I’m still dreaming about the beefcakes after attending the opening of Bob Mizer’s latest exhibition ‘Devotion: Excavating Bob Mizer’ at 80WSE Gallery, what an amazing show. The exhibition is curated by Billy Miller and Jonathan Berger, in collaboration with Dennis Bell of The Bob Mizer Foundation. It’s Bob’s first “major institutional” solo show and covers several chapters of his illustrious career that spanned 5 decades, dealing with the male physique. I saw images of handsome men with their hair done that looked fresh and contemporary, just like the boys we want to fuck today. In addition to the artwork on view there are several stations of students archiving the multitude of costumes, negatives and Polaroids relating to his body of work. Bob Mizer is a pioneer whose ground-breaking imagery opened doors for so many artists, hence all the new male bodies gracing the walls of galleries these days. Thank you Bob.
Dev Hynes' second album is delicious, no matter what Solange says.
But as Blood Orange it’s Hynes himself that holds together the album as a singular vision. Fresh from his star-making turns producing for Solange and Sky Ferreira, he’s able to perfectly orchestrate his guest vocalists while steering the album with his captivating falsetto. Hynes’ distinct voice rises above his shimmering brand of bedroom pop in surprising moments, and takes songs off in unexpected directions. Nowhere is this more evident than on “Uncle Ace,” the superb track that takes its inspiration and title from the nickname New York City’s LGBT homeless teens have for the ACE subway trains they call home on cold winter nights. “Put all you need in me,” sings Hynes, over a disco beat and woodwind cacophony that rolls on like the titular train.
His quiet rawness is a stark contrast to the deafening artifice of ARTPOP, another November release that uses retropop, gender-bending and guest vocalists to illuminate heartbreak and lust. ‘Cupid Deluxe‘ may be just as varied in its stories, but in its soft, gossamer sounds and heart-piercing lyrics, it’s a rare album that is truly as entertaining as it is clever.
Fierce Pussy develops an exhibition for World AIDS Day
For this year’s Day With(out) Art, the annual collaborative arts project held on World AIDS Day by New York-based contemporary arts organization Visual AIDS, the group enlisted the queer artist collective Fierce Pussy to develop its centerpiece exhibition. Titled ‘For the Record‘ curated by Risa Puleo, the text-based result examines the ‘what ifs’ of those lost to the AIDS pandemic, utilizing variations of the phrase “if he/she/they were alive today…” to incredibly powerful effect.
Printed on broadsides, the piece mourns the widespread loss of loved ones to AIDS while simultaneously opening a dialogue on the erasure of personal and collective memories from the pages of history. The artists of fierce pussy tapped into the cadences of contemporary culture to place the work in a very present, immediate frame of mind. “If she were alive today you’d be texting her,” one of the sentences reads. “If he were alive today you would have met him by now,” reads another. The pathos behind the seemingly simple set-up is nothing less than astonishing.
In conjunction with For the Record, Visual AIDS is also throwing a series of public events on World AIDS Day on December 1st. Billed under the subtitles ‘Talk, Walk, and Sing’, the events range from artist talks and public forums to a house and disco set at The Rusty Knot in the West Village. Check out the full schedule of events at the Visual AIDS website, and be sure to see For the Record in person at NYC’s Printed Matter, on view from November 23 – December 13.
Don’t miss the opening reception of ‘For the Record,’ Saturday, November 30, 5:00PM-7:00PM at Printed Matter, 195 10th Ave. NY, NY.
Having a small dick must really suck. I get that it probably won’t ruin your life (unless of course you have a “micro penis,” yes that’s a real condition) but still no one’s every excited to discover you have a tiny weiner. When Patrick Moote’s girlfriend rejected his marriage proposal at a UCLA basketball game on the jumbotron, it went viral and made all the TV networks. Days after he got dumped in front of the whole world his girlfriend told him the real reason why she was leaving him: his small dick. (What a cunt!) Unhung Hero “is the real life journey of Patrick as he boldly sets out to expose this extremely personal chapter of his life by confronting ex-girlfriends, doctors, anthropologists and even adult film stars.” The reason the film is so successful is because Patrick isn’t afraid to put it all out there. No, we don’t ever get to see his little fella, but he isn’t afraid to let you into every aspect of his dating and sex life (even setting up a confession cam at a party so his friends and ex-girlfriends can freely discuss his little willy). The film is full of interesting interviews with all kinds of dickperts from condom makers, to Korean plastic surgeons to this dude who invented a technique to lengthen your penis by stretching it out for 20 mins each night (I think I already do that, isn’t that called masturbation?) Regardless of the size of your D this film will make you feel good about your manhood — if your peen is bigger than 3 inches, then compared to Patrick you’re doing alright and if it’s less, well, let’s just say Patrick’s story has a happy ending.
