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This was my birth weight. More hot boys after the jump...
I almost didn't go to GLAAD's big bash in honor of New York's marriage-equality victory on Tuesday sponsored by ROKK Vodka, Delta and FV Events, but was drawn in at the last second and wound up having so much fun I almost put a ring on it.
I doubt this has anything to do with the new season of The A-List
UPDATE: It's real, but Reichen tweets me that "the site is great and I wanted to express myself." So he may not necessarily be looking for a husband out of this:
Is this fake? How could this guy not meet men just by waking up and walking outside?
My friend John's been trying to get me to notice this new site Gay Bachelor Blog, but I've resisted. It's impossible to ignore it, however, when A-Lister Reichen Lehmkuhl is on it. His main (stated) requirement is "a guy who doesn't watch TV or read gossip, and who feels gossip to be as pointless and low-life as I do."
The star of a gossipy TV show doesn't like TV or gossip...next he'll be looking for a man who doesn't take fitness seriously because it's for losers.
Contradictory nature aside, I'm sure Reichen would be a great catch for countless guys out there. If I were to say he already has been, I'd be accused of being bitterly jealous of his perfect body and would not be able to deny it.
Via Kenneth In The (212): This gay young person calls bullshit on the cast of The A-List for claiming "It Gets Better" when their show (and maybe their lives—hard to say, the show's so scripted) is all about bullying, picking each other apart, social-status oneupsmanship and even, as of last night. fisticuffs. Can't agree with him that they "should not be on TV," but it's definitely questionable that they would be so central on Logo and ridiculous that they would try to tell gay teens "It Gets Better" while doing everything they're doing to promote that "It Gets Worse"...video after the jump...
My third Broadway Bares, directed by Josh Rhodes and assistant director Lee Wilkins and produced by Jerry Mitchell with a Monopoly theme, was the best yet even if the star power was not as jaw-dropping as one might expect for a 20th anniversary show—no matter, because who the fuck cares about Missy Tony Winner when you've got a stage filled with the country's best, brightest and nakedest Broadway dancers? The night was like one big no-handed edging session. I'm not sure if the experience is untoppable, but if it isn't, it's definitely a power bottom in sequins.
Shiny, happy people
Jason and I (pictured, above) showed up at 10:35 last night to line up for the midnight show, only to find the line snaking out of Roseland and about three-quarters of the way to 53rd already. It was already a gay-list day—not only did I spot both Leslie Jordan and Paolo Andino on Ninth Avenue, but I got all blogged down by brunching with Kenneth from Kenneth in the (212) and running into Jesse Archer, Joe Jervis (pictured), Jared Eng and Andy Towle at BB. See, not all bloggers spend their lives in the pajamas...though I'm in mine as I type this. Hmmm.
The lovely AJ Thorpe ushered us in
They let us in around 11:30, whereupon we made a beeline for the middle, settling on the inside edge of stage right. It was packed and quite warm (a 90-degree day had preceded) but not too bad. I feel terrible for the cute guy adhered to me from the front (I felt bad, but he felt good) because my camera must have poked him 200 times later on. I saw some of the usual pervs—myself included—many of whom pop up in my videos from previous years.
The show started 20 minutes late, but it unfolded at whiplash pace. Dapper Euan Morton (so brilliant eons ago in Taboo) kicked off the opening number "The Best Game in Town" in a top hat and tails a good little monopolist, introducing us to the lovely ladies who stood in for the iconic game pieces. Each and every one was described in sexually suggestive ways, even the wheelbarrow—you can guess what she's capable of carrying away.
No, THIS is the best game in town
There she is, Miss...Vanessa L. Williams
The show's biggest star opened the whole thing
With no build-up, he introduced the biggest stars of the night, the resurging Vanessa Williams (don't even dream that she would be dumb enough to get naked again) and everybody's favorite Christian Broadway bombshell Kristin Chenoweth. The ladies were on point and suitably glam, sporting nice gams.
Josh's entrance (the other one is available to view here.)
Joshua Buscher, a West Side Story dancer in possession of (this must be official somewhere?) the greatest white behind on the Great White Way was someone I picked out last year as a dazzler; this year, he starred in a show-stopping number called "The Bank" set to Lady GaGa's "Money Honey" (OMG, or was he copying Madonna???) that culminated with him dancing totally nude while basically wearing two male peers. It was a well-tailored fit.
Josh puts it allll behind him
If you want all the minutiae about what the ladies accomplished this year, you might need to search for a Girl Culture blog; I love women, but I was so boycrazy I fear I will not do justice to the female-driven numbers. I do know that soon after a rowdy lipstick-lezzie lingerie number called "Connecticut Avenue", a talented, black-bustiered female Alysha Umphress crooned Journey's "When the Lights Go Down in the City" so well that I do hope someone went down on her after the show.
The gay version of The Real Housewives franchise has been retitled from Kept to The A List. Funny, because "the A-gays" are so reviled by gay activists, who see them as starfuckers who just want photo ops and don't care about politics.
Maybe it's a gender thing, but I just know this show is going to sicken me...even if I wish the guys well in their endeavor. Still, Rodiney Santiago (pictured) is going to have to kill a baby to make me hate him like I hate Jill Zarin.
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.