Auto-Tune the News!

So since I'm approaching my co-blogger post as a sort of trial period, I figured It would be topically relevant to reveal that I have recently become obsessed with trial periods. I'm pretty sure this is born out of indecision and my desire for free stuff. Mostly the free stuff.

The majority of these trials have been online games that I had just enough interest in to wait a few hours while it downloaded. I feel like the most notable of these was the creature creator from the game Spore- which I used to I invented some seriously intense beasts all named after my younger brother.

But more fun than any of these games was a 10 day trial of Acoustica Mixcraft, a sound editor that is fairly user friendly and allows you to create your own dance mixes and DJ mash ups! I love it so much. I have not gone on to buy the program just yet, but I would absolutely endorse the free trial. All I wanted to do for a full week was run home and see if I could somehow generate some sort of Mariah Carey / Macey Gray duet.... yikes how embarrassing.

All this talk about sound editing reminds me a very entertaining video a friend sent to me recently. I never knew Joe Biden could sing, and I certainly never knew he had these soulful notes in him. This just goes to show the power of sound and video editing software that is available to us all. Please enjoy:

And Then There Was Justin Plus One...

Joe,

Great first post! And thank you for penning it, because you have inspired in me a desire to tell a story I til now have never documented in type: the Genesis story of Justin Plus One.

Often when I tell people about Justin Plus One they tell me how brilliant it is - how innovative! How smart! How creative! With all this praise you'd think I'd be pulling in 5,000 or more visitors a week. Well, I'm actually pulling in 10,000 a week (I'm not really.)

Anyway - much like so many other "innovative" ideas, Justin Plus One came about by chance, and fate, and a string of things outside of my control.

If you've been reading this blog for more than a year, you may remember it once had another name. Namely, OMFGNYC. It was penned with my then-best friend, Patrick. We decided to go into the blogging business together. We donned fake personas (Blanche and Jane from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?) Every day a mystery narrator would each come up with two subjects, write a biting summary, and then invoke Blanche and Jane to weigh in with their opinions.)

This lasted for a good six months until Patrick and I had a falling out. The blog came down, all the posts were deleted, and the Jane Blanche Facebook page we created for marketing purposes went back to Jesus. (Well, it's still up, and apparently had its birthday earlier this year.)

After that, I tried to resurrect OMFGNYC as a different blog. It didn't quite work. I was used to Livejournal, a place where getting 100 comments on a post was expected, versus the silent tunnel of blogger where you're lucky to get 4 or 5 a week. It felt like I was yelling into an abandoned mine shaft. I needed someone else.

So I contacted my then-new-friend, Stephen Tylor O'Connor. You may remember him from the week of Clint, where we pimped the shit out of his movie while also literally pimping him out, offering sex with him as a "thank you" for voting for him in a contest. It should be noted that Stephen actually did follow through and fuck every guy that voted for him. Sucks if you didn't take advantage of that offer... because he's now straight. (No he isn't.)

Anyway, during that time the Blog became "Justin and Stephen Explain it All." Problem was that Stephen was super busy, and didn't have much in the way of blogging experience. I couldn't take it. I needed someone to post with and he just wasn't doing it.

I was whining about this online to my cousin Kristin. "Well, how about I help you out?" She asked.

Of course! That would be great! Kristin and I had known each other for 25 years at the time. We'd have awesome blog mojo. Yes yes yes I said.

"Except," she added, "I can only blog this week."

Shit shit shit shit shit!

And so I ran to the next person I could think of, my friend Jake. He too, could only offer me one week.

I cried for a bit (not really... okay well maybe a lil). And then I stopped. Wait a minute. What if I just went around asking my friends to co-blog with me for a week? It was perfect! So many people I spoke to about blogging often said the same thing: "I usually start off great, but then it dies down." or "I don't have the patience to gain a readership." or "I'm in jail."

And from there, Justin Plus One was born: the ultimate solution to every person on the Internet who ever wanted to blog. A blog with no commitments and a built in readership! You came on, blogged your heart out for 5 days, and then gracefully exited and went on your merry way.