Your next boyfriend isn't on Grindr or at your local gay bar.
Where is Carmen Sandiego and why has she taken your future boyfriend with her?
In the words of Lilly Allen, It’s hard out here for a bitch. Finding a boyfriend in this day and age is like looking for sobriety in a Lady Gaga performance… actually that’s worse, because I have at least had a boyfriend before, but I’ve never not smelled a whiff of weed coming through my computer screen watching Gaga withering around the floor pretending she went to art school. Sometimes it seems you turn on Grindr and you see the same 20 guys you saw last week (aghh get off my phone BottomBearDad). Well, fret no more for I have found the solution! Eligible gays are out there on all fours looking for you in the daytime with a flashlight. You’ve just been searching in the wrong places! They are hidden among the straight men. I kid you not, the places you’ve been avoiding due to the plethora of straight men (and their crazy straight girlfriends) are where all the eligible gays are hiding out. Below is our guide to finding a man in all the wrong places.
You might assume this bar is just for sports fanatics looking for an extensive draft list and a TV. Well, you know what happens when you assume…. there’s an ass and there’s u and me, but neither of us gets it… I have no idea what I just said, but the point is don’t assume! Anyway, this bar has all sorts of frills that are dragging the gays in: free popcorn, board games, trivia, men who love watching other men tackle each other and movie nights in the backyard. Not convinced? This dog friendly joint recently had a Golden Girls marathon (I mean they might as well just rename this place Stiff Dicks and get it over with). So, grab your Bears gear (No silly. The Chicago Bears is a football team…. but do wear a jockstrap, you never know when one of these guys is going to want to touch down on your end zone — Gay puns are kind of my thing) and come out for a good time. You might not meet the man of your dreams, but there are definitely some gays ready blow your whistle (I did it again!)
You’re gay and you love ice skating. So, why aren’t you at Bryant Park? Too many kids? Too many wedding proposals on the ice? No room to cruise? Well, get your butt out there. Eligible gays are on the ice channeling their inner Johnny Weir. The man of your dreams is out there with his 10 year old cousin teaching her how to ice skate while you are getting yet another circle jerk started at one of the two gyms you frequent. And who are we kidding? Gay or not, there is group masturbation happening at almost every gym, so if all else fails, you can always go back. The type of guy waiting for you at Bryant Park is closer to boyfriend material. He hangs out in midtown because he works close by ($$$$), he has killer legs and he gives new meaning to busting your ass on the ice. So, quit it with the cold feet and get on the ice.
Knowing you, you don’t spend much time on a bridge, why would you? Bridges are cold and windy and full of Australian tourists and dog walkers. Well, the man of your dreams could be waiting for you there. There’s nothing like a cute guy with tight jeans, a really nice butt and groomed mustache on a bike. This guy has been traversing the Williamsburg Bridge almost everyday. He likes to be active and on his feet, he hates the subway, he wears plaid, he smells of whiskey (in a Jon Hamm kind of way, not a Kiefer Sutherland way) He was meant for you. Why don’t you go for a stroll, you never know who you might meet.
Wait, I know what you are thinking. But, you are desperate at this point. I don’t think you realize the number of gays moving to this city everyday and they almost always come through Penn Station. Now, there are different types, so beware. You may find a 20 something year old starting a grad program at NYU. He’s date-able, but will of course sacrifice any time with you for studying. There are the actors moving to the city. They are poor though and they might try and move in with you and steal your Metro Card. What you want to find is a nice European man who needs someone to show him around. It’s perfect. He will undoubtedly sleep with you the first night (he’s European), he probably has some money (he’s European) and he has a nice fat uncut piece of meat (he’s European!). So, take another lesson from Legally Blonde: The Muscial. He is gay and European.
Don’t look at me like that. I know what I am talking about. Yankee Stadium is where all the gays go during baseball season. They have gotten tired of searching for you and resorted to hanging out with their straight guy friends, and straight guys just love them some baseball. It’s a tragic love story like Cinderella or Rapunzel. A gay man forced by his evil step-friend to watch a baseball game he has no interest in. He slowly eats hot dogs without the bun in hopes of luring in his prince. And so you know just what you are about to get, he wears a jersey that says “pitcher” or “catcher.” The Yankee Stadium gay is patient (those games are long as sh*t), tolerant (I don’t know how he deals with a stadium full of baseball fanatics) and knows that navy is an underused color for your wardrobe. So, start feigning your interest in baseball now. Once you find him you can both give up the charade and go get drunk at Boiler Room like normal people.
