Essential Reading

A perfect stocking stuffer for your
favorite shit packer.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YOU

Yr Mangled Heart

If everything you do has got a hold on me
Then everything I do has got a hole in it
I’ve been here before I should be used to it
But I can’t take it no more, I can’t take it no more
Oh whoa, oh whoa whoa whoa

Your mangled heart, your battered love that’s hanging on to memories
You’re letting go of everything that used to be
I’ve had enough, you'll build me up to let me down, yeah

If everything I do has got a hole in it
Then everything you do has got a hold on me
I’ve been here before I should be used to it
But I can’t take it no more, I can’t take it no more
Oh whoa, oh whoaaaa

Your mangled heart, your battered love that’s hanging on to memories
You’re letting go of everything that used to be
I’ve had enough, you'll build me up to let me down
Oooh, Your mangled heart, your battered love that’s hanging on to memories
You’re letting go of everything that used to be
I’ve had enough, you'll build me up to let me down, yeah

I don’t want the world, I only want what I deserve
I don’t want the world, the world, I only want what I deserve
I don’t want the world, the world, I only want what I deserve

Your mangled heart, your battered love that’s hanging on to memories
You’re letting go of everything that used to be
I’ve had enough, you'll build me up to let me down

Your mangled heart, your battered love that's hanging on to memories
You're letting go of everything that used to be
I've had enough, you'll build me up to let me down

What ever happened to good ole' gingerbread man cookies?

Damn Vlad, were you bedding tiny nymphets or little gnomes? I had the same thoughts exactly the other night. And lemme tell you, I'm NOT into the nymphet thing.

Whereas Nabokov's tragic hero faces his own demons of paedophelia, I recently faced my own insecurities of trying to top. And top I did, albeit a very brief entry. As time proceeds, though, this quote resonates stronger. While my gnomish partner and I enjoyed the pleasures of fornication, I'm left to wonder what it will be like to consort with larger men, bigger mates. While I also believe that the sensations are much the same, a new door of possibility has opened up for exploration. Perhaps it' s the path to that "routine rhythm that shakes the world". Maybe it's all that I've been waiting for. Then again, who am I kidding? It's just butt sex.

Can anybody find me somebody to love...please?

Can anybody find me somebody to love?
Each morning I get up I die a little
Can barely stand on my feet
Take a look in the mirror and cry
Lord what you're doing to me
I have spent all my years in believing you
But I just can't get no relief, Lord!
Somebody, somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

I work hard every day of my life
I work till I ache my bones
At the end I take home my hard earned pay all on my own -
I get down on my knees
And I start to pray
Till the tears run down from my eyes
Lord - somebody - somebody
Can anybody find me - somebody to love?

(He works hard)

Everyday - I try and I try and I try -
But everybody wants to put me down
They say I'm goin' crazy
They say I got a lot of water in my brain
Got no common sense
I got nobody left to believe
Yeah - yeah yeah yeah

Oh Lord
Somebody - somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Got no feel, I got no rhythm
I just keep losing my beat
I'm ok, I'm alright
Ain't gonna face no defeat
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord!

Find me somebody to love
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

America's Next TOP model?

If only Kinsey had a scale that measured the various degrees of topness and bottomness. Some fags are clear as to what role they play in the bedroom. Instictive, I suppose. Some of us, however, are either unclear, or just ambitious.

I created this bidness card for myself, riffing off of one that i made for my sister. It stares you blankly in the face, in all it's helvetica glory, asking you to fill in the appropriate response. I know you're dying for the day to get one of these cards left behind on the kitchen counter. If you get one, mail it back will ya? I'm keeping tabs. xoxo

Mr. Zimmer

I cuddle with Pandas. I cuddle with wizards. I even cuddle with pillows ( " - " ). But perhaps one of my most interesting cuddling friends is Mr. Zimmer, or was he is known by a wider audience, simply Zimmer.

Zimmer lives in an abandoned chocolate factory not very far from his Art School Alma Mater, Pratt (when inclined to perform feats of doggie artistry, he goes by the moniker "Samo"). His cozy coat makes him attactive in bed, especially on the fiercest of winter mornings. What I cannot vouch positively for, however, is his insane halitosis. Bad doggie breath aside, Zimmer is in a class by himself. Upon a recent jaunt to the chocolate factory, I decided to ask Zimmer about his foul odor. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Ohh little Zimmer, why do you have such corrupt doggie breath.

Z.: (Looks up and flaps his tongue, unleashing more of the corruption.

Me: Don't do that! Whew, your shit be stankin'!

Z.: (Bats his eyes in an adorable fashion no doubt mastered on modeling sets - oh he is a doggie model. Had you not known?)

Me: Corruption. Let me hug you.

Z.: (Gets scooped up and looks at TRB for cuddling advice)

Me: Good corruption. Aww. Corruption.

FIN

Yeah, he's a bit stank, but we love him. Here's to you Zimmer. The one and only.

What had happened was...

Apparently I talk in my sleep. This I'm told by my artner that I conveniently share a bed with. Or, shall I say shared a bed with.