On my side, it was beneficial because I'd never run out of topics - I could always bounce off of one of theirs (much like this post is doing, thanks again, Joe!) Also, the readership would expand every week as the Plus One brought their own friends, family members, and former cell mates to Justin Plus One.

Now, where did Justin Plus One come from? To tell you the truth, I have no fucking clue. I wish I could tell you, but I have a very very shitty memory.

Born out of desperation, I am really proud of Justin Plus One. It has helped me meet new people, it was the spark that got me into nightlife promotions, it helps me reach a deeper level with friends, and it's something to talk about that people find interesting.

Yes, much has changed over time. I used to require that Plus Ones write 3-5 posts a day, and from Monday - Sunday (aka I was clearly insane). Then I realized no one wants to read that much blog.

So now we're more structured at these parts. 2 posts a day. Shut down for the weekend. A hello post and a goodbye post. There is a Justin Plus One Welcome Pack that every Plus One fills out. There is a separate Welcome Back pack for returning alums.

Recently I christened the "Alum Club" - those Plus Ones that were so good, that I keep having them come back to chill with all y'all.

And there have been failures too... like "This Just In," (I don't have the time nor desire to do a weekend recap).

Who knows what's on the horizon? Well, I guess you'll need to stick around, and find out :)

I hope you enjoy reading Justin Plus One as much as I enjoy writing :0D

xoJR

WhatWillThisBlogBe?.com

Hello Everyone!

I’d like to thank you all for stopping by and taking a chance on my first blog post ever(!). I am so stoked to spend the week here co-blogging with Justin because I’m hoping it will jump start a very, super, extra-special blogging project of my own.

What is this project? I wish I knew.

You see, recently I was reading a job listing and was kind of floored when the listing ended by adding that applicants with blogging experience were preferred. The thing is: this post was for a job in a Ticket Office, and nowhere in the listing did it mention: oh, and by the way you’ll be managing a blog for the theatre. As far as I could tell blogging had nothing to do with the position. I interpreted this desire for an applicant that blogs to be a sign of the times. NOW, I am always competitive and pretty ambitious so I DO NOT want to be seen falling behind the times. I vowed then and there that I’d break into this whole blog thing.

And here I am! I get a whole week to try this out, to test some styles, to experiment with topics, and generally try the whole thing on for size. It’s like a trial period for an as seen on TV product. AND just think- while I experiment, you can try me out, risk free.

Cheers,
Joe

Meet Joe Ferreira!

Good morning Justin Plus One!

I hope you all had a fabulous weekend. Nature blessed New York City with essentially three days of sunshine (although it did smite us with pouring rain briefly on Saturday night). So we were sure to get drunk in Central Park, on the pier, or even on the street (we'd be drunk anyway, but it's that much more fun outdoors in the sunlight.)

If you're a regular reader of Justin Plus One, you may have noticed that I usually feature a Plus One that is either living in New York City, or California. This week I went ahead and combined both... a Californian who now lives in New York City!

Allow me to introduce you to Joe Ferreira - a hilarious and intelligent fella originally from NoCal now living in Harlem, NYC. Super cute, ultra engaging, and rather fantastic as a human being, he will be going through the rigorous blogging gauntlet that is Justin Plus One this week. Do be welcoming and supportive of his efforts. I assure you he will not disappoint.

Take it away, Joe!

My Name:
Joe Ferreira

My Location:
Harlem, NYC

My Site/ Sites:
Um... My Facebook Page? Also, I'm on Twitter.

What I might post about:
Things I'm discovering or learning this week. Crazy stories from work. California and Food.

What I love:
Marching bands; avocado; bar trivia; good storytellers; really good mash-ups; Davis, CA; and that alligator/hippo segment from the original Fantasia.

What I hate:
Cutting in line, actually. I really hate cutting in line.

My Last Word:
I'm a recent New York transplant from northern California. After growing up near Sacramento I went to school at UC Davis- You will probably hear A LOT about UC Davis in the next week- and I'm currently enjoying work as a publications asst. at Samuel French. I've been fascinated by blogs and blog culture recently and, excepting a now long lost Xanga account, have never blogged before so I'm thrilled to take my first steps into this madness.

