Fashion Forward or Fashion Fail?

Kristin,

I am hoping that you will be able to weigh in here. You see, I have never considered myself fashionable. The fact that my mother dressed me til I was 13 (mostly by choice, I liked having my clothing laid out for me) and the additional fact that, until a few years ago, I didn't know what clashed and what colors went with what, has resulted in me defaulting to what I call "Frat Chic."

I wear jeans. I wear t-shirts. I wear polos. Sometimes I'll add a longsleeved shirt into the mix. Most of the time I go clothing shopping, I bring you with me for fear I'll leave with horrendous outfits that will result in derision and mockery.

However, as far from fashion as I am, I look upon outfits like the following and think "Jesus... that's horrifying."



Am I wrong? Are they actually fashion-forward? Should I be strutting my stuff down Wall Street in this $1,300 (discounted from $2,600) skirt suit? Am I blind when I say this is Serverus Snape doing drag at talent night at Hogwarts? Or formal attire for a dinner with Skull and Bones?



Am I wrong in saying that madras should be drank and not worn? And why wear short shorts with such a blocky jacket? Why wear such a blocky jacket? Why pay $888 (discounted from $3,000) for the "pleasure" of wearing a boxy madras short short suit combination?

And finally, who the fuck is this Thom Browne? Is he playing a huge joke on the fashion crowd, or is he man coutoure's next Jesus?

I look to you for guidance.

xoJR

Justin Plus None (minus Justin)

Hey fellas and ladies!

Just hopping in to send you my love from the Left Coast where I am vacationing until Friday. I have decided not to blog this week as I will be running around, and don't want to leave ANY Plus One hanging in the wind.

So take the week off, read all the other blogs that are better than this one, and I will be back with a Plus One and ready to roll next Monday!

xoxoJR

Farewells and Self-Congratulatories

By golly, have we really gotten to that point again? Every time I do this thing, I rue my normally favorite day of the week. It's Friday, and that means my time is up. I'm running out of ways to say good bye! This is mostly due to the fact that I only speak one language fluently.

So Happy 4th of July weekend, everyone! I hope you all have amazing plans. As for myself, I will be hosting a picnic in Central Park around noon tomorrow. We'll be in Sheep Meadow, so if you're around, look for a whole gaggle of gays basking in the sunshine and drinking wine. We love to have new guests at our Pink Tea Parties!

Then fireworks over the Hudson! I make my move over to the Upper West and the fireworks come with me. I always envied people born on the Fourth of July, because they can pretend the festivities are for them. However, this year, I can do the same.

In fact, everyone should take time to value themselves. Of course, you don't have to pretend that every celebration you see is for you (but I'm not really pretending--I know it's all for me), but just remind yourself that you are unique and special. No one is like you.

That being said, I hope everyone enjoys the fireworks tribute they are putting on for me tomorrow night. It's supposed to be bigger and better! When the dust and ashes settle, we'll see what sort of phoenix Justin will pull out of the remains for next week.

Until my 5th time, au revoir!

The Single Ladies Must Stop

Ladies and gentlemen, we have crossed a threshold and it's time for us to put a stop to it. No, I'm not talking about technology, which Plus One Austin scared me away from in his very Isaac Asimov-ian post.

But no, I'm talking about Single Ladies. For some reason, Disney has decided to sacrifice Joe Jonas to the frothing gay community, throwing him in a tight set of spandex and having him perform Beyonce's way overplayed single.

I'm sorry, the only person who can continue doing Single Ladies is Shane Mercado. And only at Splash when he is in tiny undies. He created the Single Ladies YouTube fad, so he can keep doing it til he's old and using a walker to crouch on his knees.

Everyone else? It's time for a moratorium. Let's find a new dance we can all embarrass ourselves to. Maybe it's time to go the way of the Sweet 16 or the Bar Mitzvah, and bring back the "Cotton-Eyed Joe" or the "Electric Slide". I am sure there are tons of obese girls who will struggle around to pull that off, too.

I mean, of course Joe can't be THAT gay - they made sure to choreograph him awkwardly - creating a thoroughly uncomfortable 4 minutes of video footage. In fact, I could only bear 2 minutes of it.

I also want to know why the crazy girls that love the Brothers Jonas wanted Joe in spandex dancing to Single Ladies. Maybe because like in their real lives, all the cute guys they date and/or pine for are actually gay, and so this feels right to them.

One last thing: can someone please tell me Joe's actual age? I want to know if I should feel guilty for thinking he looks fantastic in that get-up.



xoJR

In the Year 2000....

It's so good to hear from Justin in the upper regions of our slowly decaying atmosphere. I know many of you thought that I would be happy to get a break from him, seeing that he's practically my second longest relationship after being on J+1 so frequently. However, I find the fact that he is always online, always around, and always watching to be extremely comforting.

Isn't technology wonderful, though? It's really made the world a smaller place. People go off to China for months at a time, but with email and Facebook, it's like they're never gone. You don't even have to be at your computer to check your messages or friend's statuses any more (if you have a fancy smart phone and all). Sometimes I reminisce about riding all the "futuristic" rides at Epcot Center as a small child and think to myself, "We've finally arrived."

However, in the back reaches of my mind, I have this other side of me--one that wonders about alternate realities and past eras in history and life on other planets and what smells colors have. You know, things like that. When it comes to technology, though, this inquisitive part of my brain thinks that maybe we've gone too far with everything.

Crazy, I know, but there are several charming things we are leaving behind as technology advances. Of course, some are more obvious--handwritten letters, land line telephones, cash, stairs. There are some that may not be so obvious, though. Here are a few I've thought of:

Physical Speech
With the further expansion of e-mails, texting, Twittering, and the like, human being will slowly start losing their ability for articulate speaking. Instead, they will resort to the virtual world of communication. When they do speak, it only comes out in garbled hyphenated and abbreviated sentences ("wut doin?" "lol" "totes kewl").

Walking
Now I know many of you who read this live in New York City where it seems like we walk everywhere, but in reality, we just walk to the nearest subway station or corner to catch a cab. How long will be before we're all on some sort of Segue device or a moving recliner a la Wall-E?

Physical Fitness
See above.

Cell Phones
I guess, technically, the traditional "cellular phone" has already started slowly going the way of the buffalo. Remember back in the day when all your phone did was store numbers, call people, text, and maybe play a riveting game of Snake? Nowadays, devices like the iPhone (proud owner!) work more like hand held computers. Eventually, they will probably go even further to just install cellphones in our ears. Yup, that's right. Our future is a race of cyborgs.

Sci-Fi Movies
I love a good sci-fi flick like anyone else, but with technology moving to rapidly, what will be the use anymore? Even most of the "futuristic" movies out there today look as if they are happening in the present. Pretty soon, we'll just have to resort to fantasy movies or maybe a whole slough of historical fiction based on yesterday. It'll be all we got.

So before you get too excited about all the amazing advancements we are making in communication and entertainment, take a few moments to reflect on what we already have. Something new and better is always around the corner.

Plane Amazing!

Greetings Plus One readers!

