the gay place

Still shaken from this visitation.

It happened at Chuy's. At happy hour.

We are convinced it had nothing to do with the margaritas: rocks, no salt. We did, after all, obtain photographic proof.

First, la virgen herself, or perhaps a beatific prankster, appeared in the queso, but Kate B. was so famished that she dipped and scooped, and the lady disappeared.

We were lucky – blessed, you might say. The spirit was strong, despite the will being weak, yet we were still offered one more chance at redemption, to appreciate the benevolence of her visitation – an intimate encounter, if you will. (See pic.)

She came in a blaze of maize. Gentle, symmetrical folds. Tender, blushing button. Hosanna. Hey. Sanna. Sanna. Sanna corn. Aparicion misteriosa. Read More | 2 Comments »

Here's this year's Pride Parade. (Click on the Gallery link for a slew of pics.)

One of our favorite things to do during Pride is to go to the parade staging area an hour or so before the start and bask in the community that convinces itself the rest of the year that it's not really a community. Oh, really? Could've fooled us.

It's easy to get all goose-fleshy at that buildup right before the launch, that moment when all the PAs of the various floats begin to crank out their individual ooooonce-ooonce. All that dance music floating about to create one big smashing mash-up.

This year, there was a moment of drama, when the truck pulling the joint-venture float between Out Youth and PFLAG did not start. Entire rows of floats and participants had to pass them by as they frantically tried to crank the SUV. Then, just at the last minute, as the last floats were making their way into queue, the truck vrrrrooooomed, and the float took its place in line.

I found the whole thing to be very emotional.

But then again, I cry at parades. Read More | 2 Comments »

I was so busy being out this week, all Pride-like and stuff, I totally missed this Earth-shattering news. But didn't really, since I called it about 1,000 years ago. Along with the rest of the known universe. Read More | 1 Comment »

Randy Jones, the inimitable Cowboy from the Village People, hosted (or in his words, endured) a showing of 1980 VP vehicle Can't Stop the Music at the Alamo Downtown last night. The film holds up better than I remember, mostly as harebrained camp but with some charmingly over-the-top brilliance as well. During the Q&A, Jones confirmed some old rumor of Warhol-involvement/influence, evident throughout in the film's saturated colors and especially in the totally nuts "YMCA" montage gym sequence, liberally ripped from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and owing a lot more to Busby Berkeley – save for the blink-and-you'll-miss-it male frontal nudity or Valerie Perrine's magnificent breasts.

I regret saving my Q for the CD-signing line. When I asked Randy the cliché question if he felt obligated at weddings to lead the inevitable "YMCA" dance, he related a great story about singing the song at Bush's second inauguration, which he described as "going into the belly of the beast" and sticking something in it. He then performed his rendition for the lucky few of us left in the lobby. It began with (I shit you not) the Mary Tyler Moore theme (Randy, G.W. took your invitation literally and did not stop at the "town") and slid into campy gay national anthem. The crowd of Republicans all got up at the prescribed time, he said, and performed the proper arm choreography, "like third-graders."

Tickets are still available for tonight's Tab Hunter extravaganza (see below), and check back later today for a post about the parade. Read More | Comment »

Well, the soda's OK, but we mean Tab Hunter, who will be here in Austin on Sunday, June 3, 7pm at the Alamo Drafthouse to host a clip show of his movies and a full viewing of Polyester, his comeback in which he starred with Divine. Oh, Tab, we're glad.

Word on the street: Tickets selling fast, but still available (click the Drafthouse link above to purchase). What better way to Pride it up than with Hollywood's hunkiest "Sigh Guy"?

Here's a review of his tell-almost-all bio from last year.

Or click below for text only. Read More | Comment »

Indulge this little shout-out, will ya?

Dear You Know Who,

A girl can dream, can't she? And someday, this dream shall be more than reality; it shall be a way of life. Here's to you (know whoooooo)! Today is the first day of the rest of your manties.

Read More | Comment »

Ooh, grrrrl. We've been waiting all baited like for gossip drip like this. We knew our girl had some home-girl tendencies and this latest, reporting a Lindsay Lohan-and-Samantha Ronson hookup, albeit dysfunctional hookup, is enough for us.

And if it's gonna be anybody in the current crop of bratzpakerz, we vote: Li-Lo! Now as far as the sellout angle of shit-stirrer Perez Hilton's tell-all piece, we say just give it a few, and they'll be all Paris and Nicole in no time. Read More | Comment »

A gay day on the town, jaunting from haunt to gay haunt, K8 and Kate did Austin. Or … Austin did us?

First, a sammich from the very lady- and family-friendly Lavaca Street Deli. The dee-lish French bread's big enough for leftovers, and the mood is peaceful, even among a Downtown lunch rush. (Lucinda Williams on the box: always a nerve-calmer.)

