The best Michael Kors lines from Project Runway...

BOY CULTURE REVIEW: **1/2 OUT OF ****

Just got back from Chris March's Butt-Cracker Suite: A Trailer Park Ballet at HERE in NYC. It's exactly what the title says, including interludes informed by projections of "Dawn Davenport"/Divine's cha-cha-fueled rage, Linus teaching Charlie Brown about Christmas, the leggy lampshade scene from A Christmas Story and more.

March plays "Clara," a sort of plus-size Honey Boo Boo, and the central figure in the park, where a myriad of fanciful creatures—representing Miracle Whip, Spam and other trailer-trash signatures—dance.

Chris March of Project Runway fame has written and conceived a new Off Broadway show called Chris March's Butt-Cracker Suite!

Yeah. I know. Sounds too good to be true, but it's true. Keep reading for a discount offer...

Jack Mackenroth's 2012 calendar incites horniness while simultaneously helping to cure AIDS. You see more right over here.

Jack Mackenroth reveals...his love of Baskit's underwear. More of these shots by Ray John Pila after the jump...

Madonna signed this teddy bear designed by Daniel Vosovic to benefit the Matthew Shepard Foundation. Bidding is at over $400 already with a few days left to go. Click here if interested.

Project Runway's celibate Yoda Tim Gunn is out promoting his book Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making It Work, and he's granted a juicy interview to TheFrisky.com. In it, he confirms this season's Gretchen is a psycho (albeit one he's come to appreciate). Of his confrontation with her, he says:

"I have never done that before and I will be honest with you, I asked permission to do it. I have a role in that scene [after the judging] saying, 'Go to the workroom and clean up your space.' That's why I said to A.J. [the designer who was sent home last episode instead of Gretchen], 'I want you to hear this.' Because I also wanted the whole team to know that I was disappointed in all their behavior. They allowed Gretchen to bully them and direct everything...The behavior that Gretchen demonstrated on the runway during that Q&A with the judges is about as close to psychosis as anything I have seen on the show. But I have to tell you something, too. I've learned to really love and adore her. I'm extremely fond of her. There are multiple dimensions of her."

Gunn also apparently believes his dad was a closeted gay man having an affair with J.Edgar Hoover, per this exchange:

GLAAD's Rich Ferraro has consistently invited me to his organization's events and I've consistently declined; I officially cover so many events for my dayjob and unofficially cover so many events on my blog for fun that my thought has been I don't really need to hyperextend myself by marrying the two and officially covering an event for my blog.

Gays & thespians: Honoree Nixon with Prayers for Bobby's Weaver

But The 21st Annual GLAAD Media Awards were honoring Cynthia Nixon and Joy Behar (two of my favorite redheads—the red carpet was truly red/orange...it was a Night of 1,000 Gingers) so I made it my first red carpet, quickly discovering that doing an event with no boss to please and nothing to lose and yet having orchestrated access to the main attractions can wind up being the best of both worlds—officially fun.

From where I stood 

I arrived around 3PM for press check-in. There was a crush of people and the nice lady at the desk wasn't; I asked where to go and she said up the escalator, which isn't really that descriptive considering I was in the Marriott Marquis in Times Square (a place I was at on 9/10/01, and where I discussed going to the World Trade Center the following day to get TKTS tickets for a show...something that never panned out, obviously). I went up, as commanded, but couldn't figure out where to go next. I was pointed in many directions, finally landing on the third floor. (You'll see from the photos that I was much even more disheveled and droopy than usual.)

All my B-roll footage:

Here, I found my spot on the line—right toward the end. Red carpets are like the social caste system made manifest, or like a literal food chain. On the latter, I would be the seeds the birds poop out to keep the plants growing. To make it less metaphorical, I was two slots behind something called Autostraddle.com, which I refuse to look up because it sounds like one of those mechanical dildo sites. (I broke down and looked it up—it's a kinda great lesbian site with lots of traffic.)

But it turns out my spot wasn't so bad (considering I'm just some guy with a blog) because most of the stars were rather available and those who weren't were stopping to my left to do stuff with GLAAD. At first, I was right next to Ben Harvey and Dave Rubin of Ben & Dave's Six Pack (pictured, image from Metrosource). They were also covering for Queerty, though I wondered if they might not get less frozen reactions if they left the Queerty part out (I still link to Queerty, but I think it's fair to describe it as somewhat caustic). They were cute and as nice as can be; I point this out because the act of having a six-pack makes people gushingly nice, but the act of having six-pack abs usually does the opposite. They were professional and hot, the types of guys you wouldn't hate being stuck on a crowded elevator with, so I hoped they'd help attract stars, Suddenly Last Summer-style.

Samara puts the Reichen Lehmkuhls on the spot 

Have you been watching Project Runway? I really did not like last season, but I've gotten more into the new one. It's become like that old, comfortable pair of jeans you continually wear out until they're worn out. (Which for me is quite literal; I have, like, two pairs of pants and five shirts.)

Apparently, the designers have to create a dress for Heidi Klum this week, which has got to be torture because she's so unflinching and yet uncruel in her criticism...I think I could more easily brush off one of Michael Kors's over-the-top, sneery cat scratches than Heidi's icily honest opinion.

They should do a cross-over show with Hoarders where the designers have to pick a hoarder and make a gown out of adult diapers or decades-old canned veggie labels or the pelts of cats who at some point became wedged in stored newspapers and couldn't get out.

Jack Mackenroth would be such a fun girlfriend to go shopping with, but then he has that out-of-nowhere 1970s Robert Conrad body that would always be a distraction. As seen on and in reFRESH (November/December 09):