Rob, you may have suffered at the hands of an imaginary theatrical creation (you know, the Phantom)... but I think I was just slayed by someone who actually, tragically exists.I've never heard of this boy, perhaps you have? He's apparently a go-go boy who dances like he's in the beginning tremors of a seizure.
"He tends to dance in fits and jerks, his arms stiffly at his sides except when he suddenly draws one hand up towards the side of his face. He moves around a lot when he dances, his legs following his upper body, which spasms rhythmically to a beat slightly different than that of the music."No thank you. I'll stick with my twinky go-gos with their casual pot addictions, pet snakes, and new baby puppies.
Max might also be an artist.
"His "zine" is Scorcher, a compendium of his autobiographical porn stories. He also writes a blog, This Is Fag City, and a monthly horoscope column under a pseudonym, for "a free New York publication" whose name he won't reveal. He is also a performance artist, a singer, a songwriter and an accompanist."He can certainly give my productivity a run for its money. Even though in the article I read, he doesn't seem to really be doing much besides getting drunk, falling down stairs, and begging Zachary to treat him nicely in print.
I can tell you this: he lives in Brooklyn, which already makes me cautious. I don't like that borough. Once upon a time I universally detested all places reachable by bridge and/or tunnel from Mannahatta. I have since grown to adore Astoria. To date, I still despise Brooklyn.
Anyway. Max Steele, this celebrity I have never heard of, is "profiled" in a new article penned by my pal Zachary Woolfe, in the latest edition of The Awl, which is some type of an online pub with a really creative, sorta drugged out "about" section.
Zachary and I worked with many moons ago back when the both of us had pseudonyms and took it to the gays by making fun of their funny profiles or photos on Manhunt for the blog Hunters and Gatherers. And in his article, he followed Mr. Steele around from party to meeting to party to back of a cab where he's making out with some other gay guy.
Indeed it seems like Zachary went through hell - just read the article and feel the Hipster-induced coma that begins to overtake you around the time Max takes Zachary to a pot-smoke-choked magazine meeting. Seriously, people like Max Steele MAY BE THE REASON why I refuse to spend more than the least amount of time possible in Brooklyn.
Does Max ever come into NYC? It doesn't seem like it. The closest he gets in the article is Sugarland, which is apparently a "tourist trap" gay bar meant to give New Yorkers a taste of Brooklyn. Well let me tell you this about Sugarland. I went once and it was so Brooklyn that I could barely get drunk in peace, and basically ran, screaming, back to the train en route to Hell's Kitchen hoping that the egos and button-collar shirts would save me from all of those piercings and creative smatterings of facial hair.
So indulge, won't you? Take a scary trip to Brooklyn, and spend a dreadful 24 hours with Go-Go Boy of the Damned, Max Steele. And then thank Zachary. It's because he spent a full day with Max that we may thankfully never have to.
Check out the article, "'Almost' 'Famous': 24 Hours with Max Steele".
xoJR
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