Then, we went to Lobo, Austin's Planet Gay (with a capital G, as in rainbow everything, boy panties, shirts that say "Catcher," lezzie fashion, DVDs, and edumacational models) store in a strip mall on Guadalupe in the middle of Hyde Park. Just the funniest place for it, we think.

Especially after we went in, and the chick behind the counter, named Bell, a femme fatale with intricately detailed eye make-up and little inhibition, asks, "You wanna spankin'?" And that's the first thing she asks. Not, "Can I help you find something?"

Messer demurred. But I say, "Yeah. Why not?" thinking, I'll call her bluff with my bluff. No bluff.

"You got a wallet in yer back pocket? Yeah, take that out."

So there I am, with two hands on the glass case filled with rainbow jewelry, and Bell starts patting me down with her leather wand, first softly down my legs; then up, harder; then my butt, patting it, not painful but harder still; and it starts to get hot. It was only then when – and perhaps this was my imagination – the wand seemed to creep around to the tingly parts, and I realize, "Hey! I'm in the middle of a store. I'm in front of Messer, and I'm getting that feeeeeeeling down there." Better stop. [Hey, don't stop on my account. – Editor.]

But yeah, so, go to Lobo. They spank. Read More | 1 Comment »

Oh those wacky, increasingly scary Poles! Apparently there is quite a delay in satellite signals between here and the ex-Soviet Bloc, as Polish government children’s rights department spokeswoman Ewa Sowinska is just now catching up to the trumped up Tubbie-controversy surrounding the sexuality of one Tinky Winky, that strapping, oft-maligned purple pal from Teletubbieland. You know, the one with the triangle antennae and… the purse, ummm, errr, magic bag.

"I noticed he was carrying a woman’s handbag," Sowinska said. "At first, I didn’t realize he was a boy."

We're just wondering if Sowinska believes in reincarnation and if she felt any strange presences entering her body 'round about May 15?
Read More | Comment »

So, so sad. Charles Nelson Reilly, Tony-winning actor, brilliant voice-over artist, TV personality (perennial talk show guest, Match Game, Lidsville, The Ghost & Mrs. Muir…), Seventies game-show god, died last Friday at the age of 76.



A few years ago, a fabulous documentary based around his one-man stage show, Life of Reilly was featured at SXSW.

(Click the gallery link above the photo to see a funny snap of Chronicle City Beat maven, Anne Harris with Reilly in 1984, having run into him at famed Time Square theatre haunt Sardi's.) Read More | 1 Comment »

Do you think they carry garters at the new bridal shop which caters to gay men in Spain?

According to UPI, "Santiago Porrero of Barcelona said his shop, called By, will feature custom-made suits — some inlaid with 22-carat gold — selling for between $2,000 and about $8,000." Read More | 1 Comment »

Congratulations are at hand for Mary Cheney and her partner, Heather Poe, for the birth of their first baby son, Samuel David Cheney.

Under Virginia law, Mary’s partner of 15 years “will have no legal relationship with the child, can not adopt as a second parent, and her name will not be anywhere on the birth certificate."

Sheesh. Harsh.

The question now is this: Will Dick Cheney continue to support homophobic legislature, denying the same rights from homosexual families that "normal" families enjoy ... when it's his own grandson?

I guess we'll see. Read More | 2 Comments »

The fact that I am currently watching The Day After Tomorrow…

Or the fact that I've already seen it before. Twice.

(I think I do it for Jake.) Read More | 1 Comment »

The wealth of The Riches – the FX original TV series starring the delicious team of Minnie Driver and Eddie Izzard as the heads of a family of gypsy-cons who've appropriated the lives of some loaded suburban dead people in pursuit of the American Dream – is in its indictment of the careening American express toward preening American excess, and the urge to don multiple personalities to survive this constant drive toward "success".

The show follows the Malloy family's concurrent ascent and descent – up social ladders and down into roller-coastering close-calls of being discovered as fakes – as it deftly illustrates the skin-crawling nightmare that living the lie offers.

Young Aidan Mitchell (holy crap, keep your eyes on this kid's career) portrays baby of the family, Sam Malloy, a boy who finds comfort wearing girls' clothing. In fact, amidst all of the grifting and shifting, it could be argued that Sam is the most quietly confident and comfortable character on the show. When young Sam puts on his lipstick and hair band and comes down to the big dinner thrown for dad's boss, he wears the truest "mask" in the house.

If two TV shows count as a trend, the unassuming presence of pre-teen Sam, along with the existence of Ugly Betty's somewhat fey Justin (Mark Indelicato) not only embraces (thereby culturally validating) the outsider reality for so many of us, but also marks a modest toe-tap in the dance of gender exploration on television. Read More | 1 Comment »

Laura Baumbach is our kinda dame! Too bad the Houston Hyatt doesn't feel the same way.