Celebrating the NYC house ballroom scene — Patricia Field was inducted into The Ballroom Hall of Fame by Jack Mizrahi
Earlier this month I received a small bright pink envelope in the mail from Europe containing the invite to this party. I was over the moon with excitement when I opened it and pulled out a postcard, because no one really sends party invitations in print format these days, which is sad right? We really need to step it up, we are in New York City after all. Here’s what the invite said: “BUTT Magazine & Secret Project Robot Present CLUB BUTT with The Men of the 2014 BUTT calendar.” My face made it in the 2014 calendar, albeit in a very tiny photo that you almost have to squint to see. I’m assuming they did this because I’m Latin, you know, it’s cheaper to print white boys since they have less pigment in their skin and consume less ink. Regardless, I’m glad they printed that photo, I mean, I used it on Facebook and on Instagram, so clearly I must love it. Anyways, back to the party. “Music is by DJ Ryan Smith of Wrecked in NYC & Aaron Clark of Honcho in Pittsburgh.” Plenty of friendly, and perhaps not so friendly men (some BUTT boys can be cunty) from the calendar will be in attendance, something for everybody...
If you follow us on Instagram (as you should), you probably saw a photo of us with Sharon Needles last week. We love that queen, she is one creative cunt. So it turns out she’s releasing a music video for her new song. To celebrate she’s collaborating with Frankie Sharp and Brandon Voss and putting together a “two story dance asylum.” There’s going to be all sorts of madness going on; from a performance by Sharon and her full band to Demented Nurses by Daughters of Devotion, music by Jon Jon Battles and Unhinged NutJob Dancers (I swear, some of the shit I write for GAYLETTER could have come out of the mouth of Stefon from SNL.) This is going to be a pretty ratchet party for sure. Expect plenty of drag, divas and I want to say dick (cos I love alliteration) but I can’t promise that. You’ll love it.
A new series premieres on HBO this Sunday that's totally quiche!
Has there every been a bigger cunt portrayed on TV than 17 year-old Ja’mie King: Australian comedian Chris Lilley‘s best character (sorry Mr G.) from We Can be Heroes, Summer Heights High and the new Ja’mie: Private School Girl? When it comes to truly hilarious villains Arrested Development‘s matriarchal monster Lucille Bluth is the only other name that comes to mind. If we’re lucky that’s who Ja’mie will grow up to be.
Abi and I have both been watching Ja’mie: Private School Girl for the last few weeks (it’s been airing in Australia since October — one of the few time Australia has got anything first). This Sunday the show premiers on HBO and the BBC in the UK.
Private School Girl is a first for Lilley in that he’s abandoning his usual formula from past series and only focusing on one character. This works because Ja’mie, despite being a vapid bitch, is a strong character and Lilley clearly has fun playing her. There’s more than enough drama to fill the show’s 22 minute running time.
We pick up with Ja’mie in her last 3 months of school at Hillford Girls Grammar. I could give you a blow by blow of all the shit that’s gone down in the first five eps, but I don’t want to spoil all the surprises. Instead I’ll do what any quiche 16 year-old girl would do and let my gifs do the talking. OMG I’m so random sometimes.
We were given a screener for this film by IFC, which meant we could watch it in the comfort of Abi’s apartment last Sunday night with some pizza and wine (it’s the only way we like to watch our French lesbian love stories). I’d heard ALOT of talk about the film before it came out: the public spats between the director and the two stars (the director was a nightmare to work with) the accolades it received from the Cannes Film Festival (Spielberg, who was head judge, broke with tradition and awarded the film, the director and both stars with the Palme d’Or) and all the rumors about the sex scenes (apparently all real). Also, I’d heard it was 3 hours long, so was preparing myself for a marathon. As we got into it, the films length was the last thing on my mind. What struck me most was realizing how few lesbian love stories I’d seen on film. Honestly I can’t name the last, and I run GAYLETTER! Thankfully the film has more going for it than the gender of its protagonist. It’s a story of first love and how thrilling, scary, and confusing that can be. I found it incredibly relatable and even as a gay man, sooo hot. These girls, especially the main character Adele (Adèle Exarchopoulos) are beautiful, and their sex scenes are so real you can’t help but feel a little pervy for watching them. I highly recommend you see this film, just don’t take your dad or a first date. That could get a little awks.
A postcard book by Aaron Krach
Let’s face it: in our crass 21st century world of hook-up apps, dating sites, and Craigslist ads, the art of pursuing a lover can sometimes feel, to put it lightly, pretty revolting. It appears that artist Aaron Krach picked up on that for his new book of postcards, ‘Things to Tell Your Lover,’ a collection of 21 unique photographs of found text — bits of signs, graffiti, and advertisements — which he has refashioned into bold declarations of love and lust.