Last Saturday morning, I was apparently rolling underneath the sheets. Amid the rustle of cotton, she heard some kind of moaning but not a sexual moan. Something more along the lines of a dog crying because his mother removed her tit from his salivating mouth. Damn, how's that for graphic. Anyhoo. So, whah whah, there's some muffled whimpering. Artner says that it happened for a good minute or two when suddenly the whimpering became language.

If ever you meet artner, ask her to tell you the story. It's so funny and unbelivable. I swear I didn't do it. The illustration above is hers. That's me lying on my side with those highly articulated words coming out of my mouth post whimper a la Britney Spears.

"Mmm...Mmmm...I Like It" (back to dreamland)

Black Panda hug

Love, love, love. 1/2 + 2/2 = Black Panda. Hugs and Drugs.
(first seen on: http://jenniferlew.blogspot.com/)

Potty Talk

Sometimes mixed drinks can be a bit too sweet. Have you ever experienced that? Recently, on a jaunt to the DR, my friends and family just could not get a decent drink. Everything was way too sweet. The pina coladas, the daquiris, the margaritas - it was as if someone was conspiring to spread diabetes across the resort. What does one do when the libations are too saccharin sweet for your drinking pleasure? What else, but shoot skittles from your bum.

Yo: OMG. These drinks are so sweet, I'm going to fart a Starburst.

Ellos y Ellas: hee hee hee haw haw haw

(after another pina colada)

Yo: Jeeez! I think I'm going to shit a Jolly Rancher tomorrow!

Ellos y Ellas: ra ra ra ra ra ra

(borderline diabetic at this point)

Yo: Yo, for real!

Ellos y Ellas: Porque?!? What had happened?!?

Yo: These drinks are so sweet, I'm going to shit skittles.

At this point, my girl, The Professor, and I had one of those moments when we knew that our stars REALLY did cross paths and that we are living in parallel universes.

Yo y The Professor (simultaneously and unrehearsed): TASTE THE RAINBOW!

So, yeah kids. Whether you are in the DR or at Papi Cock or at Esquelita, please use the following line:

"My ass is so sweet, I shit skittles. Wanna taste the rainbow?" - DM + The Professor

And remember, you heard it here first.

King Deuteronomy

I was King for the day at my Karaoke birthday extravaganza. The beloved Lady Esquire made some red velvet cup cakes in honor of the event and the Tinga Tinga crew completed the candle blowout with their rendition of Mariah's "Vison of Love". See for yourself on the You Tube Videos below.
Thanks to all who came out to celebrate the Dirty Thirty - xo. And thanks for the crown Little Man...xoxo

Sunday, Nov. 11, 2007 2:30 AM

Single file please. One at a time.

DM in DR

Told ya I'd get there.

Thirty, Dirty, and, apparently, Sloppy

It'll be my 30th birthday soon. Yes, Star Wars and I turn 30 the same year. Isn't it ironic? Don't cha think. But before I whisk you away with all my fetishes of pop culture and bitch pop references, I must relay a story...

Matt is a geat friend of mine that I met while living in Kochi, Japan. I hadn't seen him for over a year, so it was a treat to be able to spend time with him recently on a business jaunt here to NYC. I took him to a bar where I got very lucky recently, The Phoenix.

So there we were, chatting it up in the side room - me in a Swiss Airlines Hoody and Matt in a Fabulous blue sequins jacket that he snatched up before making the leap over from San Fran. There we were. And there they were. No sooner did I see there two guys checking us out than did I find myself in the middle of a self introduction.


Moi: [reaching for the hand of someone who appears to be not a day past 15.5 years old] Hi, I'm Deuteronomy.

The Ostensibly 15.5 year old from L.I. (imagine the accent): I'm Evian. <-- ficticious name

Before I continue, I must say that Evian seemed like a nice guy. He and his friend made their way over and struck up a conversation about Matt's jacket and then used that as a segue into chatting. It was all very nice, but the speed with which it all went down was a bit startling. I'm reminded of praying mantises at the moment...

15.5 L.I.: Soo, Deuteronomy, are you from here? What do you do?

Moi: Yes. I just came back from spending a couple of years abroad. I was teaching.

15..5 L.I.: Ooh Fabulous, wheah did jew gow?

Moi: I was in Japan.

15..5 L.I.: Fahbulous. Ooh, how was that?

Moi: It was...

15..5 L.I.: How old are you?

Moi: Well, I m going to be 30 in about two weeks.

15..5 L.I.: Oh my gawd! Are you nervous? I would be TOOOtally nervous.

Moi: No, I'm not nervous. I actually am welcoming it. I feel like I'm understanding myself better at this point, and...

15..5 L.I.: Oh my gawd! Are you nervous? I would be TOOOtally nervous.

Moi: Would you like a Tic-Tac?

15..5 L.I.: Oh my gawd! Do I need one? I'm totally nervous.

Moi: No no, I'm just going to have one myself. Care for one? Two?