The male/male romance writer (yup, she's a born she and not even a lesbian!), on the bestsellers lists of Amazon and Barnes & Noble, had her promo materially yanked by the Hyatt management during a romance writers conference held at the hotel last week.

How can you not totally love a straight woman who has this as the manifesto of her blog, Sensually Wicked Man Love:

"The thoughts and challenges I come across in being a heterosexual woman, wife and mother who loves to write m/m erotic romances. I'm not gay or male, but the thoughts of two gorgeous, confident men together is my idea of a hot time! I write for others, both men and women, who feel the same."

Here's her version of what went down.

You go, Laura. In fact, the next time you go to Houston, may we recommend some more, emmm ... evolved properties? Like the Hotel Derek. Or the Lovett Inn. Or the Lancaster Hotel. Or La Colombe D'Or? Read More | 1 Comment »

Discharged (Ew. Can't they come up with a better word???) Navy guy Jason Knight has been re-upped to active duty, according to this piece in the Stars & Stripes.

That's all well and good, but is he going to get his 13K back? Sheesh. Read More | Comment »

Even more severe tattoos. Notice Jean Fineberg's very serious forearm crossbones of sax and flute. Helping Deuce mean a different kind of release.

(Thanks to KXM for the album that has made my year. Now if only I could find a close-up on that tatty...) Read More | 1 Comment »

NOLA... as in, New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. As in, you still have time to roulez your laissez bon ton on down to the Crescent City for Weekend 2 of the fest, if you hurry, crawdaddy.

Last week, we Buc-ee'd and Stuckey'd our way across TX & LA for a virgin trek to witness weekend one of the famed fete.

Rolling across the bayou at sunrise was almost as humbling as hitting the eerie Katrina-damned landmarks of the Superdome and the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center at dawn. Almost two years after the tragedy of storms and levee breaks, the town is still creeping to a question-mark recovery, teetering on the brink of a true soul comeback or being overrun into becoming the corporate bitch Vegas of the Gulf.

Every ounce of the fest, too, was steeped in a humid brew of hometown hopes and self-sufficient dignity – the subtext of a body-memory's worth of abandonment, all too present. But fret not. This is NOLA and her stiff upper lip and stubborn good-times-roll spirit has pulled them up this far and can only take us higher.

This vein of rejoice and recover was tapped in just about every act – locals and special guests alike: in the uproarious joy channeled through Lady Tambourine (and Lord forgive me for not knowing the name of the unlisted choir with which she performed) in the Gospel Tent; traipsing across the fairgrounds in the second-line funeral parade memorial for Fest Fan and bro 60 Minutes man Ed Bradley; pumping through the new-meets-old school throw-down called Trombone Shorty at the Congo Stage (then later at Cafe Brasil); swinging through the smooth skronk of Pharoah Sanders in the Jazz Tent; tiptoeing atop every gray-hair in attendance at Pete Fountain; slurring and crooning with Lucinda Williams; sangin' and blangin' with Ludacris; and especially coming right out with it and laying it on the line during just about every break of Charmaine Neville's set. And that's not the half of it. (Click the Open Image Gallery link above for pics of many of these artists and more.)

We missed more than we saw – that first weekend was impossibly stacked – but what we saw, felt, tasted, and sang made it all better. If you go out for weekend two, tell Trombone Shorty and that nice lady who sells the pies near the Fais Do-Do Stage that Texas sends her love. Read More | 2 Comments »

Doogie Howser. The Neil Patrick Harris, only because, on a whim, rerenting Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle is a good idea, if only to catch the ever-ironic "I Love Pussy" monologue given by the then-not-so-out film star. It's brilliant tongue-in-cheek.

Read More | Comment »

Just a handful of Austin's most adamant took to the capitol tonight; signs, posters, megaphones, "Impeach" banners, and two fingers waving. The peace sign, rappers, and hippies alike sling its praises. Today, it meant honk; blare your horn, make some noise, and maybe that noise will let the big boys (and gals) on the hill hear the dissent of the people.

It meant, bring them home, not in body bags, but much in the same way they did back then, another generation of lost boys. This time playing cowboys and Iraq-ians, only to realize that it's real blood they're spilling, real damage, real nightmares that wake them, the innocent faces ingrained on the backs of sleepless eye lids. Death will follow these children, like it follows the 'Nam Vets with no legs on the corners of intersections begging for pocket change. History repeats only if we decide to let the record keep skipping.

Today, a few peace protesters got a few more peaceful passersby to pause, reflect, and honk. And think about some peace for a change.

HEY! Check the open image gallery link above the picture for more protest pics. Read More | Comment »