"Lemon Sky" presented by the Keen Company at the Theatre Row, September 24, 2011
(photo by Richard Termine)
My
experience with the Keen Company has usually been very good - solid
productions and strong scripts. This production is a tribute to the
late Lanford Wilson in this autobiographical play. This is the first
time they have missed the mark for me.
17 year old Alan
(Keith Nobbs) has traveled west to live with Douglas (Kevin Kilner) his
estranged father who has remarried and has two sons by his second wife
Ronnie (Kellie Overbey). Douglas is eager to make up for lost time, and
Alan is at first receptive, but as time passes, Doug's old habits
resurface. Complicating the matter are the two foster daughters, Penny
(Amie Tedesco) and Carol (Alyssa May Gold), who bring in needed cash to
the household budget with their monthly state allocation.
The Submission, presented by MCC Theatre at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, September 11, 2011
Writing a play is a daunting task. Getting a new play produced takes "daunting" to exponential levels.
Danny
(Jonathan Groff) has been writing for a couple of years, trying to get
established on the new play festival circuit. In a unexplained fit of
inspiration, he writes a fresh, powerful and highly provocative tale of a
young African-American trying to escape from the life his family has
led for generations. He shows it first to his best friend Trevor (Will
Rogers), an aspiring actor, who gives him the first inclination that
he's written something very special. Danny finally shows it to his
boyfriend Pete (Eddie Kaye-Thomas), who echoes the praise.
Danny,
however, has already made submissions to several new play festivals and
has just been accepted by the renowned Humana Festival. All sounds
good, looks positive - except for one thing: Danny has submitted under a
name that suggests a woman of recent African-American extract. He
justifies the action on the rationale that no festival committee would
take him seriously as the author of such a play. With the pseudonym,
the subject matter doesn't conflict with its source, and it seems to
have worked.
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The Roman Catholic bishops of the United States have
uniformly emphasized the notion that a marriage must always and only involve
one man and one woman. They claim that same-sex marriage is an attack on
traditional marriage, and on the traditional family God intended. On the local
level and with each bishop in his own diocese, they reliably express horror
whenever same-sex marriage is proposed in their backyards, delivering words
that echo the sentiments of their boss, Pope Benedict XVI.
Their opposition to same-sex marriage took a significant and
startling turn on September 20th with the issuance of a letter from
New York Archbishop Timothy Dolan, President of the United States Conference of
Catholic Bishops (USCCB) to President Obama in which Dolan urges the President
to end his Administration’s “campaign against DOMA, the institution of marriage
it protects, and religious freedom.”
In the course of the letter, Dolan emphasizes that he is not
alone in his disappointment with the President. He writes, “The content of this
letter reflects the strong sentiment expressed at a recent meeting by more than
thirty of my brother Bishops who serve on the Administrative Committee of our
episcopal conference. I know they are joined by hundreds of additional Catholic
bishops throughout our nation.” His implication is that if the President does
not reverse his stance regarding DOMA, he can expect the bishops to campaign
against him when he is up for re-election. There are 430 bishops who lead 195
dioceses, or districts, in the US.
GLAAD's Aaron McQuade Interviews Scott Pasfield Creator of GAY IN AMERICA
AM Where did the
idea for this book come from?
SP: People always
tell you to shoot what you love. You have to start with yourself. The epiphany
came one night at home. I was surfing the web and realized what a powerful tool
it had become for connecting gay men across the country, from all over, and it
just dawned on me. I decided that I would meet men from every state, and photograph
them in the hopes that I could do a book that would change opinions and
educate. And that started with shooting who I was and what my passions were.
AM Why gay men?
SP: That goes
back to shooting what I am, and what I know. I originally thought that I would
like to try and shoot men and women from every state, but I really think that a
woman, or a lesbian, has to go out and do that project, to make it as strong,
to be one of them, as this project is for me and gay men. I tried at first, but
it became obvious terribly fast that I would've had to masquerade as a lesbian
to do the same project.
Storm damage to his Spuyten Duyvil residence has him camping out at a friend's place from the balcony of which he can see his building. His situation is brought to us in today's New York Times. Hang on, Perry.
"Follies" at the Marquis Theatre, September 8, 2011
Stephen Sondheim's 1972 musical returns to Broadway via the Kennedy Center transfer from a successful run this summer.
It's
got star power with Bernadette Peters and Jan Maxwell as Sally and
Phyllis, respectively. There's some depth in the cast as well, with
Danny Burstein, Jayne Houdyshell and featuring Elaine Paige as Carlotta.
