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/

Stuck in Straightsville

I've neglected my faggy audience. I'm sorry, but I've been hijacked by a breeder. Ugh.

I've been almost attached at the hip to my art-ner, J Lew full of Hulabaloo, of late. BLACK PANDA, our quasi-revolutionary, Asian-centric art project/collective has taken control of our lives, both day and night. Cooped up so cozy in PANDA HQ makes me wonder if that's what being straight is like. I mean, living in such confined quarters and sharing everything (especially matress space) with the opposite sex gets me some sort of breeder badge, don't it? One thing is for certain, though, not even in the name of art am I going "downtown" for BLACK PANDA. I'm staying in queer in Williamsburg where homosexuality seems as trendy as day-glo nikes...werd up.

PS - We're making the ￥ sign - can'chuu tell? PANDA!

I'm a fucking poor shot.

Disclaimer: The title to the entry is written in the present tense, but I have since redeemed myself and feel a whole lot better. Still bearless, but better.

I'm a fucking poor shot. After going out last Tuesday on a bear hunt, I came back home feeling upset, inadequate, and mega sexually frustrated.

I started my hunt at what was supposed to be the premiere bear party thrown in NY, Big Lug. Having visited the Luggers at their prior location over a year ago, I thought it was time to check out their new digs (and hopefully find a new furry friend). Since I was unable to go the previous Tuesday night, I was especially eager to be in the company of flannel-clad big boys. As sunset drew near, I strategized the quickest way to get down to the BIG party.

"It used to be here...", the smallish man told me outside of the venue.

"... It closed down about.. a week and a half, two weeks ago?". With these words uttered it seemed like my night was doomed to furless agony.

The guy told me that the organizer of the party got in bad with the community and a boycott of the Luggers ensued. My friend Adam thinks the party was dirty. Boo. I couldn't believe that I had waited so long to attend the beary bacchanale. My door guy said that the closest thing around the area was the "Boy's Room" a couple of blocks away. He also said there would be NO bears. That was strike one.

Where to go next? It was still early and despite the misty, autumnal weather, I was resolute in finding a big man to hug up on. The next, most obvious, bear hangout in my mind was "The Dugout". And so I traipsed cross town to the West Village, cocking my rifle and proceeded with the hunt.

The Dugout had, literally, 3 people inside. That's including the bartender. Yeah, it was early, but... Strike two.

"Ty's" is a little bar on Christopher Street that is usually frequented by an after-work, butch clientele. I popped in to see what the haps were there on the way back from The Dugout.

An aside: I walked on the opposite the side of the street from some NKOTC that I witnessed trying to attack people with their flailing arms and voguish ways. Clearly one of the gurls in the posse had too much Red No.. 40 that day. I'm sayin'.

While there were some bears in suits at Ty's, I stayed put and drank my Corona. Perhaps it was the let down from going all the way from the East to the West Village and being disappointed both times. I think my soggy demeanor was taking shape and people could tell. That, or the daddy with the goatee just wasn't into little Asian man-boys. Oh well... Strike three. Had this been baseball, I would've been out. But, com'on, it's this is hunting we're talking about.

I had remembered seeing my final stop of the evening, The Gym, packed with some brawny dudes once before. Stepping into The Gym, I thought that I had struck gold. Intellectual, bespectacled bears were to my right and older, daddy bears were to my left. As Doc Marvy, my clever bear from Omaha, would say, it was a veritable smorgasbord. I ordered a drink and relaxed in the crowd. As the night wore on, though, the fur dwindled. I clearly wasn't projecting the energy I had at the beginning of the night, even though I had found the party. Ugh, I thought. And with that sigh, I decided to trek it home. Boo hoo kalamazoo.

If there was to be a moral to this story, I suppose it would be that nothing ever materializes when you expect and or want it to. That, or Thursday is a better bear hunting night than Tuesday. Whatever, I'm reloaded.

Dance, Bitch, DANCE!!!

Kuya Rick

A gay Filipino character on TV? This is too good to be true. But, you know what's better. What's better is that Rick Brocka, Jr. of Logo's irreverant reality show, "Rick and Steve", is my very own cuz (Please don't email me. I can't get you an autograph). This is a picture of me and some of the fam from this summer's holiday in Las Pilipinas. Hey cuz, don't let the Hollywood Man change you! Can't wait to have some more of your great arrozcaldo, pare!

NKOTC

Ring the alarm! The *NEW* fags are here. These new girls are fierce and quick to sashay down the imaginary runways in the gay ghettoes of Greenwich Village, Chelsea, and, of course, The Christopher Street Pier (Miss Ting!). Recently, I was checked out by one of the New Kids On The Cock in the subway. His insouciance and workin’ it attitude (not to mention the 10+ years age difference) reminded me of the days when we would kiki and prance around the city. Oh, nostalgia. That said, I am definitely happy to be emerging into a new era of my faggotry – Fiercer, Stronger, Badder. The NKOTC will be sure to sing out “Please don’t go guuurlll…” when I cross their path. I’m sayin’ though.

One Hit Wonders

Don't you hate it when you find that hot online booty and can't get a round two? Recently, I found a smart, creative, and cute piece of web ass on ichatgay.com. After a a few minutes of IMing coyly, we went c2c and handled that. Without getting into details, it was hot. Now, however, he won't gimme another peek. I've been blacklisted on his Buddy List, shoot. I know I'm worth it. It must be his lingering boyfriend. I'm saying, I'm down with c2c2c.