I am currently typing to you from a couple thousand miles in the sky, courtesy of the fabulous folks at Virgin America, and their in-flight Internet service, known as Gogo.

And let me say this: any airline that does not promptly adopt Gogo in-flight Internet should be shut down and have their planes sold for scrap metal or action movie props. For years I have begged the Gods for a way to stay connected while flying, and finally, at last, it is here.

But just on Virgin America and SELECT other airlines from what I understand. Not even jetBlue, cheapo king of the skies offers this fabulous service.

And I ask: why? I'm sure it may cost some money to install the router or whatever it is that is tethering my laptop to a signal. But let's get with it, folks! Some of us can't bare to be disconnected from the World Wide Web even when they're showering. To ask me to shut myself down from the greater universe for a five hour flight? Ridiculous!

And sure, the wi-fi isn't FREE. It's 13 bucks. But that's more than okay with me for two reasons.

One: I have been given the gift of hilariously speedy Internet: something I've always yearned for when going airborne.

Two: it's no more expensive than some of the food I can buy via the Virgin America RED interactive system. If I HAD to choose, I would gladly elect for Gogo wi-fi than the scary sandwich only known as "The Italian" or the "Galaxy Box featuring salami and cheese". Both are just about 13 bucks. I'll stick with my Internet.

And even better? Each chair has a power supply! No more constantly staring at the battery gauge on my laptop, watching the percentage points drain like Christopher Dodd's approval ratings. I'm at full juice and on the Internet and IN THE SKY!

I used to be jealous of birds because they could fly without a plane. They are clearly now jealous of me because I can buy shit on Amazon while a flight attendant serves me Minute Maid apple juice. It's okay, I'd be jealous too.

Ooooh the flight just got bumpy. Internet remains! Spectacular.

So yes, readers, look up at the sky! I am up there! And you are reading my words. This is one small step (well, no physical step was taken...) for me, one giant leap for Virgin America's amazingness.

Thank you, Virgin America. I now love you more than I would my own children.

xoJR

You Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'?

I am a mere few hours from taking off to Los Angeles for a week-plus. I'm sitting on my futon in unbearable heat because I refuse to turn on my A/C and watch my utility bill triple. I am also watching Michael Jackson's Live in Bucharest concert on DVD - a keepsake that thankfully came as a part of MJ's Ultimate Collection, which I bought 3 years ago.

And let me tell you this: today's musicians need to take note of a true King of Pop. In this concert, Michael is dancing his fucking face off. Crotch pulling, spinning, kicking, jumping, moonwalking... and he is ACTUALLY singing.

You hear that, Britney? Madonna? Ladies? He is dancing AND he is singing. In a giant, open air stadium in Bucharest with over 70,000 people.

And guess what? At times he is breathless. At times he stutters. Sometimes he skips whole lyrics because his lungs just can't take it. It is far from a perfect vocal/audio experience. But you know what? It's real. It is real and it is worth every penny that these Bucharestians paid to see him.

And this is a lesson that pop and music in general needs to learn today. Ditto for our American Idol generation. Why do we expect perfection today? Because we hear it on our MP3s? It's not about perfection. It's about a real experience. Breathing the same carbon being expelled by a pop star who is actually singing.

I don't care what excuses are out there. Fuck acoustics. Fuck performance standards. Britney Spears should not be allowed on stage if she is not actually going to sing - God knows she's not really dancing either, so I have no idea what the fuck people are paying to see her for.

And we shouldn't support artists who lip sync. Who use technology and special effects to distract us. No. We should support artists like Michael, who LITERALLY gave it their all. At the end of this concert *i know this because I've watched this DVD countless times*, Michael can barely stumble over to the rocket pack that shoots him off the stage and over the crowd. He has no voice. He is bathed in sweat.

And my God, I'm crying. Michael, you really were the King of Pop. With Black and White, Remember the Time, and Thriller you invented the Music Video as narrative. With Scream you showed the world that tons of money could be spent on a video, and that it could be a raging success. And with Bucharest you showed us that when we pay to see a musician, we don't expect CD-grade spectacle. We expect the humanization of an idol.

That's what we paid for, and that's what we deserve.

xoJR

If I Can Make It There...

What a unique city we live in, Justin. I appreciated your perspective of being a Long Island New Yorker living in New York City. I've been here for a little over two years now, and I have seen the same cycle from friends and friends of friends. It's like my first summer here when all the cute boys came in just for the season. Then, it was like saying goodbye on the last day of summer camp. *sigh*

I could have just as easily been one of these people. I was a Mississippi boy who just decided one day to move to New York City. I started saving money that I eventually spent after a challenge to drink every beer at a new pub that opened in St. Petersburg, FL (where I lived at the time) right before I left. I then moved to New York with no job or apartment.

I lived in a tiny subletted room for 2-months as I looked for work and spent my remaining funds on Broadway shows. Finally, my first New York job offer came through. I literally received a phone call from my best friend's mother's boyfriend's brother about an open position at the Jersey City campus of The University of Phoenix as an enrollment counselor.

Being new to New York, I did not know what a daily reverse commute to Jersey City meant. Also, it was my first corporate job. I had a lot of things to adjust to. I did it, though, for 15-months. It was a micromanaging, soul-murdering hell, but I did it. And you know what? It kept me in the city that I love.

So yes, this city is a bitch. If you don't get in really quick, it can be an uphill battle to stay here. You may think it's tough, but I prefer it. New York is a gritty, honest, no-bullshit town. It makes no qualms about being difficult, and I love that. You have to be up for the challenge! Even if, as in my case, you have to start out working in a black hole of indecency. You gotta do what you gotta to do.

What do you think, Liza?

When New York Spits You Out

Austin,

I am going to go ahead and ignore your last post about Spiderman the Musical. I have already come to my conclusion about that show: it will suck.

How can I be so sure? Simply put: for all the millions of dollars already invested into that show, the best title they came up with was "Turn Off the Dark?" Really? I mean... aka Turn on the Light? Aka WHAT THE FUCK TITLE IS THAT?

No. No. No. Call it "Spiderman, the Musical". Or call it "Spiderman!" Or call it "Spiderman, On Ice!"

Anyway, I wanted to talk about New York City today. I just found out through the Gayvine that a sometimes friend and promoter partner of mine is leaving New York City, and going home. He was only in our fair city for under a year.

It was a shocking announcement. When I met the guy a few months back, he had golden dreams of taking over the New York promoting scene. The best parties. The best events. He was ready for fame. And now, just like that, he's outta here. Kaput. A potent mix of the recession, joblessness, and a roving group of muggers.

This came on the heels of a drunken conversation with an old friend of mine outside of Musical Mondays this week. He had left New York City and moved to DC. And he kept refraining, in his monologue, to the fact that he didn't feel like "he couldn't make it."

And I realized that this is a foreign concept to me, "not making it in New York." I have never even considered that a concern. It took me a bit to figure out why, but I think I've got the answer: having grown up on Long Island, New York City was never a stranger to me. From my first trip into the city without parental units at 13, through my gay twinky club circuit weekends in my 20s, to finally moving here post-college, I have gotten my fair share of New York City.