The Post Where I Gush About My Brother

If you've been reading me for a while, you've no doubt been introduced to my brother, Jared Zirilli. A triple threat with supermodel good looks, Jared is not only my best friend, he is also my hero - my inspiration.

Others look up to celebrities, political figures, historical personalities. I'm lucky enough to just have to look across the family dinner table.

Having overcome every challenge thrown at him, my brother has really carved out the beginning of a successful career and a happy life for himself. And today he turns 23 years old.

Jared, I hope you have the happiest of Happy Birthdays. And I can't wait to come and see you tear shit up as Roger in Rent next month. I am proud of you. I am inspired by you. I love you more than the rest of this world.

Thank you for your love and support. Your humor and non-sequiturs. And teaching me that I shouldn't have beaten the crap outta you so much when you were little, because now you can thrash me with one arm tied behind your back. While being attacked by a clan of ninjas. And blindfolded. And possibly during an earthquake with the fault line opening up beneath you.

And no one can make me laugh like you do. Challenge me to make THEM laugh like you do. You are loyal and protective to the point of verbally threatening people who are only PRETENDING to hate me. You would throw a fist or a dirty glance to anyone you felt was trying to hurt me. You seem more excited by my successes than your own (granted, the same goes for me.)

Keep it real, brudder bear. We've grown a long way since when we were 8 years old and I was stealing your french fries in Dad's Volvo. Now neither of us really eats french fries. And if I ever stole any of your food, you'd throw me off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Happy Birthday :)

Love,
Justin
AKA: Brudder Bear, Broseph, Justy, etc. etc. etc.

Night at The Creation Museum

I may have heard of it before, but I didn't bother to Google or get to know The Creation Museum in Kentucky until today. It's all because of a preferred blog I read, Ad Rants, which featured this ad for the museum.

And I had to Google. Why? Because it raised questions: why is The Creation Museum, a museum about Creation (one that is, of course, anti-evolution) have a Pterodactyl tearing apart its billboard? I mean, I thought maybe it's a cute joke - the dinosaur doesn't want you to know it exists, so it's eating the ad. Of course, logic then flies in the face of this interpretation because that would mean that the ad was inherently confirming the existence of dinosaurs.

I wish I hadn't Googled further, because now I respect the uber religious even less. Turns out that at The Creation Museum you will see a ton of animatronic dinosaurs. Because they lived with humans. And they were on the ark.

Of course, the bible never mentioned Noah chillin' with a Stegosaurus... but they have a convenient answer for that. As they have a convenient answer for everything. Also, by agreeing to the fact that dinosaurs were chillin' with our fave characters from the ole testament, they reap the benefit of having gigantic robotic dinosaurs that children will love everywhere. Best of both worlds!

To see ignorance and scary re-definition of fossil fact, do take 9 minutes and watch this "Documentary" on The Creation Museum:



Also, bonus points to the God-fearin' crazies for turning Science into "Scientism" which in fact DOES make it seem less factual. Even though it isn't. Because it is science.

Or, you know, don't. And just realize these people are crazy.

But yes! The Creation Museum, which has a very catchy tagline: Prepare to Believe. It's eerie. It's a movie slug. It's sexy (which makes it sinful! repent!) At The Creation Museum you can check out Noah's Ark where you can...

"See the scaffolding, smell the freshly-cut timbers in the busy work site of Noah’s Ark. Delve into the belly of the Ark and imagine the stalls full of animals, in close quarters. Listen to the sounds of thunderous, driving rains and the pounding of water against the sides of the great Ark."

That's a lot of "Ark" in one description. And where, exactly, did they get the "freshly-cut timber" smell? I'll bet that Science had something to do with it.

Also, don't feel the need to travel to Kentucky... just watch this little home movie of some boy and girl and their day at The Creation Museum:



I mean don't get me wrong. There SEEMS to be good behind all of this idiocy. A man says "if it's all random occurrence and coincidence and lawlessness, then we all mean nothing." So The Creation Museum is about giving people purpose in life. A meaning for being there. A reason to stick around.