Director
Eric Shaeffer creates an aptly dark mood with a ghostly chorus line of
deco-clad follies girls haunting the stage, already in motion as the
house opens pre-show. His sound designer carried it a bit too far,
employing effects from Disney's Haunted Mansion before the show begins.
Derek McLane's sets also straddle the line of success. The crumbling
proscenium and brick-walled set, with iron catwalks and stairs evoke
nicely, but draping the entire theatre in dirty oil cloth pushes too
far.
Not my first trip to the rodeo but one of the most fun, last night's screening and meet-the-cast session at SVA on 23rd Street was a rowdy mix of adoring twinks who screamed at the screen as each character was introduced in the first episode.
When asked how they differed from the cast of A-List New York, the cutesy gay Republican/Christian guy said "We're younger, hotter and have less wrinkles". Them's fightin' words, cowgirl.
The archbishop of New York wonders, in his blog, if the Catholic Church should bring back the no-meat-on-Friday rule in order to stop the exodus of Catholics from his church.
Michael Musto had a Supremes cover band in which he sang Diana? Why does this not surprise me much? The morals of this article? NYC luminaries are not built overnight, and, any gossip columnist who can claim friendships that have lasted decades is probably a fine man.
Read the article in New York Social Diary. Incidentally you should always be reading NYSD immediately after you read QNY. We are like wine and cheese....
(In the photo: Chip Duckett, Joey Stefano, Robin Byrd and Michael Musto)
Thirty-four years ago, Brooklyn's Tom Otterness—you'd recognize his whimsical bronze sculptures that dot the New York City subways and streets—acquired a dog, tied it to a fence and shot it for a film he made. He recently received a $750,000 contract to make sculpture for the San Francisco subway system. Some residents of a city dedicated to animal friend St. Francis are outraged and the city leaders are re-examining the contract.
Otterness had repeatedly apologized for shooting the dog. He has said that his actions were indefensible.
Some questions: Is your reaction to public art colored by what you know about the artist? Should public art be chosen only after the artist has been vetted and proven to have a "clean" record? If so, who would decide which artists are personally worthy of a public contract? Is an often repeated apology enough to permit the setting aside of a person's decades-old repugnant action? What if the issue was the artist's sexual orientation or his race or religion?
We don't allow convicted pedophiles to become public school teachers not because of our distaste for their crime but because we don't want it repeated. Convictions mean the forfeiture of rights. In the case of Otterness and the outraged citizens of San Francisco, his new sculptures would not endanger animals. Should his previous actions be paid for by his forfeiture of the opportunity to bid on public art projects?
A beguiling group in the basement of the Chelsea Hotel on Thursday night:
From left, homoerotic artist Michael Mitchell, artist Ivan C. Morales, make-up artist Kurtis Dam-Mikkelsen, actor Miestorm Serpent, designer Tommy Beall and the host of Elray del Mundo (and QNY's Darling!) David Frank Ray. If I had the lead in a recast Gilligan's Island, this crew would do me just swell.
My crowd was always conflicted as to which of the duo was the hotter. I vacillated. To me, they were visually a sexed-up Simon and Garfunkel, and I always wanted to imagine them as lovers even though they are widely reported to be straight.
The new song is very chipper with some hints of what I loved about their music. It makes me, with some hesitation, want to hear more of his album before proclaiming it satisfying or disappointing.
I was a lucky SOB and scored a preview performance ticket to the current revival of Follies that is playing at the Marriot Marquis Theater on Broadway.
For those of you who don't know, Follies is one of those shows within the musical theater world that is so fraught with expectation, dogma and preconceived notions that mounting a production is not something for the faint of heart. I did not see the original and legendary production from the 70's, which many hold up as the holy grail of versions, but I saw the much reviled Roundabout revival and enjoyed it. Obviously I'm not a purist so bear that in mind.
The body of Mychal Judge was tagged with the designation “Victim 0001”, as the first official casualty of 9/11. In the famous Shannon Stapleton/Reuters photo, he is being carried out of the lobby of the North Tower where he had been killed by debris from the collapsing South Tower. He was a Catholic priest of the Franciscan Order of Friars Minor assigned to the monastery at the Church of Saint Francis of Assisi in Manhattan on West 31st Street. He was also a chaplain with the NYFD and one of the first responders to the attack on the twin towers. He was a recovered alcoholic and he was gay.
Now called the “Saint of 9/11”, Father Judge had earned a reputation for kindness and compassion that infused his ministry to the poor, addicts and persons living with AIDS.