In fact, since I've been here for so long, I figure that the city no longer views me as a foreign antibody as it does most of the new transfers, and so doesn't bother trying to eject me from its system.

Plus, I know that, should I ever lose my job, I have a ton of savings to fall back on. And then there's always finding roommates. Moving to Astoria. Or Roosevelt Island. And, even if for some reason I should have to "go back home," I would be just as close to NYC as people who live in the farthest reaches of Brooklyn or Queens.

But still, it's weird to see people go. To pack their things and leave. It's also odd to imagine their stories. Packing their bags in a state in another time zone (for example, the guy I'm seeing who packed his stuff and jetted from California to New York on a whim.) For me it was tossing some stuff in my Dad's truck and a quick drive.

I respect the people who make the massive move to NYC, to try their luck. And yes, New York is an ultra defensive organism. It's already filled to overflowing. And it will do everything that it can to get rid of you - whether overcharging you for every little thing, taking your job away from you, or introducing you to shotgun-toting muggers.

If you can live here for any period of time, I consider you a champion. The fact that you didn't explode in a pile of blood and eyes upon crossing the bridge or emerging from one of the tunnels is testament enough to your bravery and strength.

And, unlike the saying that says you can never go home again, you can always give New York City a second shot. I truly believe that.

xoJR

Epic or Epic Fail?

Well being a musical theater geek who also blogs, I feel that music clip that Justin showed in his last post spoke right to me. It had the classic melodies of Bernstein, the pseudo-inspired choreography of Robbins, and Twitter and MySpace and anti-gay e-Harmony! I can now only dream of the day when it will be played on the screens at Splash on Musical Mondays while all the homos sing along with their newest e-obsession.

However, in the real world of Broadway, it's not so easy. Take for example the latest adaptation/cultural popular subject to soon be on the Great White Way: Spider-Man, Turn off the Dark, the musical.

Okay, on the surface, we have a lot of good things going for it. Firstly (and just announced) Broadway veteran Alan Cumming will be playing the Green Goblin. Despite the obvious tittering usually accompanied by his last name, Cumming is already notorious for taking on edgy and morally twisted roles (Cabaret, Threepenny Opera, et al...), so I am sure he will capture this role with finesse.

Also, in the times of economical downturn and an equally downturned Broadway (see Rock of Ages), this show is looking to be the most expensive show ever staged in history with millions already invested. Although an expensive show could just mean an expensive disappointment.

And finally, spearheading this operation is totes brilliant director and costume designer, Julie Taymor. Taymor stunned audiences with her stage adaptation for the Lion King (being the first female Tony Award winner for Best Director) and also with her visually stunning movies Titus, and Across the Universe. I am personally very confident in her ability to defy expectations.

However, we must now look at the few red flags I see. I'll just go though them quickly... almost like a Band-Aid being ripped off.

1. Even Rachael Woods as Mary Jane
2. Music and lyrics by U2's Bono and The Edge
3. A still yet-to-be cast Peter Parker/Spider-Man
4. A debut that keeps getting pushed back
5. No opening night date announced

So these things could be a great thing... or a disastrous. I guess only time will tell.

Web Site Story: Where Hilarity, Broadway, and the Internet Collide!

Where a 7-inch long sandwich might be cause for orgasm with Plus One Austin. I require something a little more.

Namely, a spoof musical written about the Internet!

Seriously, my inner show queen and tech geek are fucking the Jesus out of each other right as I type this. Liza wigs and wireless routers flying all over the place. The dorkiest, showtuniest load I've ever blown.

If you know ANYTHING about Musical Theater, and/or ANYTHING about the Internet, you will LOVE Web Site Story.

Seriously, you will. I guarantee it.

Bravo to College Humor for coming up with something SO fucking brilliant!

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

The New Personal Ad

What a sandwich! After Justin posted about the ad campaign for Burger King's BK Super Seven Incher, I got simultaneously aroused and hungry (which happens a lot, actually...). So with a fellow gay coworker (shout out, Frank!) in tow, I decided to venture out to my neighborhood BK to experience the magic of the cock burger in person.

However, the new phallic delight has not hit New York Burger Kings as of yet. As I stood in line trying to figure out what to get instead (I even considered the Burger Shots, thanks to you, J), I suddenly realized that I was really upset about not being able to have the seven incher. I had even planned to not have dinner in case the calorie count was way above what is acceptable. That ad did exactly what it was designed to do: it really made me want to go into Burger King and scoff a giant burger hero sandwich.

But then, as bloggers tend to do a lot, I started thinking about effective advertising, and not just for large corporations, but for smaller things to. Most notably, personal ads. Now, if you live in New York and happen to be of the homo-persuasion, you have more than likely come across one of the many fag rags around, i.e. Next or HX. If you venture into the back of these, you will be see various ads for "body work", "escorts", or "models". I put these all in quotes, because they all basically mean "prostitute."

However, these ads do nothing for me. Mainly, of course, because I don't pay for sex, but also because they're so boring. If they were more like the Burger King ad, then maybe I would find a new expensive past time.

So I did all these guys a favor. I have made my own ad, and I'm giving anyone who wants to use it complete creative freedom to alter for their own needs. Enjoy.

Open Wide and Eat My Meat!

Okay, I like cheeseburgers as much as the next guy, (assuming the next guy isn't a vegan, that is). But Burger King has just introduced a sandwich that puts the fear of a Meaty God in my very being.

Austin, I recall in one of the five THOUSAND weeks you posted here that we got into a conversation about our love of fast food. Well, I figured you'd be the first to try this thing out... and I wanna be a part of that experience.


And, because I like calling out suggestive advertising in blatant, awkward ways, I will say that Crispin Porter & Bogusky (BK's ad agency) is clearly telling men that the BK Super Seven Incher is essentially a big, fat, plump, beefy cock that their girlfriends will want to deep throat because their peckers are no doubt tiny, shriveled and possibly infertile.

"Fill your desire for something long, juicy, and flame-grilled... Yearn for more after you taste the mind-blowing burger that comes with a single beef patty, topped with American cheese, crispy onions and the A.1 Thick & Hearty Steak Sauce."

My commentary:

1. That must be ONE GAZILLION calories! Each one of them delicious, no doubt, but still...

2. That fat beef dick is so not fitting in the girl's mouth.

3. Is that a girl, or a blow-up doll? She looks dead or horrified. Clearly women cannot handle all of this manly Grade V meat.

4. The copy says single beef patty, but in the picture, it looks like there are two of them stacked up (unless the elongated beef is folded over itself).

5. I love crispy onions. Someone should tell chefs everywhere to employ them more in their cuisines.

6. I want a bite of this. Austin, perhaps when I return from LA you and I can split one with 8 of our friends, forcing us to only have to purge twice apiece to fit back into our Diesels.

7. They recommend a medium fries and soda. Come on Burger King, I realize you watched Super Size Me, but ain't nobody ordering the Giant Cock Whopper with a medium fry.

