Manhattan Offender

Past, Over: Fleet Enema

This week's Past, Over was born of anger.  Yeah, somebody, or actually some somebodies pissed me off.  More specifically it was some Navy boys in town for Fleet Week.

Last Friday, friends were met up with at the Eagle's after-work happy hour up on the roof.  It was a perfect way to end the week, and, needing to be up early to go out to the Pines, it made sense.  (In fact, that's where you'll find me after work tomorrow as well.)

After a quick stop by Snaxx, where Paul the Particular unfailingly could not remember my name, we were off to Nowhere's weekly misery party, Cruising.  Just not really my scene, although Aaron the Awesome was there.  From there new acquaintance Mark the Mouthwatering was left and just Ash the Astonishing and I remained and our next destination was the Cock.

Walking down Fourteenth Street we were holding hands.  Not because we're anything other than affectionate.  (People, especially the gays, don't touch enough.  Why?)  Around the corner or perhaps coming out of KFC, come three sailors in their while poly-cotton costumes uniforms.  The three fixated on our hand-holding and got mouthy.  Although not confrontational, what was said was unnecessary.  And I, being taller and more fit than them (and maybe a bit tipsy), responded, "You're talking about us in your tight-ass white seaman outfits?  Fuck you ... and get out of my city, faggots."

And then I forgot about the whole thing, until this week's column came due.  It's dedicated to those boys on the street and really captures, in its own way, my opinion of them.

Save the date: June 13

The stage at WYSIWYG will be graced by my stank yet again.  The latest show, Gays Gone Wild:  Gayer Tales of Gay Gayness, is actually the final WYSIWYG as the organizers are taking a break from the regular show, although the promise is out there for future special presentations.   

My first attended performance was in February of 2004:  Worst.Sex.Ever. at PS 122.  This was upon the recommendation of my friend Dan who answered several of my questions beforehand, such as, "What's a blog?"  In that show, which eventually grew to be WYSIWYG, the performers told of various sexual misadventures and misfortunes.  Among them were the rapaciously ravishing Jennifer Landry, whom I would meet again years later on the roof of the Eagle and to whom I would continue to be a little clumsy and fannish, possibly forever.  Also performing that night would be one Choire Sicha, who, years later would be my editor/mighty-hand-of-god at Gawker and to whom I would continue to be a little clumsy and fannish.  To say that this singular show was an impetus to get me writing again would be an honest statement.  (And perhaps to Dan, too.)

Years later my shot on the stage was taken.  The organizers were lovely to me, new buddies were met, and my presentation went over nicely. 

Now everything comes full circle.  Having attended the first, I hope to honor all that performed since then.  And at the same time sort of turn things on their ear.  Without giving it all away, this year's will be composed by two posts from the last three months that share a common theme and will most certainly include audience participation.

Humbly, I request your presence Wednesday June 13 not only to see me on the stage, but to also see this fine tradition off in a proper fashion.

Sybil would like to remind you how comfortable my bed is.

Choremonger

Having spent the entire weekend cleaning ...

Okay, that's inaccurate.  There was a day in The Pines at a friend's and some time at several gay-focused venues such as Barney's Co-op and Other Music.  And carrousing at the Eagle, Nowhere Bar, Snaxx, Big Lug, and (should this be admitted?) Boiler Room.  And so much more.

But that's my real point, that getting the house chores done is difficult on a strict schedule.  Recovering from an illness that sapped my energy for three months, I've fallen desperately behind.  Slowly but surely, the kitchen, then the bathroom were recovered.  This weekend my bedroom and mini-office came back into being.  By next weekend, the living room will be in line.

To keep these areas in order, I've chosen to take a regimented approach, assigning myself a set of daily chores that don't take overly long and can be easily routinized.  As promises to myself are the most easily broken, a daily checkoff has been initiated to get myself back in the cleaning mode.

Based on a set of guidelines found in RealSimple a few years back, the general daily needs are met, each room receives its own day and order is maintained.  Using auto-filters, a custom list can be created for each day of the week.  (I've left off my Friday office-related tasks as they probably wouldn't apply to most folks.)  And yes, the chores on my list take place only on weekdays.  My weekends are for fun.

Finding yourself in a similar dilemma? Download the spreadsheet and modify it for your own needs.  If you need help with Excel, feel free to ask.

Checkout choremonger.xls

I have a name.

On the roof of the Eagle on a crowded early Sunday evening, I'm squeezing past an acquaintance (of whom I'm genuinely fond).  He speaks to the person behind him and points to me.  "That's Manhattan Offender."

But it wasn't.  Manhattan Offender is a website.  A blog.  It doesn't carrouse at bars, and it doesn't enjoy a cheeseburger fresh off the grill with chipolte mayo.  Manhattan Offender doesn't decide after it starts to rain a little that it doesn't want to get wet and then head out to Mr. Black until 5:00 in the morning. 

Manhattan Offender is something I do, but it isn't all of me.  It's reminiscent of the Karen Walker objectification of her household staff.  "Driver".  "Chef".  "Nanny".  And if I'm going to be objectified then let it be some flattering adjective:  sexy, horsehung, and beautiful will all do.

So my name is Rod.  Use it.

Guess who said it!

Answer here.

The meatrack: a guide -or- Why I'm not a videographer

In my mind, the concept of producing a guided tour of the meatrack, showing the most efficient path from Cherry Grove to the Pines was a solid one.  But for whatever reasons, several mitigating factors were forgotten:

1. Keeping the camera up and my eyesight down was as difficult as walking and chewing gum for this blonde.  So mostly the camera was pointing down.  Making it more of a tour of my shoes.
2. There exists a capacity for me to talk incessantly.  Especially if there is a recording device in my hand.
3. Remembering to talk about the subject at hand flew out the window at the first distraction.
4. The sound of my own voice is weird to me.
5. The subject matter at hand is visually repetitive.

So, for your amusement, please find below a guideless guide for getting from the Grove to the Pines.  With bonus philosophical ramblings about such deep thoughts as "bothers" and "bullshittery".

Past, Over: Carter's New York Prime

This week's installment over at the Gawker thing took me by surprise.  Carter's was not something that I ever attended; seeing a friend have sex was something that happened far too often as it was, and paying to see it was simply too much.  The setting for this one is clearly, to me, 1995. 

I'll post a link once it's up. 

Mr. Fire Island Leather 2007

The pageant for Mr. Fire Island Leather was held this past weekend.  Without commentary, video of the contest as hostessed by Ariel Sinclair, some interviews with former Misters Fire Island Leather (one of whom was flirting with me on the train home the next day) and a couple of other snippets are presented below.  (The audio quality is better in some clips than others and, NSFW, btw.)

Preview the new Pavilion

Last year resident High Tea DJ, Lina explained a ton of changes that would be coming for the Pavilion in 2007, but that explanation did not counter my surprise upon seeing the new space.

An obvious modification is the changed stair positioning which should improve traffic flow (not to mention allow for more imperious exits).  Also obvious is the closing of the structure with windows along the bay side.  The upstairs space is supposedly twice the size of previous, but the closing of the space seems counterintuitive.  Being out in Fire Island is about feeling the warm salty air circling around you, which has always been a strength of Low and High Teas and a failing of Sip-n-Twirl and most venues in the Grove.

Unfortunately, I was unable to sneak in to view the entire place, but pleasant surprises are always welcome.  Peering through the downstairs windows definitely revealed another surprise.  Down below seems to be a new Pantry with all new fixtures inside.

The one certain thing is that these changes and construction do signify that Fire Island is flourishing.  If the construction is completed by this weekend, I'll take a peek next week.