Which is totally cool until they start trying to stop rape victims from getting abortions, or me and my fellow gays from getting married. That's not as cool. That's when I'll openly call these people morons who shouldn't be allowed to operate any machinery more complex than an electric toothbrush (and even that could be hazardous to those in the vicinity.)

In the end, though, I can tell you that The Creation Museum is more about profit than anything. Sure they have a .org url, which means they're a nonprofit. But I'm sure they are funneling funds into Prop 8 and other such evil things. I mean, where else are the profits from "Noah's Cafe" on the main level going?

It's brilliant marketing. With technology from a former Universal Studios robot creator. And nice fonts. And a lot of stupid shit to say with no one to refute it.

I'd say "Let's create an anti-creation museum." But then I realized that that is what every other museum in the world is. So I guess we win.

xoJR

That poor bear cub!

Best friend and Plus One Alum Becky, whom I went to Vegas with, and who got me featured in Ted Casablanca's Gossip Blog, The Awful Truth today for blabbing about Robert Pattinson, sent me this video about an hour ago.

I was browbeating her for not getting on Twitter. Her response was "there are far more important things to be worried/upset about... like this poor bear for instance."



I almost cried. Look at that poor bear cub! He doesn't know what the fuck is going on! He's scared shitless :0(

THE KOREANS ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE! I mean, it is ONE THING to shoot unknowing ski-trippers down a snowy mountain, naked on a rocket-powered sleigh.

It is also acceptable to make them jump through horribly uncomfortable holes at their own peril (can't find YouTube video... believe me, it's out there).

But to torture a poor baby bear? And laugh about it? NOT FUNNY! BAD KOREAN TV SHOW PRODUCERS! BAD!

I hope that bear grows up and eats the lot of you. And for his sake, I hope you're delicious.

Fuck You and the Horse You Rode in on!

Here in New York, we take issue with everything. At Starbucks, you won't be served if you're on your cell phone. If you spread your legs too wide on the subway while sitting down, you'll get punched in the face. If you wear fur, we throw paint at you. If you're caught painting, we throw fur at you.

Everyone is always screaming about someone and something or other. It's Save the Whales, Feed the Children, and Release the Hounds.

You can't walk half a block without someone trying to sell you chocolate to help support their basketball team, or to get your signature to remove someone you've never heard of out of a public office you didn't even know existed, or to get your money to help bring musical theater education to street urchins living in Appalachia.

Well, just recently, New York took on a new enemy: carriage horses. You've seen them before if you've been here. They line Central Park South and give overpriced rides to tourists or people who are the most unoriginal romantics in the world. In fact, just two days ago, Plus One Kristin and I were cabbing by, smelling the wafting odor of horse crap.

Why the smell? Because the horsemen catch the poop in these sacks that hang under the horse's patoot.

Sure I don't like the horse carriages. They smell. They cause traffic. Their only contribution to society was that hilarious Beefareeno episode of Seinfeld. And then every once in a while you hear about some horse goin' nuts and running into a garbage truck.

But I still have an issue with the "group" who is posting posters all around the city. NY-CLASS, it seems, is here to make our city safer, cleaner, and better. Problem is... they are acting like they care about anything more than horses.

Read the letter from their site:

Dear fellow New Yorker-

At NY-CLASS, our goal is to find common-sense solutions to public safety and quality of life issues such as sanitation, traffic congestion and road safety. We also work to preserve the unique culture of New York, enhance the City’s economic base and protect the workers who keep our City running.

Please browse our site to learn about NY-CLASS and join us in making New York an even better place to live, work and raise a family.

What they don't tell you is they only really give a shit about the horses. Why not just say "Hello Fellow New Yorker - we're against the horses."? It reeks of shadiness. Even their name stands for "New Yorkers for Clean, Livable & Safe Streets". Again, why not just call it "NYATFFH" (New Yorkers Against Those Fucking Filthy Horses)... hell, even the sound of NYATFFH! evokes that smell coming up around Central Park.