8. I'm really fucking hungry now. I'm gonna go get some lunch.

xoJR

The House That Gay Built

To my esteemed co-blogger Justin, I can't believe you've never been out to Fire Island! I was there this past weekend over in the Grove. You can read about my exploits on my new blog: Professionally Skinny and Drunk. I actually even used that same picture, J! I can't believe you're using my modeling pics again. *sigh*

As your last post talked about the Island of Fire, I was wondering why we don't got out there more often. Is it the money? Although expensive, one can spend less out there if you bring provisions from the mainland. Is it the ordeal of 2 trains, a shuttle, and a ferry? I think the time on the island more than makes up for that. Maybe it's the fear of being half-naked for an entire weekend? Well, in my case, I'm half-naked all the time.

No, I think the main deterrent from going to Fire Island is finding a place to stay. We all have friends who have quarter, half, or full shares on the island each summer. However, it seems that everyone else wants to stay with them as well. So it's hard to get in if you're not super close to this fortunate person.

However Justin, I think I came up with a plan. Let's build a JustinPlusOne house. We can make it the most magical of all the Fire Island mansions. For starters, we should build it out in the middle of the Meat Rack, equidistant from the Pines and Cherry Grove. This way, it can stand alone as a special home. Also, we can put it pretty high off the ground so we don't have to worry about lewd and lascivious activities going on the jungles around us.

Obviously, you would live there all summer long, Justin. You can do your Internet thingies from there and promote the night life. Also, since it was my idea, I would live out there as well... or least have a bedroom specifically for me. Then, whoever was co-blogging with you would stay in the guest room. They can bring their gay stories from the far off island of Manhattan to entertain and inspire. The week is up, though, and they're out.

On the weekends, when there is no blogging going on, we would throw gay-normous parties that would rival even the strongest of Tea Dances in the Pines. The lowest floor of the J+1 house would feature a dance floor and full bar. The bartender, of course, would also double as the live-in butler and occasional sex slave. Let's see if Steven Tylor O'Connor is available.

Oh Justin, can't you just see it? Can we make it happen? Can we?

Pride on Fire Island

Austin,

How was YOUR Pride? I have to say it's odd for you write a full post about Pride and yet not tell us a lick of what you did. Was it that shameful? Did you do something illegal and or amoral? Did I maybe capture said activities on photo, video, and microfiche?

Yes, yes I did. You can pay me back by taking back that shit you said about me before. Even though it's true.

For example, Austin couldn't see me this weekend because I was not in New York City. Rather, I snuck out on a 6:37 PM train from Penn Station, transferred to another train in Babylon, rode a van through Brookhaven, hopped a boat across some body of water, and rode a llama on top of an elephant guided by three mute sherpas... all to get to Fire Island!

It was my first time on the Island of Fire this past weekend. This is a shameful fact to admit because I grew up on Long Island as a gay man. I went to the clubs where people talked about going to Fire Island. I still never went.

Why? Because:

1. At first I didn't realize Fire Island was a place. I thought it was a party. People said "see you at Fire Island next week!"

2. After that I then assumed that Fire Island, because it had the word "island" in it, was far away - like by Hawaii or something (don't mention the fact that I lived on Long Island, at the time I was pretty, not smart.)

3. After that, I just had all the rotten luck of not having any friends who went to Fire Island, and I can hardly enter a bar or party by myself, let alone a big, gay island.

Regardless! After 27 years of no-Fire Island, I finally made it! The trip using the forty means of transportation, through hale storms and pouring rain and lightning leaving spiderweb cracks in the sky, had me imagining myself on a trip to some gay version of Hogwarts. (The fact that Prisoner of Azkaban score came on my iPod certainly helped.)

I was picked up by best friend Jeremy, and stayed with him and best friend Paul as well as their 6 housemates in the Pines. We did everything there is to do on Fire Island. Sip n Twirl (also known as Slip n Hurl... how college!). Pavilion. The beach. The store with $22 flip flops. The burning hot boardwalks that made me buy the $22 flip flops. The nude beach (where, much like all nude beaches, those who are nude are never the ones you want to see nude).

The rooftop decks. The pools and hot tubs. The place that serves Starbucks coffee (including an advertised drink on the wall that neither "barista" knew the place offered). The table outside of the market where they sell Baydance tickets (I found one of the men selling it to be a friend of a go-go boy I know in New York... small gay world indeed). The barbecues and the drinking and the drinking and the drinking.

Fire Island, if you've never been, truly is a magical, gay place. When I approached it on the boat, a rainbow was literally shooting up out of it and to the sky. Houses are completely random there, all this modern architecture with odd angles, large windows and strange floorplans. Even better, the whole thing resembles Star Wars' Ewok village, except moved to a sandier locale. I can only imagine the number of people who died or destroyed their face (worse than death) as a result of stumbling across the already shoddy planks tens of feet above land criss-crossing all over the island. Especially because there are no streetlights anywhere.

But in the end, I had a truly fantastic time, and hopped a boat back to the city at 9:50AM on Sunday. I was back in the city by noon plus, and walked myself (unintentionally) to the parade route. Because it was so gorgeous out, I walked against the parade and waved to friends marching within or watching and enjoying from without.

A truly fantastic Pride and an awesome Fire Island cherry-poppin' experience. So many many thanks to Jeremy, my host, Paul, my co-host, and all of their lovely housemates. Also to blog (and real life) buddy (and 2-time alum!) David, who I crashed into within my first five minutes on the island, and spent much of my weekend with.

xoJR

Back again and gayer than ever....

Wowzers, such a shining introduction, J. After 4 times, you would think you would run out of things to do, but I guess all the twinks are wrong. You do have some stamina! And I didn't like the picture you chose, so I'm using a new one. Shout out to my boy (and avid Justin Plus One reader) Robert Maril! :-)

Guilting me, Justin? Don't you know I am practically gay married to a Jew? Your goyish-attempts at the guilt trip makes me laugh. Let me tell you, readers, Justin-sightings are a rare commodity these days. When he's not jet setting across the country, he's so busy these days with promoting parties and hanging out with go-go boys that it's hard to catch up. And when I do ask him to hang out, it's always on one of this "off nights". So then he resorts to trying to guilt me into coming to Musical Mondays at Splash (as you have all witnessed) because he knows it's the only time that he can hang out. He sort of sandbags all his social time to Monday, so I know that there are others of you he uses the same tactics on. I'm on to your game, J.

But that being said... Yes, here I am back as the first 4x Alum! And happy to kick off Gay Pride Recovery Week! It's the week after all the gays kill their livers and brain cells with alcohol, drugs, sex, and lack of sleep. It's a week of wondering why we were so proud in the first place. It's a week, that personally, I find very interesting to observe. It's sort of like the day after Christmas... except that you have no toys to play with (or maybe you do *titter*).

So I would hope to hear lots of Pride stories from all of you. Email them to me and maybe we can get them into a post. I think it's fitting for the 40th anniversary, no?

Happy Pride Recovery Week all! Let's raise our coffee cups to the sky as we remember the times we had this past weekend.

Oh you know this bitch

Let's not pretend you need to be introduced to my Plus One this week. You know him. He was here not two weeks ago. And you know what? I wanted him back again. Why? Because, well, we just have some of the most amazing Blog-Mojo.

