The Island of Fire

Darlings, I just got back from an almost three week hiatus! How did you possibly stand my absence for so long? I've been spending my time away keeping my namesake: eating next to nothing and drinking next to everything. And what better place to do that than Fire Island?

I spent the most glorious time in Cherry Grove with my dear friend Jack Aaronson. I did head over to the Pines for a bit, but it was full with a bunch of Ken dolls and the older men who buy Ken dolls. Being neither of the two, the Grove better suits my preferences.

I started each day with a screwdriver (you simply must have your Vitamin C!). I then hauled my beach chair and cooler down to the shore and sat under my rainbow umbrella. I have delicate skin, you see, so I can't exactly be in direct sunlight... ever. As I sipped on gin martinis (I have a special beach shaker), I yelled inappropriate things of a sexual nature to the boys walking around in their tight swimwear. It was truly glorious.

After doing this for 2-9 hours, I somehow stumbled down the boardwalk to the closest bar. At this point, I was out of gin, so I had to get my libations the old-fashioned way--showing my ass for cocktails. Around 2am or so, when I could barely see straight, I somehow always found myself in the infamous Meat Rack. What a magical place.

After 1-4 hours of sitting there under my rainbow umbrella and yelling now appropriate things of a sexual nature, I coerced one of the boys to carry me back to my house by promising them I would sit on their face. However, I never followed through. I'm a lady, after all.

Bren, I'm so upset that you missed it!

A True Story

Amsterdam and Octavian never blinked, as a rule.

Fifteen months of dual modeling jobs, gig after gig, exotic locale after exotic locale – all of that had knocked the blink right out of them. 

They were the best of their kind, naturally. Taut, well-moisturized skin stretched out over razor-sharp cheekbones. Lips pursed, never open. Both used left-hand parts, their shimmering hair tucked behind those shapely right ears. Serene and stunning. And besties. 

Rarely seen talking at a shoot, the only sounds they made were the occasional (and slight) grunts and sighs that meant, “Good morning,” “Let’s pose,” or, “This skim no-whip latte is filling.”

That day, however, was different. They had arrived at the shoot in total silence. 
J.Crew Fall ’07. Silence wasn’t unusual – these kids were quiet and removed (you could even go flat out and say “cold”) – but they wouldn’t even share a bottle of liquid concealer. 
Then, positioned in front of the cameras, Octavian’s hand lightly resting on Amsterdam’s knee, the tension was palpable.  Their eyes were watering.

“Amsterdam…” the art director tried, “Do you need a break? You’re sweating through the houndstooth.”

Octavian gave a low whistle. “Just tell them.”

Amsterdam shook his wee mane.
“I just…” he started, then delicately coughed. “I just need some Visine.”

Three hours passed. 
Vests gave way to sweaters, to trousers, to cravats. 

Finally, something cracked.

Octavian’s eyes slammed shut with a crash: “I’M BLIND!” he screeched, tearing at his face.  Amsterdam writhed in agony, then, “THE VISINE! DEAR GOD, THE VISINE!”
Both shocks of hair deflated with a disgusting puff to the left and their lips contorted grotesquely into stupid, common-people smiles.

They had passed it – their Prime – and promptly faded into obscurity.

Summer Viewin', Happens So Fast...

As you all know, between social engagements, Brendan and I don't really do much but laze around the house to maintain our boyish figures and ride the edge of our personal alcohol tolerances. During these times, I like to turn to my DVR to provide hours of reality disengagement. However, as we now have entered June, we subsequently have entered the black hole known as Summer Programming.

I don't know what it is about summer that produces the tripe I am forced to endure. It's as if the networks figure that everyone is doing outdoorsy type adventures in these dreary months. I doubt that is the case. If it is, it's because television has left them with no alternatives.

However, through my experienced and tested television viewing, I have sorted through the floating garbage of I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here, Denise Richards: It's Complicated, Kendra, America's Got Talent, Dance Your Ass Off, and I Survived a Japanese Game Show (among others, trust me) to find some of the shining gems of programming that will grace your home screens. Well, hopefully...

