Manhattan Offender

Let's throw a trannie dance party!

Remember when you had action figures as a kid and you'd make them do things out of character, just for fun?  Maybe you'd have Big Jim and GI Joe reek havoc in your younger cousin's Playskool barn.  Or maybe Batman could fly while under your control.  Or maybe Superman would try on some of Barbie's outfits.  Well, maybe that was just me showing off early traits of controlling manipulation.

My manipulative efforts aren't evil; my goals are to help people try new things.  Take the dancing transsexuals and cross-dressers on Xtube.  Most of their videos are pretty awful.  Many could be improved by simply choosing better music.

Proving my point will require a little effort on your behalf, but I think you'll be please with the result.
First, click play and then pause on all the videos below.  Allow all of them to load at least 50 per cent.  (Starting them all at once will just cause them all to sort of stagnate.)  Next, hit mute (the little speaker) on ever video except the first.  Now hit play and you'll have your own little trannie dance party with Chic's "Everybody Dance" as your party music! It's super awesome!  Enjoy!

In praise of fringe and microphones with cords

This Olivia Newton-John moment was vaguely inspired by the kind words of another hyphenated lady.  Which is not to say hymenated, as she doesn't seem virginal to me. 

Madonna on New York/Me on Madonna

Madonna's back in Vanity Fair this month.  Says she of New York: 

It's "not the exciting place it used to be. It still has great energy; I still put my finger in the socket. But it doesn't feel alive, cracking with that synergy between the art world and music world and fashion world that was happening in the 80s. A lot of people died."

Isn't this a case pot and kettle blackness?  The following would also hold true: 

Madonna is not the exciting person she used to be. She still has great energy; I still put my finger in her socket. But she doesn't feel alive, cracking with that synergy between the art world and music world and fashion world that was happening in the 80s. A lot of her has died.

Vanity Fair has an online slideshow in which you too can track the progression from when eyes were glued to her to the present when eyes sort of roll at her.

(Via New York via Gawker)

With Black Party jokes, timing is everything

And there was some gold in this one, but I'm simply too late.

Blooming II

Blooming I

Laundry crush crushed by the foam of the sea

It's a Sunday morning and while many gays are at Roseland's Black Party dancing in poop, my laundry is in the dryer.  There's this guy with a really sweet ass unloading his freshly washed garments.  The only question in my mind is whether he's tappable or not. 

He wears a jeans, a Mets hat, black tee with the words Hancock Finance.  It's not the cock reference that interests me though, it's the word "finance".  My taste leans to hardcore business types.  Serious-minded guys that can have a conversation bereft of Whitney or Britney are my bomb.  (Perhaps it's telling that I had to google Spears' name after having a notion that it wasn't spelled Brittany.)

Anyway, clues are sought regarding the prey's homosexiness.  The clothes are mostly greys and blues and whites.  There is no underwear to be seen as a clue.  (Gay boys tend to buy the better brands.  Maybe he's a commando queer?  Yes, I'm convinced he is!)

Then my own laundry is examined to see if (other than my over-often staring) he can be won by my washables.  Maybe the most telling are the 2xist No Show Low-rise Briefs.  But the boxers are blocking them, and they aren't going to be rearranged for display.  (See picture above, which I've just realized is upside-down, but lunch with EB is waiting, so there is no time.)

Eventually, his towels dry.  They are sea-foam green.  Despite the sweetness of the booty and the nice arms and chest and face, this is a deal-breaker.  Oh.  And he's started to chew gum.  Double the deal-breaker.  My attention wanders back to properly fold a duvet cover, my phone rings, and that butt bounces out, laundry in tow.

He's gone, but there will be other dudes at the laundromat (as always) and their dealbreaking duds as well.

Social networking? That's so over.

So I run into AN on the Park Avenue South after work.  AN is one of those effortlessly fancy gays that has a laid back sensibility.  He gives off a good vibe.  Always talks to me about books, which no one ever talks to me about, so that makes me smile. 

We're both "busy, busy" so we have a quick chat and some site or another was mentioned, Friendster I think.  We agree that it totally sucks.  I mention I've made the effort recently to shutter, like, ten accounts on such sites.  He mentions all the horrid "friend requests" that you get from people in Malaysia.  We agree that Malaysians are super friendly, but who has time for all of that, because we're both really "busy, busy". 

The extent of our brief conversation is about social networking possibly because we really don't know each other very well other than seeing one another everywhere and often and not from some horrible website, for certain.

The next day?  I requested his Facebook friendship.  He accepted.

Manhattan Offender must die so that Rod Townsend may live

Over the weekend, all of the bloggery here will be transferred to the rodtownsend.com site.  And all of the lolgay.com info will go there as well. 

(And lolgay.com expires next week.  I'm debating its renewal.)

The breakup of Jason Preston and Marc Jacobs reveals a flaw in Facebook

Essentially, if you are engaged, and the relationship is ended by the other party, your own status becomes engaged, just not to anyone in particular.  (Granted, I engage myself regularly around 6:30 every morning.)