The book is a perfect departure from our modern version of electronic courtship, turning distinctly metropolitan, mundane text and advertisements into bawdy valentines (a gold chain necklace beckons “Bite Me”; a garage expresses sincere erotic gratitude via a placard: “Thank you for coming”). The best part? Each postcard can be peeled from the book and given away to your own lover (or potential lover, anyway). And, honestly, what’s more charming than a handwritten note from a secret admirer?
The idea for the book comes from Krach’s online project of the same name, in which he photographs found text around New York and other cities he’s visited that inspires and invigorates him as an artist. On the website for the work, Krach has attracted hundreds of submissions from around the world, stretching from California to Qatar.
Check out the project’s website here to submit your own stimulating text, and be sure to stop by for the launch of the book at Printed Matter on November 22, 6:00PM-8:00PM.
It’s so hard to keep up all the parties these days, you barely finish a hangover before you start drinking again... It could be overwhelming, especially if you’re one of those homos that gets FOMO (fear of missing out). This party started late in the summer with hosts Joe Sturm & Dan Allegretto (both pictured), Dan told me that he used to frequent One Last Shag because a friend of his used to bartend there...“I would hang out, drink frozen margaritas, and play music off my iPod. When Joe got out of work he would usually come and do the same. Someone offered us the Monday happy hour DJ shift because there wasn’t one and we were always there. Now it’s once a month on a Wednesday.” It sounds like the perfect party to start the gay week. It’s a very chill vibe, Dan put an image of Britney Spears with the homophobic model (don’t even get me started) Tyson Beckford on the FB page as suggestion for the “general vibe” of the party. You can expect “a very diverse crowd,” and as far as music they’ll “play a lot of female r&b and other clubbier stuff later in the night…” It’s an early party, but it gets turnt.
I went on a fantastic spontaneous roadtrip to Washington D.C. with my friend, GAYLETTER contributor and groundbreaking artist Renee Cox. She had a couple of appointments with important curators there and I went along for the ride. I packed a black Juicy Couture corduroy blazer (cuz I know those queens love a lapel) a couple of french tailored pressed shirts, a nice bottle of red for the car, some tomme de savoie (that’s cheese), pistachio nuts and a cock ring. The drive down went by in a flash, we had so much catching up to do. We arrived at our host Shawanda‘s cute house dropped our bags, had a cocktail and pressed on to the spot that was hosting Renee’s cocktail party the next night for a boozy dinner, then straight to bed.
We woke in bright sunshine, Renee made a breakfast of fresh squeezed orange juice and steel cut oatmeal with maple syrup. While she went on to her meeting I investigated the National Portrait Gallery for the very first time. WOW, spent hours in that place. The exhibition of all the president’s portraits from Washington on was intense. Props to Bill Clinton for choosing Chuck Close to do his portrait. Apparently each sitting president chooses the painter they want to do their portrait-who knew? While deep in thought at the photo contest installation adjacent to the presidents, Renee texted me she was done. We met around the corner at OYA, a fabulous Japanese restaurant where we had sashimi, beers and a photo shoot in their black and white over-designed lounge. Then Renee split for appointment #2 and I went to the Corcoran Gallery for a brief visit. After it was time to head to the cocktail party.
I stayed in the background as Renee circulated effortlessly among the collectors and art patrons at the party. We went to a nearby french bistro for dinner where fortunately the waiter accidentally dumped a glass of red wine on Shawanda’s assistant and after some heated discussion, gave us the whole meal for free. Right to bed, no gay bars as promised, no need for the cock ring.
We woke early because Shawanda had to go to work and drove around for awhile waiting for The National Gallery to open at 10. We passed the Navy Yard where the shooting occurred which was sad. We parked right in front of the Capitol on the mall and had to run around chasing quarters for the meter…can you imagine? Begging for change from the cashier in the National Gallery gift shop while we are at the geographical epicenter of our government, how pedestrian! Once the car was sorted we went back into the National Gallery and saw an amazing tightly edited show of Kerry James Marshall as well as an enticing show of Ellsworth Kelley prints. But the true standout, for me at least, was the extensive exhibition about the Ballet Russes. We then tried to go back to Oya but they were having a private lunch for Trayvon Martin so we went to their sister restaurant whose name escapes me.
After lunch we hit the highway home with a stopover at the University of Delaware to visit Renee’s buff son and buy a computer at the local Apple Store and have some mall pizza. I then took the wheel to bring it on home back to our very own shiny apple. Happy to have gone, happy to be home.