So You Think You Can Dance
Despite it's annoyingly long name (try texting THAT nine times far), this show features some of the most talented people in reality television. These kids have had some training and work harder than anyone I know. It's unfortunate that the payoff seems to be recurring roles on future seasons.

Kings
Although this show has already began, it picks back up with regular episodes this month. If you haven't watched this modern re-telling of David (you know, the Bible one), go to NBC.com and catch up. Ah-mah-zing.

Weeds
Although I am guilty of not following this show as closely as I should, I know that it's quality TV with Mary Louise Parker at the helm. This happens to be one of Bren's favorite shows, as it also features his stalkee Hunter Parish.

Nurse Jackie
This is one of the series that I'm looking forward to either loving or hating. Edie Falco is a force to be reckoned with, so of course it'll be worth attention. Also, she's sporting a rather lesbian hair cut (see Jackie Warner from Work Out).

True Blood
The second season kicks off soon (but not soon enough). It's hard to go wrong with vampires, and since it's set in Deep South, it's close to this Mississippi Sissy's heart. Of course, it looks like Jason Stackhouse (played by the gorgeous Ryan Kwanten) is taking a religious turn this season. I hope this doesn't mean less nude scenes for him...

Merlin
Set to premiere on NBC, this is a show I'm watching with a wary eye. I have always been a fan of the King Arthur legends, so of course I will be trying this one on for size. It takes place while Merlin and Arthur and young men while Urthur is still king. We'll see...

So I hope that this helps out those of you who will doing the socially responsible thing and staying in this summer. There's no need to show your face in the daylight. Night time does wonders for other's perceived notion of one's skin. Plus, it saves money on face lotions and treatments that is better spent elsewhere... booze.

Dear Future Husband...

Dear Hunter Parrish,
You will be mine.

Kisses,

Bren

Just What Are They Promoting...

As I scoured the Internet for something to entertain my delicate, yet refined senses, I came across this little gem. Apparently, the Jonas Brothers have a new album coming out, but their promotional tactics are a little... off. This "long-awaited" and "long-requested" video was released:



So just who is awaiting and requesting this? The hordes of screaming tweens that seem to follow these boys around? Or more likely, the more discreet hordes of gay men following these boys and just waiting till the youngest is of legal age.

I guess it's not all bad, though. I mean, even though he can't dance (it took my friend Parker MONTHS in the shower to master this dance), the kid does have nice thighs, at least. Also, the image of putting a ring on it before you can have it is consistent with their purity ring facades.

Adam Lambert tells Rolling Stone he's gay, and Joe Jonas dances to Beyonce. Related? I think so...

Your Hosts

Meet your bloggers, lovelies!

To the left, we have the always-svelte, half-a-bottle-down Austin.

To the right, we have the positively-tiny, constantly-tipsy Bren.

...you can touch yourself now.

Tony Who?

So as a good gay does, I am planning a fabulous party for the Tony Awards on Sunday (Bren, I really wish you would reconsider joining society again here in New York, if only for this one evening). As I was sending out invitations and chatting with potential RSVPers, I was shocked and awed at the discovery that one of my "friends" (and believe me, I now use the term loosely) has never once watched a Tony Award ceremony. After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I told this gay delinquent that watching the Tonys is like a homo right of passage. Am I wrong here? Don't I have every right to be appalled?


And to make matters worse, more than one friend said that they were seeing shows that evening. Excuse me? You make plans on theater's most important night? I don't get upset at a refused invitation; life's full of them. However, I do expect that if you're not watching the Tony Awards at my party, you are watching them somewhere. I simply cannot accept a denial in any other case. What is wrong with you people?

*shakes off rage*

Whew. There. It's been said. I hope this doesn't happen again next year, gentlemen. Be expecting your 2010 invites shortly. That is all.