Manhattan Offender

Gay Christmas is everywhere

A quick email arrived late in the day:

Subject: How the Gawker Stole Gay Christmas.

Ok. I hate to break it to you but Gawker used the word "gay christmas" today. But just look at it like this. Its like star and people fighting over who invented "bennifer."

But Offender lays no claim of ownership of Gay Christmas. Yes, Gawker used 'Gay Christmas' today, but so have Modern Fabulosity and Bourgeois Nerd, as well as this site down in Virginia. Hugh Voltage brought California to the house of Gay Christmas and Hayden used it while fretting over costumery this weekend.

In fact, the term predates my original posting from such diverse sources as The Butch Stroll, The Soup, pridenation, Jason's Room, and even a livejournal post mentions it.

Conclusion? Gay Christmas is for everybody. Gay Christmas is everywhere.

Gay Christmas Field Report III: For the children

Of course Halloween Gay Christmas isn't just for gay men; children have a stake in it too. An early morning call informed Mister Offender of a potential disaster; the lovely Miss P had a family emergency and could not set up a Halloween party for which 80 children were expected to arrive. Of course, only the magic of the gays could save the day. Mister Offender leapt into action, and I offered my services as well. We went to a party supply store, picking out decorations that would be spooky, yet not scary, as the children were young. Decorations in hand we arrived at 2:00 p.m. with only one hour to prepare the room.

The magician, the d.j., the bartender and the caterer had all arrived, but needed to be arranged in the room. The layout was reviewed; placement and decoration decisions made. Children would climb a stairwell entering the room with matching witch garlands over head. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, gift bags placed on a low window ledge would beckon the youngsters into the room. All windows would be covered with spider webbing, which would glisten in the afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows, with little plastic spiders casting shadows. One wall would be covered in a 'spooky forest' backdrop topped with green spider webbing, a perfect spot for glowing parents to become portrait photographers. With fifteen minutes remaining, the room was perfect and the party was ready.

So I went to the gym.

For, you see, this was not some charity event for underprivedged kids. Miss P was no school-marm. No, she was a manager of one of Manhattan's finest apartment buildings, and Mister Offender was not just a friend, but a coworker on the management team. And the kids were the offspring of millionaires and heirs. But still, it was a fun diversion out of Gay Christmas and a quick visit to Halloween.

The Roxy, queen of the undead

So reports of the death of the Roxy seem to have been somewhat exaggerated. Having assumed that the Junior Vasquez party Saturday would follow the same fate as Motherf*cker the previous night, we were surprised to hear that Roxy was indeed open Saturday night and that Junior did indeed spin. So, gladly, we report that Roxy lives on, perhaps in a zombie-like state.

But we still want to know what happened Friday night ...

Gay Christmas Field Report II: Meet the parents

Taking time to recover from the night before, Saturday was a lazy day. A little too lazy as phone calls to confirm the plans for the night weren't made. One bad thing about Halloween Gay Christmas is the preponderance of, well, amateurs that come out to play. With that in mind, Saturday was planned out to be a bounce through of private parties in the homes of friends and friends-of-friends. The plan was to costume up to first attend a party in midtown and then a few parties in Williamsburg. Those plans were unconfirmed.

As a leisurely afternoon catnap stretched into the evening, upon waking it was immediately dress for the night and get out the door to the first venue of the night. Feeling like exploiting an old-school rock vibe, a black wig was chosen, along with a sleeveless black jumpsuit with a front zipper that, when unzipped would reveal a black fishnet athletic shirt and a pair of pink American Apparel jersey shorts. Wet-n-wild body glitter was liberally applied to the exposed arms and face; the requisite mascara and Ruby Kisses 'Diamonds and Pearls' Crystal Lip gloss were quickly applied. Along with Mister Offender (dressed as Popeye) we headed for West 55th Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenue.

Entering the apartment across from media power-restaurant, Michael's, one thing was quickly apparent - no one else was in costume. Undaunted, we proceeded to greet our hostess, the ever-splendid Gab, but something seemed off kilter. A certain amount of restraint was in the air. Gazing through the crowd several regulars were in view, but one couple was particularly interesting, a man and a woman in their early sixties. Perhaps, if we had called in advance, we would have had foreknowledge that Gab's parents were in town and staying at her apartment that night. Perhaps we would have known to arrive three hours previously and not at an hour when Gab's mother was ready to clear the apartment of guests.

Undaunted, and determined to be a gracious guest, the parents were chatted up and the conversation was actually fantastic and the parents warm, effusive, and fun. Unfortunately the conversation had to be brief and within an hour we were on 55th Street chatting with other guests that had just left. As 55th Street was not really matching my outfit, it was with a bit of eagerness that was calling me to the next venues in Williamsburg. But again, if we had made some calls earlier, we would have learned that was no longer the plan.