15..5 L.I.: Oh, OK. Thanks Deuteronomy.... Soo, I'm 21 and I'm have one more semester of NYU left and I don't know what I want to do and I don't want to work in a gallery or museum or anything like that and I want to be able to eat out a couple of nights a week and how do you guys know each other? and I have one more semester of NYU and I'm an art history major and Long Island and...

Moi: [Rising from my seat and clutching my phone like it was a garlic and I had just been jumped by a vampire] Would you excuse me for a second, I have to make a phone call.

And then I saw it. Like in s l o w m o . I saw the tic tacthat that I had sucked on for no more than 30 seconds fall from my agape mouth and land just beyond the mouth of Evian's glass on his sweater. Omg.

Moi: Omg.

15.5 L.I.: OH Deuteronomy! Don't worry. I LOVED IT!

Omg.

Evian and his friend chatted us up for a bit longer, but when it became clear that we weren't media moguls or interested in NYU nana, they kept it movin'. It was flattering to have two young young men come by and talk to us. I suppose it was nicer that my young gentleman caller wasn't grossed out by this soon-to-be 30 year old with alot of issues keeping things in his mouth. I wonder what the conversation must've been like after they left. Could it have been something like this?:


15.5 L.I.: Omg.

16.5 L.I.: What?

15.5 L.I.: That old chinese man dropped his Tic-Tac on me! It, like, fell from his mouth!

16.5 L.I.: Eew

15.5 L.I.: Omg

16.5 L.I.: Eew

15.5 L.I.: Omg. Pick Britney.

Perhaps. Hey, what can I say? They don't call it your dirty thirties for nothing. I'm just thirty drity and a bit sloppy. Whoops.

Hyaku-en Man-ty Wedg-ie

FACT: You can purchase tidy-whities (aka "male panties" aka "manties") in most Hyaku-en in Japan. The Hyaku-en store is their equivalent of our dollar store, cuz Kenji gotta eat too.
FICTION: I bought a pair that actually fit me.
FAGGOTRY:When I got wedgied, I secretly liked it. But, please, not with my over-one-dollar underwear. Thanks.

マドンナ ラキ スタ

I visited the temples in Kyoto (Kiyomizudera is my fave), bathed in white mud baths on Kyuushu, and shopped in Harajuku with my very own Harajuku girl, but I have to say that despite all these quintessentially Japanese experiences, one of my high points of living in that country was マドンナ, or Madonna. And she ain't even Japanese.

I'm telegraphing your thoughts right now. Yes, I'm a gay man. And yes, I went to the Confessions on a Dance Floor Tour, but, like with all healthy passions, I have a love/hate relationship with Madge. Personally speaking, the Madonna of the BAT was the bitch at her apex. That was the Blonde Ambition Tour, btw. After that, madge got all politcal and brit and her speech took on a mid-atlantic accent. I thought I was through, but then that "Hung Up" song dropped and the rest is history.

This is some footage that I shot at the concert. "Lucky Star" was one of my favorite performances. You might be able to tell from my singing.

Fashion Bears

I like fashion as much as the next 'mo, but I must admit, I'm not obsessed with it. So it was a surprise for me to hear that two bears have infiltrated the fashion world. And when I say bear, I don't mean just some unshaven, brawny man trying to work this season's look. No, these guys look legit. Costello Tagliapietra greet their audience at the end of their shows clad in bearific fashion from head to toe: plaid, suspenders, denim, and boots. Interesting to see this mode of queer identity adulated in a world stereotypically governed by sensitive and sleek metrosexuals. Not that bears cannot be sensitive, mind you. I wonder if they go home at night and bake red velvet cup cakes. Maybe they make furniture. OR maybe they make furniture in the shape of cupcakes. That has to be it.

Faggoty Attention

"Back to Brooklyn, get it cookin', don't cha worry no one's lookin'" - it's faggoty and catchy- omg.

PS - I've recently been told that faggoty attention is the only kind of attention that I can give. What do you think? VOTE NOW --->

"That design is so gay..."

So what's up with the lack of repping for Gay graphic designers. Yeah, yeah, there's BUTT from Amsterdam, but what else do we got?

One of my talented designer friends was recently put in charge of (and no doubt fantastically executed) a re-design of The Advocate, a project that would be a dream job for a gay designer. He, no doubt, spent many laborious hours toiling over the new design while his wife waited lonely at home. Yes, he's of the straight persuasion. While I do think that the best designer should get the job, I also think that design is about passion and learning. At least that's why I got into it. Being connected to your work is such a part of any design job, but especially in the graphic arts where it is the designer's role to elucidate the material for the reader/user. How much my beloved friend knows about who's outand who's in - what's here and what's queer - all that is questionable. He CAN work wonders with typography - that's for sure. So, then, where do we draw the line when we have a great "gay" project and two designers flexing the same graphic muscle, but one just happens to be a shit packer... It's a question that I don't have an answer for. Maybe organizations that mobilze queer graphic designers will pop up one day. We can call it Italicks... heyyy.

For Further Reading: http://blog.fawny.org/2004/12/02/perry/