutjob's suicide note. See you in hell!
Jailed Pussy Riot member begins hunger strike.
New (gay) Dads on the Block share family photos.
Apparently, Lance Armstrong loooves to be gang-rimmed.
Farid Mammadov, most recent Eurovision's hottest hunk of man.
Japan's #1 gay pornstar, Koh Masaki, passes away.
Harvey Milk as bogeyman.
Spring Awakening as a high school musical.
Ivy & Jinkx do Death Becomes Her.
Kanye West burns it down "just like the theater Hitler was trapped in."
JAILBAIT: He thinks Hillary Clinton needs to "be shot in the vagina."
SAY HIS NAME: Joe.My.God. attends vigil for hate-crime murder victim Mark Carson:::
I missed the rally for the man blown away for being gay...in the West Village.
Do you have sympathy for "The PayPal 14"?
Rob Pattinson & Kristen Stewart break up.
Soon: A "Yahoo-Tumblr mega-deal."
REMEMBER: Black masculinity & Fame.
Daft Punk "One More Time" singer Romanthony dies.
President Obama's approval rating enjoys a BOUNCE.
New (demo of) Britney song "Ooh La La" = Aqua meets Madonna's "Superstar."
David Chaloub by Cristiano Madureira for Made in Brazil.
Madonna slew at The Billboard Music Awards, arriving in an outfit that was giving me The Blue Angel, Sex and Dick Tracy flashes...and that was also giving me flasher flashes, considering she skipped pants.
Growing old "gracefully" is for people who could not wear this and look this good.
Maripol, the woman who gave Madonna her "Boy Toy" look, has been shooting Polaroids for over 30 years. She has a collection of some indescribably beautiful '80s shots (I am proud to own an original), but this collection was less about Downtown personae and more about sensuality, featuring models Adele, Clemence, Alessandra and Aurele. So French, so erotic, so fun.
Mogutin, whose work I also own, told me his were all commissioned especially for this show. They, too, focus on the erotic; he captures flesh in a way you can smell it. Speaking of which, a ripe, absolutely eye-popping dancer walked in wearing a Tintin tee and sporting Technicolor rain-streak tattoos down his arms. I told Slava, "You have to shoot him, and I'll buy it." He joked in his Russian accent, "I would like to get him between the sheets."
Maripol told me she was jet-lagged, so I didn't see her by the time I left. Artists! But I did spot Brian Kenny and Robert Richards...and I own their stuff, too. I swear, almost every living artist whose work I have bought was in attendance. It made me feel like some crazy-important collector (which I am most certainly not).
Check out the show if you can—it's as tiny as the medium it celebrates, but packed with sexual abandon and represents a remarkable melding of styles from two artists I've always admired.