We instead were going to stay in the west fifties, heading to one of my least-liked gay bars in the city, which, in order to protect the innocent, we'll call "Generic". Although there were a few costumes interspersed in the Generic crowd, the dominant look was "thirty-something-guy-dressed-as-fratboy". Some of my favorite songs were being mangled in murky mixes. Three rather hot guys danced to the side of the upper floor bar, but when they were not dancing their twitching and jerking just begged the question of why someone would be doing crystal at Generic. In sheer and utter protest, when offered a drink, I ordered a water.

Eventually going outside for a group cigarette, the one mitigating factor of this suddenly Generic night was in view. A red wig over a brightly colored parachute jogging suit revealed Valerie Cherish was in the house, or outside it having a cigarette at least. Letting her know that she had made my night, she replied, "I don't need to see that!" As more Generic attendees flocked in though, it was obvious that I was out of my element and that this night was a bit beyond rescue. Kiss-kiss, good-bye, and "Taxi!"

Gay Christmas Field Report I: What the Motherf*cker?

And so the official long weekend of Halloween Gay Christmas began Friday night. Having been out late the night before, the first three hours of the dress up party happening in our apartment were missed by a napping Offender, but upon waking, Tammy Faye Baker, the Devil and 'Sarah' greeted me. With the only sure deadline being the Aviance show at Motherf*cker at 2 a.m., drag detritus of year's past were hastily configured with a newly-purchased wig and face paints. The resulting look was untitled but seemed apt for the evening. The from-a-distance vision would be of an androgynous Barbie corpse, with long blonde hair and dark gray face-paint (with a deep red lip) covered by gold sunglasses and a hooded black dress, safety-pinned tight, and supported by black half-calf boots with three-inch heels. But the hooded dress was really just protection for the cold; underneath was a long-sleeve black fishnet body-top and a pair of go-go boy shorts. The look was calculated to work at Motherf*cker.

Car service arrives and to the Roxy we go. Just steps outside of the car, at the corner of Tenth and Eighteenth we were greeted by a club promoter wrapped in yellow caution tape telling us, "Roxy got shut down". The parked police cars in front of the club seemed to confirm this fact, but when pressed for information, the promoter knew no more, but recommended Don Hill. Dejected and without a "Plan B" it was obvious that we were dressed and prepped, but now needed a venue (as we weren't really feeling Don Hill). Gay literature was needed for research, so to XL we headed.

During the walk it appeared that we had entered a parallel universe where it was not Gay Christmas. Everyone we passed wore street-gear. Entering XL our hopes soared, hoping to find others like us, seeking venues. Not only was not one person in costume (unless guy cruising at a urinal is a costume), but the standards of gay communication in New York City (HX and Next) were not to be seen. Onward we trekked, considering Rawhide briefly, but landing at Barracuda, finding our research materials and quickly making a decision: Onward to Tribeca!

Arriving at Bombay Carnavale, we were at last back in the universe of costumed revelry. The Bollywood Halloween party was packed to the rafters dancing to Bollywood, Bhangra, Chutney, Soca, 80s, and House music. Closing the place down, we stood on Leonard Street chatting up a variety of Southeast Asian men. Deciding to pace ourselves for the holiday weekend, an after-hours option wasn't pursued, good nights were hugged out, cabs found.

Having removed all of the face paint and costumery, the question still nagged: What happened at the Roxy? Six-thirty a.m. searches of Technorati, Google, and all the local papers produced no information. Emails at 11 a.m. were sent to 'people in the know' were unreturned as of 5 p.m. Photos from Motherf*cker surfaced, but there is no accompanying text and, unless the Roxy has had some sort of downscale makeover, the pictures were taken at some other venue. So the spooky mystery remains for now.

UPDATE/MYSTERY SOLVED: Aagh!! We missed Kevin Aviance interpreting Thriller? Turns out MF was all the way across town at Delancey Lounge.

Costume: Who are you?

With preparations in full swing for Halloween Gay Christmas, the mad dash is on for the perfect costume.  For the crafty types there are always the homemade options.  Otherwise it is a full tilt boogie on the retail options.  You have that odd store on Fourth Avenue that by now always has a line (but no list?  how rude).  There are the 254 locations of Ricky's throughout the city. A favorite has always been the largest Salvation Army in the city, just a three or four stops on the R or V train at the Steinway Street stop.

Before you go shopping though you need to know who or what you are going to be.  Of course there are the basics which can be relied upon.  For a costume to be successful, a more specified stamp is needed.  It's fine to want to be a 'fireman', but you have to own that fireman.  Add specifics, such as 'horsehung fireman from North Dakota' or 'foot fetish fireman' or 'fireman with a fear of fondue'. 