I had a blast. A dozen gay men, including a priest, rabbi, minister, banker and TWO dentists! Ages 30s-60s. I behaved like a Gabor sister throughout the 8 days, but I nightly stood naked in the cold Colorado River washing out my clothing before putting on a sarong for happy hour at the campsite. SFGN.com will publish my diary account in installments.
I contributed this to 10thousandcouples.com where I am heading the newsroom. In the article, you'll find some small dispute about the merits of marriageequality.org's graphic, but I think it's useful.
He caught my eye in 1985 when he starred in the movie The Last Dragon (which is now a cult classic) never to be seen again, although a re-make is in the works.
A 14 year-old Passaic New Jersey Latina single mother of a baby boy she named Carlos Sindrid Morera left her son to be raised by her mother while she went away to find her destiny. The boy’s father would surface occasionally and that always meant trouble. Whenever his mother returned to visit her child, the boy felt only anger at her absence. In school, he was an outsider who was beat up daily, and even his art teacher told him he just wasn’t any good. If this sounds like a Dickensian recipe for a disastrous life, you will be surprised when you jump ahead 20 years to the day the handsome young poet, Sin Morera, escorts his mother to an elegant Manhattan venue for a party thrown by Patrick Conseil, the VP of Creative at Warner Music, to celebrate Sin’s signing with Warner.
I bought Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams at Home—the cookbook from Ohio-based ice cream maven Jeni Britton Bauer—back in June, and I've been using it as inspiration all summer. I haven't yet tried any of her more unusual flavors, like Sweet Basil & Honeyed Pine Nut or Cucumber, Honeydew, & Cayenne, but I've followed her very simple yet fullproof recipe to make fruit syrups that I've then swirled into ice creams and used as the base for homemade sodas.
I first made Jeni's Blackberry Syrup by boiling two parts berries to one part sugar and forcing the resulting mixture through a strainer after it had cooled a bit. After it was chilled, I layered it into my homemade vanilla ice cream to create Vanilla Ice Cream With Blackberry Swirl. On a whim, I poured the little syrup I had left into a glass and added club soda. It was awesome, so I bought a whole lot of blackberries at the Greenmarket the next weekend and made a big batch of syrup for soda.
I then went on to make peach and raspberry syrups and to try creating peppermint and lemon verbena syrups. The peach was my favorite. It was delicious in soda ...
Last night I attended a screening of We Were Here, the new AIDS documentary by David Weissman. David is friend to many illustrious radical faeries I know, including Justin Vivian Bond, Covelo, Fannie Mae B. Free, Fussy Lo Mein, and Daisy Shaver, who were all in attendance. I also spotted NY Sen. Tom Duane, Mario Cantone, and tons of other celebrity-looking people whose names I should probably know. After co-directing the 2001 documentary The Cockettes with Bill Weber, it's not surprising that such a crowd would appear to view Mr. Weissman's new film, but this one especially because it's one of the first and deepest looks back at the AIDS crisis in San Francisco. I've never been so moved in a room filled with so many stars.
We Were Here takes a simple, spare approach. Mr. Weissman interviews five individuals who lived in San Francisco before AIDS struck and elicits their plague stories. A florist, a nurse, an activist, an artist, and a caregiver tell about those years and how their lives were changed. The interviews are set against a variety of still and moving archival images from the time.
The film is well served by by this minimalist approach. The audience develops an immediate affinity with each, and I'd venture a guess that most queer people will find a particular interviewee with whom they resonate. I was particularly drawn to Daniel, an artist who survived the very first drug trial, which study quickly killed every other participant (including his boyfriend), because he was a "wuss" who refused to tolerate the lethal side effects. Daniel's story of survival while caring for dying friends and lovers and founding a seminal, grassroots AIDS care organization is nothing short of stunning. I also found myself drawn to Eileen, a nurse at the first AIDS ward in San Francisco, and one of the first AIDS researchers, whose pragmatic approach to comfort and work to save lives is heroic.
But this isn't a movie about favorites. The director does an amazing job of integrating these stories and using them together to tell the broader story of the AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s. Of course I shed tears throughout much of the film. But I also shook with anger as I watched queers fight proposed laws that would have quarantined all AIDS patiets in California--not once but twice! I booed and shouted with ACT UP! members as they demanded adequate government response. The whole story is here, beautifully and terrifyingly brought to life with video footage and art from those times. And finally, the film brings these epic cultural events back to these five people who lived through them, and grounds us in the simple human feelings and failings that overwhelmed them. In so doing, the film becomes about more than AIDS; it is a hopeful prayer for all humanity, for all who suffer unimaginably and survive.