You also may know him from having sex with him at some point in your life; I wouldn't rule out that possibility.

If you want to see his other weeks, check them out here, here and here:

Austin comes from the Upper West Side, which he fled to with his super hot boyfriend, leaving me and the Upper East Side flat.

Austin ALSO had better come out to Musical Mondays tonight to sing and drink madrases with me, because if he doesn't, he won't see me for 2 weeks since I'm flying off to Los Angeles Thursday morning.

Ya hear that, Plus One!? TWO WEEKS! Imagine the gaping hole in your heart and soul that will be left when my long absence face fucks your very BEING.

Yeah, it'll be that bad. You'll cry blood. And no one will think you're pretty any more.

This is all to guilt you to come out tonight. I hope it works.

Everyone say hallo to Austin and give this bitch the proper welcome he deserves, because, really, he's the only thing I can call fierce without shuddering from my use of that word.

xoJR

thank you and good night!

Thanks for having me on this week, Justin. It was fun, even though I learned that I'm apparently the only person who cares about tennis and Roger Federer. Greatest player of all time, people!

If you haven't seen my films, I hope you'll check them out. But more importantly, I hope you make an effort to support openly gay artists - filmmakers, writers, musicians, actors and even bloggers. Seek out books by gay authors, go to see a gay movie in a theater (if you can), read and comment on blogs like this one. We need to support each other and our community, because no one else will.

It's been real.

Rob

To Sleep, Perhcance...

Rob,

I'm sorry to hear about your sleep problems. If there is one thing I've never had a problem with, it's sleep. Because I work a tiring day job, and then have all of 2 hours before working an overly-active night job (promoting, natch) I often find myself running through the day fueled by Red Bulls and Iced Quad Venti Soy Caramel Macchiatos.

Once my body goes horizontal, it greedily grabs at whatever few hours of rest it can muster before having to get up and do it all over again. On weekends I'll often sleep straight through to the afternoon. I snooze on the subway to and from work. I am putting in significant time and practice to learn how to sleep standing up like a horse.

But it wasn't always this way. Once upon a time, when Justin was but a wee lad, his overbearing parents thought it wise to force him to bed at 8PM. This was in elementary school. I had a set bedtime and would be sent there against my wishes. Of course I was always a nocturnal creature, before I had the chance to actually exercise that lifestyle. And so I would lie awake in bed from 8PM til past midnight.

I tried everything to fall asleep. I had a subliminal cassette called "sleep like a baby" which was filled with waves, music, and apparently some dude whispering "GO TO FUCKING SLEEP." Of course the problem was that it was a cassette. And so when the side ended, I would have to get up from bed and flip the tape. I gave that up and moved to listening to the classical radio station. But for some reason, I mentally programmed myself to get sleepy when I heard the tone they played at midnight, just after an orchestral flourish, and just before they read the headlines and op-ed page subjects from the next morning's New York Times.

Luckily now that I'm all growns-ed up, I can live my life as I please. This includes staying up to ridiculously late hours. When I'm out, I don't get home until 3am or later. Even on my two nights in a week, I often don't retire until about 1:30 AM. I just do better at night. I'm more alive. And the exhaustion I experience from tablespoons of sleep ensures that, again, when my head hits the pillow, I am out until something loud and obnoxious stirs me.

xoJR

to sleep, to dream

I woke up before 6 a.m. today. Not because I needed to, but because I have trouble sleeping, and have all my life. I totally envy anyone who can crawl into bed and immediately fall asleep, and then stay asleep for six to eight hours, and then wake up refreshed. I can't remember that ever happening to me. Ever. It's not just insomnia - I actually have four diagnosed sleep disorders (sleep apnea, restless leg syndrome, periodic limb movements in sleep, and sleep paralysis). It wasn't until I went to college and had to share a bedroom for the first time that I learned that taking an hour or more to get to sleep was not normal. I've done the sleep clinic thing and I visit a doctor who specializes in sleep disorders. All in all, not a fun thing.

So for all of you waking up this morning, stretching and thinking about how good you slept last night - realize how lucky you are.

Rob

Makes me want to scream

I remember being in fourth grade, practically hysterical in the second floor apartment of my then best friend, Kostas. My backpack full of pajamas and clothes for the next day in his room just down the hall. His house always smelled like feta or honey, as his old world Greek grandmother was constantly cooking.

I was sleeping over for one reason: Kostas had HBO and that night would be the broadcast of Michael Jackson's Live in Bucharest concert. The show featured his biggest hits, and he threw the thousands and thousands and thousands of concert goers into a screaming, crying, frothing frenzy with every note and move. At times I would hop to my feet to do my best impression of his spin, or his kick. But I was smart enough to never attempt the moonwalk. It was sacred; he was the only man who could pull that off.

A year later I tried my best to dress as Michael from that concert - the black jumpsuit with the shiny golden chest plate/ codpiece. It was a disaster and I remember practically bawling at the embarrassing sight. My cousin Kristin, on the other hand, had been smart and opted for Black or White Michael Jackson, which was really just the black pants and that white shirt.

And then there was the time that Barbara Walters went to the Neverland Valley Ranch. I sat, eyes glued to the TV as she hopped on the ferris wheel with MJ. I watched this with bitter memories of years before when I dropped to my kitchen floor in wheezing hysterics because I had not won MTV's Neverland Valley sleepover contest, despite hitting the redial on my family's chunky cordless phone over and over for three hours.

I had Thriller on cassette. Ditto for Dangerous. When technology rendered tape players obsolete I bought all of his albums on CD so I could listen to them at home, and then in my dad's Jeep when driving my friends around Long Island.

In college, whenever Michael Jackson came up on my iPod on shuffle I would walk with just a bit more attitude in my step. Because I was THAT cool. Sometimes, when no one was around, I would break out a little spin or that kick again. Like before, I never attempted the moonwalk. Years later I still was not sure I could pull it off.

I won't talk about the child molestation cases, or the allegations. Could they have happened? Sure. Did they? I don't know. And, frankly, that would be Michael's business. He gave me years of music and attitude. He inspired and thrilled me. Just seeing him trash that car during the superbowl music video was enough to make my father consider restraining me so I wouldn't try dancing on his Volvo.

And just like that, Michael is gone. Everywhere they are showing a slightly creepy, slightly foreboding image of the King of Pop, cocky and flashing a peace sign at his onlookers. Just before his big comeback tour. The dreams they had of bringing him back to the stage.

He may have left the public eye, but he never left my heart. Now he is cemented there forever.

Goodbye Michael, thanks for years of music and memories.

xoJR

wacko

Call me crazy, but I don't think we should be mourning the death of a child molester. No names, no one in particular, just in general.

snakes on film

Justin, your post about the cute boy and his snake oddly reminded me off an experience on the set of my first film, "Long-Term Relationship." We had hired a great actor who also happened to be a former porn star. On the first day of filming, he was naked for all his scenes, and at one point, I turned from the monitor to yell instructions to someone and found myself looking right at his personal snake. Yeah, he was just standing around naked, enjoying watching the movie being made. I told him, "You know, you can get dressed now," and he responded, "That's okay, I'm fine." Gotta love someone so comfortable in his own body.