Drag, is, as it is every weekend, an option, but "if you're going to do it, do it right" is the rule here.  There is nothing sadder than a half-assed drag queen.  You cannot use lipstick as rouge.  You certainly cannot just wear a mumu and a wig and call it a night.  Drag requires preparation, purchases and personality.  One hint for those who aren't particularly skilled with eye makeup:  big sunglasses.  As for drag though, consult the experts such as the blogolicious Lady Bunny, Amnesia Sparkles, et al. 

"You do an awfully good impersonation of yourself."  This is the first line of Bret Easton Ellis' Lunar Park and it is the mantra that applies to the best of Halloween costumes.  A costume that is an extrapolation of your personality or that is the exact opposite of you is the one that you and your friends will remember.  Take an aspect of yourself and blow it out of proportion.  If you're horny, be a horny devil or goat.  If you're bookish, be 'librarian of the damned'.  The converse of this is to go as the opposite of you.  The mirror you, if horny, might be an angel or a member of the Chastity Club, or, if bookish, might be a a future vision of Sean Preston Federline, who will certainly never read a book.

One year, in a fit of poverty and desperation, the store-bought route was taken and the only thing available was a viking costume.  The costume was fine on its own merits, but it reflected no characteristics of me.  Some powder, some lipstick, a wig, and a chicken-cutlet-filled bra suddenly transformed the drab viking into a daring valkyrie/performance artist.  Perhaps the best costume ever wasn't even for Halloween, but for a birthday where I wore a fur coat and sunglasses and nothing else; it wasn't amazing as a concept, but it matched my personality, blown out to an extreme.

So close your eyes and let your mind wander.  Collect images in your mind's eye, but commit to none.  Go through your closets and makeup kits and see what supplies you already have.  Then wander through some shops and start pulling things on a whim.  Then go home and combine all of this on your bed and edit.  Let your costume inform itself and steer itself into creation.  Go out into the night and grab the world by the balls!

It's Gay Christmas!

For many of the gays, Halloween simply beats out Christmas as the big holiday of the year. Halloween is a night to live as a wholly distinct identity, showing a completely different persona, yet reflecting aspects of yourself via the persona chosen. The buildup is frenzied and dramatic, as costume decisions are edited up until the last minute. Invitations abound and decisions have to been made, and a navigation plan created, care taken not too dash the hopes of those that simply must see you and be seen by you. The sheer beauty of Halloween is its universality; everybody gets it. By comparison Christmas lasts for weeks and the build-up leads to something, well, (okay, just say it) dull.

With this in mind, for the next few days, Manhattan Offender is a celebration of Halloween Gay Christmas. The color scheme has already changed. And many posts will (theoretically) follow. (The first post about the night actually happened in September. And we've already been to our first costume party.)

Smokers becoming endangered

The AP has reported that cigarette smoking in New York state is at the lowest level ever.  Citing a report from a research group (RTI), the article notes a decrease in cigarette use to 18.1% in 2004, down 2.7% from 2003.  (Why it took ten months to compile the data is another mystery.)

While the numbers seem accurate for times when I have been outside of the city, it would be interesting to see numbers specific to the city.  Anyone I know that quit (me and Mister Offender included) started again, mostly to keep our weight down.  The banning of butts from clubs has resulted in some bars having a higher population outside than inside.  Any stroll down the street still entails cautious bobbing and weaving to avoid getting burn-holes in one's fine washables.

So while some government lackeys pat themselves on the back for slowing down the scourge of smoking, we'll keep inhaling our little poisonous clouds.  Not that we want to be smoking, but present us with an alternative that gives us something to do with our hands, talk to strangers more, and keep the weight down and we'll be sold.

Heatherette for boys

Normally nothing is learned reading Metro on the way to work, but today in an interview with Traver Rains and Richie Rich (whom I was accused of trying to look like at a masquerade this weekend), better known as the unambiguously gay duo behind Heatherette, it was learned that the two will be debuting a men's line in February, 2006.  No many details were released regarding the line, other than the name "Rich and Rains".

Having bought Heatherette for our gal-pals (and drag personas) for years, it will be great to finally have some fun gear for ourselves.  Hopefully the duo will continue to produce garments for the boys as well-cut as that for the ladies.  They must remember that boys want to have fun too.

Put yourself on the map

Perhaps it was Gandhi who said, "If you see a good idea, be sure to steal it." In that grand tradition, I steal from the beautiful people at Curbed (who got the idea from Lifehacker). Granted this map won't fill out nearly as quickly as theirs, but it should be fun to see who the hell is reading this. And maybe, just maybe, you'll find some long lost love/trick via the OffenderMap!