Please see this film. It premiers at the Angelika Film Center on September 9th. It is essential for every queer person and every loved one of every queer person. I cannot overstate the importance of keeping this recent history at the forefront of our social consciousness. I graduated high school in Kansas in 1994, and though I have heard hundreds of accounts from dear friends and partners who witnessed these times, never had I seen the whole arc so succinctly and intensely retold. Had I known, had I experienced this story in the visceral, total way that it is presented here, I might not now be living with HIV.
It means so much more than the success of a documentary. It could mean the health and happiness of a young queer person.
Waiting for the overhyped and underwhelming Irene to arrive, I was up very early on Saturday morning and took a long slow stroll in Central Park.
There was a grey sky, a gentle mist and a rich green glow all about, as grasses caressed shrubs that tickled trees, all pasted together by the thin swirls of a late August algae bloom on The Lake.
Back in the mid 70s when I first moved to New York I lived on east 54 street between 2nd and 3rd avenues.
One warm Spring day I was walking home and noticed a woman down the street coming towards me. She was wearing a teal and black print dress with short sleeves and a scooped neckline, but what really caught my attention was her lipstick color. It was a fairly bright pink with a violet undertone. I kept my eyes on this lip color until she was close enough to walk past me, at that moment I realized it was Greta Garbo!
I later learned she lived in the neighborhood on east 52 street.
New York made out pretty well during Tropical Storm Irene, and this Queer New Yorker moved to a new place within the West Village with my Tony—Tony P.—just before the storm hit.
There were no deaths reported from Irene in the city, and the damage was less than anticipated. Our super said there was flooding farther downtown, but my part of the West Village seemed OK except for a few downed trees next to Bleecker Playground, one of which blocked off Bleecker Street between Bank and 11th streets, and some broken-off tree limbs in a triangular mini park near Abingdon Square.
On Friday, Tony and I moved in together in a new apartment just north of the square, on Jane Street. It was fairly easy, as far as moves go. Tony is a minimalist who doesn't have too much in the way of possessions, and I had a good deal of stuff stuffed into my one-bedroom. We spent our forced indoor time during the storm getting some of our crap put away, but we've still got quite a bit to unpack.
When I took my corgi, Emme, out to do her business this afternoon, I saw—I'm almost certain—Janeane Garofalo walking her dog. And yesterday morning, when Tony was buying some last-minute provisions at the Westside Market, he saw RuPaul wearing biker shorts and a pink tank top and carrying a parasol. I would have been starstruck beyond belief. I would hope I would have managed to tell him how much fun I have watching his TV shows, but I might have been too shy to say anything.
I hope that wherever you're reading this post, you're secure, dry, and unscathed from Irene.
So here I am sitting in front of my laptop, looking out at my cute lil' street that is now dark and peppered with the warm glow of lights from inside every family home, a tiny sliver of the New York skyline visible for my entertainment as the Woolworth tower.
It's still windy and there is the possibility of a little more rain tonight, but nothing like last night when it came in bands and just as quickly, were gone, only to come back slamming at my walls and windows and shake the house. A house that has seen quite a bit of storms and may still stand to see even more.
You see, the media blew (pun intended) this out of the water and it's the reason I've stopped following much of it when an impending event is about to take place. Anyone who's seen The History Channel or NatGeo has at one point seen their descriptive love letters to destruction porn -- it's not if, it's when, is their catchphrase. Needless to say hurricanes have been covered, the what-ifs of a Cat 5 hurricane into New York City, the images of iconic buildings, streets, parks, subways and overall infrastructure yielding to a water invasion, leaving the city in tatters.
My husband, the Baad Lamb, deserves a big gold star for adventurous and fearless cooking. He is not experienced with rice or chicken, but he turned out an absolutely spectacular Thai basil chicken on a whim. I was busy packing and studying my new waterproof camera in advance of my travel writer gig shooting the rapids in the Grand Canyon while he did a minimum of research on the net and then dashed out to Whole Foods at Columbus Circle and returned to assemble the most delicious lunch imaginable. Fluffy rice, tender chicken, and even though he was vexed because he didn't have "holy basil", the results were sublime. I'd like to think that I had something to do with introducing him, years ago to the art of food exploration, and now I reap the rewards!