Had a similar experience on the set of "3-Day Weekend." The wonderful Derek Long had just filmed a full-frontal scene and we were moving on to getting his close-ups (of his face). I said he could put some pants or underwear on if he'd be more comfortable, and he just shrugged. "They've seen it already, what's the point?" Great attitude.

We actually had so much nudity on the last film that when we made the new one, which is a family Christmas comedy called "Make The Yuletide Gay," the (straight) sound guy and first AD were both jokingly asking when they'd get to see snake on this production. Apparently we've provided them with more exposure to male nudity than in all their other filmwork combined!

So anyone going to see "Make The Yuletide Gay" expecting nudity will be disappointed. But it's all about family and acceptance, which is more important. Right? RIGHT? Can't wait to see it with audiences again at Outfest in Los Angeles and QFest in Philadelphia, and at festivals all over through the fall.

But no snakes. Sorry.

Rob

My Go-Go Buddy... and His Snake

When my go-go buddy Rowan told me he'd send me a photo of him "high as hell and holding a snake" I have to admit I was a bit worried. Judging from the fact that I had to pull down a YouTube video featuring him because his... snake snuck into a shot... I fretted that this photo might feature that same snake.

Luckily, the photo I received is indeed Go-Go Rowan, stoned off his face (with an adorable smile awwww isn't he precious!) and a still-unnamed snake.


This is, of course, his response to my post two days ago of Go-Go Stephen and his new puppy Tucker.

Now, Rowan said that he has no photos that prove he has a soul. I think I disagree, there's a very gleeful look in his eyes in this picture - again, something human. I dig it.

But snakes are gross and slimy and scary keeeeeeep away thanks!

If you've never had the opportunity to see Rowan work his dancin' magic, check out this video I put out recently. It shows some of Rowan's talented pole work (god everything i write sounds like a porn description!)



xoJR

Who is Max Steele?

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

help me escape the music of the night

Justin, I just read your article on Theater Anxiety Disorder - brilliant! I, too, notice when something goes wrong in a live theater show, such as the prop being left on-stage accidentally, only to be casually scooped up by a true professional in the next scene and quietly hidden away. When I saw "9 to 5" in Los Angeles, the timing of the sets swooping in was off throughout the show and I cringed every time. Of course, I cringed through that entire mess of a show, but that's another story.

Speaking of messes, last night I saw "Phantom" in Las Vegas. Not "Phantom of the Opera" - no, this is the 95-minute version designed for Vegas audiences and named just "Phantom." If "Opera" was in the title, it might have scared off the tourists. Somehow, at 95 minutes, it still seemed like the longest musical ever. The actor playing the Phantom would have been voted off American Idol in week one for his hilarious overacting, but the crowd gave him a huge standing ovation at the end. No accounting for taste, I guess.

But the sets - the chandelier assembling in mid-air, the boat cruising across the stage - were pretty impressive. With all the movement and potential for disaster, you would have been a nervous wreck, Justin!

What did you think of the Bret Michaels tragedy at this year's Tony Awards? (I say "tragedy" because he survived - kidding!)

Rob

P.S. Four days in Las Vegas is WAY too long, even if you're visiting with family.

cutest video ever

I needed this to end my day.

My Sport of Choice

Rob,

While I am not a tennis fan, I must admit that I have often ended up watching it. My ex-boyfriend was a huge fan of the groaning, squeaking, bouncing bouncing game and I would often find myself subject to it. He even took me to the US Open once looking down from our seats made me dizzy for crying out loud.

I am, however, a fan of a sport. Well, a sport is probably not accurate. I am a fan of SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT. That's right, I'm talking professional wrestling. Now, before everyone flips out, allow me to say that I use the term lightly. I haven't watched wrestling (or TV, for that matter) in months. Promoting, day job, life in general has seen to it that my precious wide screen TV lie fallow.

But, if there were any sport for me to watch, it is the WWE. I could write about it for hours, but I'll spare the lot of you. Suffice it to say - I do NOT watch it for the men in tights sweating all over each other. If it were that easy I could just flip on a Bel Ami and call it a night. No, I am there for the unbridled faux violence. I thrill at every chair shot, scream at the TV when the ref doesn't see an illegal double team.

Once upon a time I might defend myself by saying that TV ratings and audience numbers show that I am not alone in this fandom. But then I went to a few live events and got a look at the audience and the ten or so teeth all 8,000 of them shared and... well... I like wrestling and that's all I need to say.

To all of you naysayers I must ask - have you ever given wrestling a legitimate shot? I mean, really given it a shot? Take an evening - let's say Monday - and watch WWE Raw. Or DVR Smackdown on a Friday night. And watch it from start to finish. Follow the story lines, listen to the mic work, watch the intensely edited video promos. Some of the most talented TV people in the business work for Mr. Vince McMahon (CEO and owner, bee tee dubs) and it shows.

Wrestling is, in the end, a man's man's soap opera. They borrow storylines from pop culture and history and literature, and then dumb it down with women in bikinis and guys drenching each other in beer.

In other words, you might just have some fun if you give it a chance.

xoJR

Love means nothing - in tennis

Justin, I can't offer anything to compete with pics of go-go boys and their dogs. That pretty much trumps anything I can offer.

So let's move on to one of my favorite subjects - tennis. It's Wimbledon time, and I am hoping that Roger Federer wins the title to give him his 15th Grand Slam title, breaking his current tie with Pete Sampras. (Are there any other gay tennis fans out there? It's definitely the only sport I follow. And I think the greatest thing to happen to the sport was the decision to let the men wear sleeveless shirts. Brilliant.)

In my humble opinion, Roger Federer can claim the title of Greatest Player of All Time thanks to his recent French Open victory, giving him a career Grand Slam. If he wins Wimbledon and surpasses Sampras in total Grand Slam victories, I don't think you can argue that Federer is the greatest. He is perfection on court, he has a great all-around game, and he is incredibly consistent, having reached 20 major semi-finals in a row. And he seems like such a nice guy - check out his latest video update on Facebook:

Anyone care about tennis? Any thoughts on Federer's place in history?

As for women's tennis today - I could not care less. Boring players, odd ranking system, obnoxious grunts. If Serena isn't playing, I'm not watching.

Rob

Shocking headline!

Big news headline - Jon and Kate are divorcing!

Bigger question - Why should we care?

-Rob-

Editor's Note: There's ton of crap about the divorce over on BuzzFeed... assuming you give a shit.

The cutest thing I've ever seen

Everyone, I would like to introduce you to two very important people. This right here is Stephen, one of the go-go boys I work with at Splash on Thursdays and Dirty Pop on Sundays. That furball of cuteness supreme is his new dog, Tucker.

I love this photo for a few reasons:

1. Tucker is so cute that I'm literally depending on an oxygen tank to remain conscious.

2. I love photos of go-go boys as the people they really are. People look at Stephen and think "oh, he's a go-go, an over-sexed, non-stop party head."


Well, he might be those things, but he also enjoys snuggling down with Tucker here.