Even worse, NY-CLASS is really harping on a "number of solutions." Those solutions are all one single solution... a sustainable, rechargeable classic car model. What? I mean, I see how they're better for the planet... but you have to be shitting me if you think that'll replace the horses. Frankly, when I read their posters, I thought they had come up with some cool kind of robot horse.

Alas, no robot horse. Maybe next year.

Weird Al Honors Out of Work Actors

You all may not know this, but once upon a time I was a theater major.

(pause for laughter to die down).

I know! Who was I kidding? I couldn't lie to a child, I couldn't whistle on-key, and I had all of the rhythm and grace of a Saint Bernard tied to a wobbly walker.

Yes, me, the guy with the super famous brother (better known as Jared Zirilli - hi Jared! I know you got a Google alert about this post!)

But, luckily for me, one day I realized that - hey! - I really should get the fuck out of this acting thing. And fast. It wasn't until my Junior year at Muhlenberg College, but I got out just in the nick of time. A few summer courses and an ultra-aggressive senior year later, I graduated with a double major in English and Communication (instead of English and Theater.)

And boy am I glad I did that. As I watch all of these actors struggling with the recession - and I mean TALENTED ones! I am glad to know that I sold out at just the right time.

And that's not to say anything for all of those bad actor/singer/dancers. The ones who bring new meaning to "Triple Threat." Those guys who are selling programs or serving at TGI Fridays who think that they "just haven't gotten their break yet," as they sign on the dotted line to perform yet another non-equity tour of Blues Clues through the Ozarks.

Well, for them, my hero Weird Al Yankovic has created a new ditty. It's called Skipper Dan and it's a catchy tune the likes of which I have NOT heard since "Frank's 2,000 Inch TV" (you may have never heard of that song - but it's one of my faves. Not particularly funny but MAN it's a good song.)

Either way - whether you're a working or non-working actor, a fan of Weird Al, both, or neither... I think you'll dig this song.

Check it out.

Waking Up in Vegas, the Video!

You may have noticed that last week, Justin Plus One went dark. Like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory shutting down to the public, it was viewed with skepticism and horror. Where had I gone? Where were the rants? The opinions? The near-naked go-go boys? The RANTS?

Well, I was on a 9-day vacation out on the West Coast! It began with a day and a half in Los Angeles, and was followed by a 4-day bacchanalian stint in Vegas.

Let me tell you something: that was my first time ever going to Vegas. And I can say, with 100 percent certainty, that I have NEVER been overwhelmed in my life... because I was overwhelmed in Vegas. My eyes popped out of my head every other minute.

A hotel with a ROLLER COASTER? Is the Eiffel Tower STICKING OUT OF THAT BUILDING? There are LIONS in this lobby? There's a SHARK REEF 100 feet from my hotel room? The elevator to this bar goes along the OUTSIDE of the building? HOW MANY Cirque Du Soleil shows are there? Is that Pirate ship EXPLODING? My GOD! Is that a VOLCANO? Wait, I can call a number and have a girl DELIVERED TO MY HOTEL ROOM? I can ride a GONDOLA through a SHOPPING MALL? That 3-scoop gelato costs EIGHTEEN DOLLARS?

Just recounting all of this is causing me to go blind.

Yes, Vegas was unbelievable. I left 4 days later, with little to no sleep in my system, saying I needed to spend two weeks in a quiet, dark room with a blanket over my head, lying flat on the floor, just to recover. Despite the never-sleep, I felt like I got nothing done. I saw no shows (minus Kathy Griffin, which was fun, despite her constant chatter about stupid reality TV shows that I will never watch - Real Housewives, mostly.)

Any way, words can only achieve so much... so please to enjoy the video I created. In it you will notice Plus One Alums Becky Bain and X. Alexander. They were there with me, and made the trip that much more memorable.

xoJR

PS: Be sure to crank up the volume and hit the "HD" button for the full experience, including the incomparable tones of Miss Katy Perry.

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.