This Sunday is Ice Cream Sunday at the New Amsterdam Market at the old Fulton Fish Market. For 25 smackers, you'll get to try eight flavors produced by ice cream makers from New York and the surrounding region, including Ben Van Leeuwen of Van Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream, Fany Gerson of La Newyorkina and Gabrielle Carbone of Princeton, New Jersey's The Bent Spoon. For 10 bucks more, you'll get 10 mini cones instead of eight, and you'll be able to start eating at noon instead of 1. Proceeds benefit the market itself, which gives an amazing variety of local vendors a chance to sell their wares. You must buy tickets in advance.
I'm going with my sister, Tracey, and my nephews, Mike and Matt. I'm hoping, though I'm not going to bet, that they'll tell me no one else's ice cream can beat Uncle Bill's. :-)
Cone illustration via the New Amsterdam Market website
Once it was clear the lightening had moved on last Sunday, I went for a rainy stroll through my neighborhood. As with walks in snowstorms, it's very easy to see who is out in it because of unavoidable errands, a refusal to give up one's exercise regimen, and who, like me, is out for the sheer joy of it. I like being reminded, ever so gently, that weather still has the last word. There's that wonderful point where you realize you simply can't get any wetter. I shouldn't have worn my sneakers though; it was three days before they dried out. It took that long for my camera to speak to me again as well. Might want to give old manual a look-see for future adventures.
After 21 years of dating the couple were wed on Aug 16 in a ceremony on Dune Beach in Southampton.
"To marry someone as wonderful and special to me as Lance barefoot on a glorious beach is more than I could have dreamed of," designer Kors said, according to WWD.
"No doubt you have heard of Casanova, the famous womanizer, and maybe you have seen the movie, or read the account of his life. But did you know he may have had a gay brother? Benedetto, a few years Giacomo’s junior, was pressed into service of the Church to follow the famous lover of women through the courts of Europe. On the way he had amorous adventures with countless men, but, unlike his brother, fell in love and kept alive a romantic relationship with a strapping German soldier over time and distance.
His 'memoirs' were discovered only in 1881, when an English traveler rummaging through a private library in Rome found them glued to the pages of a book. They were written in Italian and have never before been published in English. Marten Weber delivers a wonderful 'translation' of this challenging text, full of linguistic cunning and his usual talent for breathtaking eroticism."
Check it out here. Cover photo by Adam Bouska. Sales of this book will directly benefit the NOH8 campaign.
"Sesame Street" said that the famous roommates are just "best friends" and "they remain puppets and do not have a sexual orientation."
"Bert and Ernie are best friends," the PBS show said in a statement posted today on its Facebook page. "They were created to teach preschoolers that people can be good friends with those who are very different from themselves.
"Even though they are identified as male characters and possess many human traits and characteristics (as most Sesame Street Muppets do), they remain puppets, and do not have a sexual orientation."
The statement came in response to an Internet petition started earlier this week urging that the two Muppets get married.
As of today, nearly 5,000 people have signed the petition in favor of an on-screen marriage between the two puppets.
One wonders why in the history of mankind, many genius's lives are cut short. You can name many artists who were at the top in their fields when they left this plane of existence early. Perhaps it is predestination that they were taken early as to rouse the rest of us to their life's work toward a message for mankind or it could be fatalism that they took on the dark side of mankind and found it so unbearable to manage that they burned out quickly and left us to marvel in their wake. This past Sunday I was privileged to get a glimpse inside Alexander McQueen's head and be bowled over by his wake.
Alexander Mcqueen, 17 March 1969 - 11 February 2010, was a genius, futuristic prophet, and fashion guru. A hint of this can be seen during an interview in 2010 in which he was talking about creating a fabric that could produce a new, 21st-century silhouette, he said; "what's in my head isn't feasible at this time. I'm trying to weave a fabric that goes from a structure into a chiffon, but the loom doesn't exist."
The Alexander McQueen "Savage Beauty" exhibition is a view of a man's work pulled from many cultures across time and space to create an epic story. The show has many symbols which one could find in human mythology, like the antlers on top of one model's head reminded me of the Celtic Horned God of the Forest, "Cernunnos," or a similar being in Native American culture. His use of feathers throughout his work reminded me of other artists that have similar signatures like painter Salvador Dali's "Crutches" or director/film-maker Guillermo Del Toro's "Eyes." Alexander's last collection "Plato's Atlantis" has some of the most inspiring and amazing clothes. I couldn't help wonder if somehow he had reached back across time and pulled the ideas out of the collective consciousness of what those in Atlantis wore before the cities destruction.