3. Go-go boy and puppy sounds like an excellent subject for a watercolor painting. Any artists in the house?

I now challenge my other go-go friends - Dylan, Rowan, Evan, Ryan... submit your own adorable human photos. I'll feature them here, too.

xoJR

vegas vacation

Here's the story of my day so far in Las Vegas - win a smallish jackpot, then use that money to gamble on my beloved video penny slots until I'm almost broke, then win another jackpot, and repeat endlessly. It's like the machines know when you're about to lose everything, and they give you a jackpot to keep you there, gambling and drinking. We're just here until Thursday, which is longer than we usually stay, but since we're visiting with family, it's okay. Assuming I don't take out another mortgage on the house to keep gambling. Tomorrow I may even take a break to enjoy the hotel spa - they have a barber suite with straight-razor shaves!

Having fun visiting with my partner's brothers, though I am always amazed to think that while we have been together for 15 years, almost everyone in my partner's immediate family has been divorced during that time. And yet, we're the threat to the sanctity of marriage. Hmmm... Wonder what would have happend in California if divorced people had not been allowed to vote on Proposition 8?

Too late in the day to start in on politics. Tomorrow, I will take up the most important question facing our planet - is Roger Federer, in fact, the greatest male tennis player of all time? Post your thoughts, and I will tell you whether you are correct or not.

Rob

Greetings from beautiful Las Vegas

Hello, Justin! Hello, readers! Hello, Las Vegas!

Yes, I am writing my first blog entry from my suite at the Venetian in Las Vegas. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love coming to Vegas, but this time, it wasn't even my suggestion. I'm here with my partner Rod (we just celebrated our 15-year anniversary, thank you very much), his brother Russ, and his other brother Randy and his lovely wife, Jennifer. Randy and Jennifer wanted to visit Las Vegas, and that was a good enough excuse for us. Actually, free tickets to "Phantom" is enough to get me here, but visiting with family is a better one.

So do I hit the nightclubs in Vegas? Drink heavily? Act like an obnoxious tourist? No, I sit in front of penny video slot machines for hours on end. Star Wars machines. Star Trek. Monopoly. If there are enough pretty colors, I'm hooked. And I'm noticing a theme in the newer machines - Wizard of Oz, Village People's Jackpot Party, Fire Island, Xanadu. Yes, Vegas wants the gays and isn't afraid to offer a bonus game set to "YMCA" to get us. Works for me. Worked for me until after 2 a.m. this morning, which is why it's taken me so long to get this first post up.

I want to thank Justin for pointing out that I am, in fact, NOT Robin Williams. I am also not British singing sensation Robbie Williams (though I get phone calls for him quite often, especially since he moved to Los Angeles). I am not model Rob Williams from the TV show "Manhunt" - you all remember "Manhunt" don't you? Of course, you do. And I am not the Rob Williams who hosts a radio show and recently got into trouble for saying things he shouldn't have. I wouldn't even know who this radio host is if I didn't Google my own name obsessively. But that's another story.

I'm off to find a nice cup of tea to help me wake up. Hopefully that will help my postings make more sense later on. Probably not, but it couldn't hurt.

Thanks for reading! More later...

Meet Rob Williams!

Happy Monday, Plus One guys and girls!

This week I am pleased to welcome to Justin Plus One Rob Williams. I know, at first I was all psyched to be co-blogging alongside the star of Mrs. Doubtfire and Patch Adams, then I found out that this was ROB Williams and not ROBIN Williams.

Turns out that it's okay because THIS Rob Williams is ALSO involved in film. Coming to us live and in living color from the City of Angels, Rob Williams is a filmmaker for Guest House Films - a company that has taken home numerous awards for their productions.

As a maker of movies (so what if they're only 2 minutes long and feature go-go boys!?) I am ultra excited about this week.

Enough from me - let's meet Rob!

My Name:
Rob Williams

My Location:
Los Angeles, CA

My Site/ Sites:
www.GuestHouseFilms.com

www.facebook.com/FilmmakerRob

What I might post about:
Movies, television, tennis, relationships, politics, the joy of watching fat babies laugh on YouTube and/or the meaning of life.

What I love:
Making movies; playing Star Wars video penny slot machines in Las Vegas; watching tennis for two solid weeks, four times a year, during the Grand Slams; TiVo; and my partner, Rod.

What I hate:
People who don’t know the difference between “it’s” and “its”; people who don’t use their turn signals when driving; people who owe me money; people who use religion to justify hatred and discrimination; actually, people in general.

My Last Word:
I’m a geek and a homebody who is lucky enough to have found my true passion in life (making movies) after toiling in the drudgery of public relations for way too long. And I have trouble sleeping, so if I yawn during our conversation, it’s nothing personal.

Reach Out and Touch Somebody's Hand

Well what an off week Justin and I had. However, I'm glad to be back on the blog and posting. Good to have some normalcy sometime. Then again, I don't know what's sadder. The fact that my regular life is normal or the idea that being a Plus One is normal for me. Then again, is there really a normal? If every day and everyone is different, I don't see how a norm can exist. But I digress...

As I wrap up this, my third week of tenure on Justin Plus One, I have been touched by the story Justin shared in his last post. So instead of typing up some witty, self-indulgent tripe as I am known to do, I'd rather leave you with a thought to carry you through the weekend and hopefully further.

Care about others.

It's a simple thought. It's one that I need to be constantly reminded of. When we live in a city like New York (or any town, really), it's so easy to get caught up in our daily business. Wake up, go to work, grab a beer, go home. Repeat. However, how often do we step out our routines to really see the people around us. We all hurt. We all experience failure. We all have obstacles in our life that sometimes seem so overwhelming, that we don't think we'll ever come out on top.

But what if someone took the time to just offer some encouragement. Buy a cup of coffee. Or just a simple, "how are you" that you actually mean. Sometimes, at least in my experience, can really brighten you up and make things look not so bad.

Be that person.

Readers, I hope that you have an amazing weekend. It feels good to the first 3x alum, and I hope to continue making history with Justin on J+1. Next time, we really gotta do something special, J.

Until next time: Keep reading, keep commenting, and keep caring!

-A-

Pixar's Up makes me cry one more time

I will assume that everyone reading this blog has already been to see Pixar's new movie Up. Why? Because I know my readership is intelligent, cultured, and knows when something will blow them away. Heck, one of my friends said to me: "it broke me - I never felt emotions until I saw it, and now I'm still feeling them."

So, if you haven't seen Up yet, I'll forgive you ignorantly. Do NOT admit you have not been to see this movie (especially if you opted for, say, The Hangover, instead). Just quietly sneak out the door and go see a matinee with the old folks and soccer moms. I'll wait for you to get back.

Anyway, as if the story of an old man going on an adventure to honor the dying wish of his wife wasn't heartwarming and tearjerking enough, Pixar goes and does something in REAL LIFE that's just as touching.

The family friend of a dying child cold-called Pixar's offices and guessed her way through the phone tree to a live person, then pleaded her case: the child desperately wanted to see Up, but was possibly days away from death and too sick to travel or sit in a movie theater. The next day, a Pixar employee arrived with a DVD of the movie and sat with the family while they watched it.

Sure it doesn't seem like a lot, maybe. But it touched me really deeply. That, in this world of "we'll contact you via email in 5-7 business days" and such, that the large company living alongside the giant mouse could so quickly dispatch an employee with a DVD to screen the movie for the child... wow.

Seemingly small - didn't take much to do. But man oh man that is yet another reason why I love Pixar. It speaks to their brand - human, understanding, willing to take risks and break rules.

Bravo!

What Recession?

Austin, I couldn't agree with you more. I ::knock on wood:: too have not felt the effects of this so-called recession that I keep hearing about. However, unlike you, I have seen its rough effects on my unfortunate friends.

I have seen people lose their jobs and struggle to find new ones. Many of my actor friends are having impossible times landing roles in regional theaters that they once would have no problem getting into because people with Broadway credits are auditioning for said roles, because there are no parts on Broadway to be had.

It sucks really. It's kinda like when you get the spins after a few too many madrases (the favorite drink of you, I and Plus One Alum Chris Ryan!) You lie there in bed, opening your eyes and staring at the ceiling hoping they'll go away, but never quite sure when they'll pass.

Same with this right here.

Then again, there are good things that come as a result of this recession, too. Good things for people like me who save their money frantically and stow it in a bank account, refusing to touch it. To us go cheaper and better apartment opportunities, knock out sales at everything from restaurants and sex parties to clothing stores and massage parlors.

But still, it's certainly here. What's weird is that in NYC you don't really see it. Restaurants seem just as packed when you pass by. However, there's that bitter -oh shit- moment when that busy restaurant you always pass suddenly, and without warning, shutters for good. That's happened a number of times on my precious (and your former) neighborhood, the Upper East Side.

It may look crowded still, but those people are eating less. Those packed crowds only come during the peak times that we pass, and then are gone. You see more friends packing up and heading back to Canada (this has happened) because they can't find work, or to Astoria or Brooklyn, which, really, is worse than having to go to Canada, I feel.

And so I've been living slightly recessionistically - I'm saving even more money in case I should, for some reason, lose my job. I'm finding ways to get free booze instead of paying for it. I went into nightlife so I could enjoy my evenings and meet new people without forking the cash out for it. Granted my salary hasn't dropped, but I'm living like it has.

Let's consider ourselves lucky that we haven't been hit, and be extremely observant and protective so that, if we do get hit, we're ready for it.

xoJR

Recession Friendly

Justin, I must say that the commercials you showed in your last post left me feeling confused as to whether I should laugh or be horrified. In addition, it also reminded me of my feelings for this recession.

Now, I've seen the news. I read the papers. I listen to Obama. I know what's going on in the economy. However, I'm either very fortunate or blissfully unaware, but I nor anyone that I know has been personally affected by this recession that we're in. I have not felt the effects of this downward facing national economy.

Granted, I work in higher education (which, along with health care, is one of few markets still thriving), and my boyfriend and our friends work mostly in the theater industry (which is always either slim pickings or extremely lucrative with not much gray in between). My family is in Mississippi, a state that is impervious to recessions or depressions because it's already perpetually-depressed state.

So, I apologize to anyone who has lost jobs or is in dire straights due to the fallout from the Bush administration, but I now find this recession to be rather funny. This is mostly due to the fact that everyone I know is using it as an excuse to be cheap. How many times have you heard some money-related statement immediately followed by the phrase, "We're in a recession, after all." I'm even guilty of it, and I make more money now than I did before the economy took a nosedive.

In fact, I feel we play even harder now that we're in a recession. Or maybe we just appreciate it more because we're aware of the money we're spending. Either way, this time period does seem to a time of partying, if just a lower key. After all, you can't spell "recession" without "recess".

Now if only I can get in on that stimulus package...

Drink this coffee or I'll FUCKING KILL YOU!

Have you ever heard of Wilkin's Coffee? Well I haven't either. But it turns out that if we don't drink it, we might be brutally beaten/maimed/and executed by a muppet that sounds like Kermit the Frog.

It's even more unfortunate that I don't think Wilkins Coffee exists any more.

Brilliant advertising, this. It makes me wish our ads were more violent and hilarious. (Muppet on Muppet violence is THE BEST!) It's also impressive that they were able to get their key message out: "Drink coffee or a muppet will slay you." in ten seconds. Very impressive. See what happens in these ten-second spots where WILkins kills WONTkins (because he doesn't know of, or doesn't quite like Wilkins Coffee).





In addition, an interesting anecdote about the video where the non-Wilkins muppet gets shot in the head:

Steve Whitmire, the voice of Kermit since 1990, recently visited the Savannah College of Art and Design and shared with us an interesting story about one of the Wilkins commercials. Apparently, in one of those local markets, the spot where Wontkins gets shot in the head from a mysterious arm that appears to his left aired for the first time on the day JFK was assassinated. Of course, it was pulled after complaints, even though no one could have seen that coming, not by a long shot.

We need to do this again. Get muppets to threaten consumers into buying things. Or use death threats couched in humor to get a point across. Perhaps we can have Mac kill the shit out of PC. I love John Hodgman but that could actually work nicely.

Gogo Boys for Lunch

Hey all!

Coming to you live from Chicago O Hare where I can hardly contain myself. Hey - Austin - you know what I realized? We've come full circle. Remember the first time you were a Plus One and you disappeared off the face of the fucking earth for two days and I had no idea where you were?

Turned out you had a crazy travel adventure... you were forgiven but not without a beating to teach you a lesson of course.

Well now I've had MY crazy adventure. Who would have known that going to an interior design trade fair would involve car crashes, long lost meetups, showtunes and madcap hilarity? Well I guess I should have, as nothing I do is ever boring. Hell, a trip to the library turns into an orgy, a murder spree, or both (yikes).

So I guess we're even (but you can still beat me if you like.)

Anyway, just a quick post: my newest video which I worked LONG and HARD (pun and pun) on for Splash's Campus Thursdays. In this edition, the gogo boys take to the pole - hope you like!

Speidi Must Die

What in the world is going on with this Spencer and Heidi mania? Everywhere I look, they are there with the latest stunt of awfulness that they have stumbled into. The worst thing is that I have been purposely trying to avoid them on all levels. I never watched The Hills or I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. Everything I needed to see of those shows I could catch on The Soup.

Through all their spoiled, self-entitled and vacuous behavior, people were still giving them the benefit of the the doubt by assuming it was all an act. However, as time goes by, it's becoming more apparent that they are actually are the attention-whoring and greedy brats that they portray.

Take a look at this clip from the Today Show. Al Roker isn't afraid to just tell them like it is, and reveal them for the complete morons that they are. Also, I don' think they were expecting the clip at the beginning of the show.



Al Roker later predicted the fall of their celebrity, "That [behavior] grows old very quickly, and people grow tired of it. There are people who’ve actually accomplished things, people who are known for their great works. Just because you’ve been on a show where you just behave badly doesn’t mean you’ve accomplished anything."

Since I'm currently on the Roker bandwagon, I hope he's right.