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OK, possums, I'll be in DC this weekend. (Thankfully, at least some of you will not.) Be good while I'm away. And if you see me at Halo or Cobalt/30° tomorrow night, say hi. But no drinks tossed in my face, please, unless they're carefully aimed at my open mouth. If you don't know or can't remember what I look like, you can watch the video here, seeing as how much I love posting pictures of myself. Gotta keep the readership levels up, yo. |
I eagerly wait to hear what kind of criminal charges Rep. Kennedy will be facing.
Surely crashing your car while intoxicated would be viewed more seriously than being stopped for going 10 MPH over the speed limit with a blood-alcohol content barely above the legal limit. Surely a congressman wouldn't be held to a lower standard than a schlub like me.
May 5, 2006, Boston Herald:
U.S. Rep. Patrick Kennedy insisted yesterday that he had consumed “no alcohol” before he slammed his Mustang convertible into a concrete barrier near his office, but a hostess at a popular Capitol Hill watering hole told the Herald she saw him drinking in the hours before the crash.
[snip]
Earlier in the evening, Kennedy issued a statement through his office blaming the accident and strange behavior surrounding it on prescription drugs.
Jan. 8, 2006, a drunken Jeff Conaway on "Celebrity Fit Club":
"Everybody, thank you for your concern. It was nothing to be concerned about. I took a couple of Benadryl and I got loopy. ... I am on prescription drugs, yes."
UPDATE: Not to be flip about this situation, because Kennedy now has stopped lying and is going into drug rehab. Hey, it worked for P.O.B.
Those of you with RSS readers, or with so much time on your hands that you're always hitting "refresh" on this site, might already have seen this headline. I accidentally managed to send a mangled, incomplete version of this post last night, which I'll blame on the Lunesta.
It's probably a bit ironic, then, because the story I had intended to tell was a cautionary tale about why another harmful chemical, vodka, should be outlawed.
Or, at least, the too-yummy vodka at my favorite new Manhattan gay bar, Vlada.
Hubbie and I met up there with a number of friends after dinner and proceeded to take a tour through their home-brewed infused vodkas. Among those I can recommend personally: cranberry, pineapple, peach, apple-cinnamon, and ginger. I am sure there were others too, but for some odd reason, they're not coming to me at the moment.
After a few more hours and another stop on the way home, something gooey and fattening was sounding very good to us. We're in a bit of a mac-n-cheese rut these days, so we decided to pull out all the stops: a box of Kraft Deluxe Macaroni and Cheese.
A little after 3 a.m., I brought some water to a boil, then threw the noodles into the pot. I carefully set the timer for 10 minutes.
We parked it in front of the TV. But unfortunately, we were on The Cloud. You see, The Cloud has this strange, deeply narcotic effect whenever you lie down on it. No matter how alert you might be, it has the power to drag your body effortlessly off to sleep.
Knowing this, Hubbie prodded me a couple of times and asked if I had set the timer. Of course I had. I'm not all irresponsible-like.
About an hour later, we awoke to the shrill squeal of the smoke detector. I leapt from the sofa to the kitchen in a single bound. The water had completely evaporated from the pot, leaving a half-scorched, congealed mass of macaroni behind, belching putrid smoke.
I hit the reset button on the smoke alarm and took the pot from the burner. Eh, it didn't look all that bad. Besides, when I eat lasagna, I love the crusty, overcooked corner pieces best. I drunkenly devoured my half; Hubbie politely declined.
Yesterday we were lolling in bed into the early afternoon when I heard what I could have sworn was the beeping of the timer on the stove. I went to the kitchen to investigate. Sure enough, the timer had gone off and now displayed "END" on its LCD screen.
I did some quick math in my head. The 10 minutes that I had so carefully entered into the timer the night before had actually been 10 hours. Maybe I thought I was cooking mac-n-cheese the Crockpot way?
Beware, Toby: This could be your life in 12 years!
Though I'm far too ill to participate this year, Easter is near, and that can mean only one thing:
The Ten Commandments Drinking Game!
Right now, you might be saying to yourself, "But Robbie, we have no idea how to play the Ten Commandments Drinking Game!"
No bother, it's very easy. Every time Anne Baxter says, "Moses! Moses!" in her liquid husk voice, take a drink. That's all there is to it. Whenever Neferteri repeats the name Moses twice, it's shot time.
This is guaranteed, on the floor, passed out drunk before anyone makes it out of Egypt. Better hurry, ABC's airing began a half hour ago. Enjoy the Easter brunch hangover.
A hearty hey-now to Fausto & Mark and their zany crew, Jessica and anyone without a website whom I met last night at the monthly Adam New York event.
But someone, please, remind me to go easier on the Grey Goose next time. After a while, it tends to lead me to assault a couple of guys: namely, Ben and Jerry. (Or perhaps weep softly while watching Elliott Yamin's home videos on DVR.)
For those in the New York area, come out to the Starlite Lounge tonight to meet the Feast of Fools in person! They're the gayest podcasters ever. And very sweet guys, to boot.
If you're a New York 'mo and you find yourself heartily applauding this guy (at least until his thesis goes all agnostic at the end), then read no further.
But if you're like me – a young-ish professional looking for more ways to meet quality guys in low-pressure settings, and without DJs whose main goal seems to be wreaking permanent damage on your central nervous system – then listen up:
In November, I attended the launch of the Adam New York social network, which was founded by a pleasant young Brit named David Marrinan-Hayes. There is an online component to Adam at the soon-to-be upgraded website, but there are also monthly real-world get-togethers for those of us who can sever our cyber-umbilicals for a few hours.
The group is open to anyone who lives in, works in or just wants to visit Manhattan to meet like-minded professionals. It is diverse, friendly and not particularly cruisy – an environment that, ironically, probably makes the cruising easier.
The first Adam gathering started with about 20 people, which has since grown exponentially, leading David to move it to a larger venue in the ultra-swanky Soho House. David was kind enough to allow The Malcontent to extend 100 invitations (and possibly more if demand is great) to the next get-together:
7 to 11 p.m.
Wednesday, April 12
"The Library" at Soho House
29-35 9th Avenue
New York, NY 10014 [mapquest]
If you would like to attend, you can either register directly online at www.thisisadam.com or email [email protected], and remember to drop our name. The first 50 attendees get a free glass of bubbly.
Be there, and maybe you'll launch your career as gay New York's next It Boy!
A new gay bar that's actually north of the Garment District? This Upper East Sider is so there!
Ah, Cologne. I am sad to leave you behind, yet also very happy to get back to my own (occupied) bed.
I am air-blogging again from the plane, somewhere over the North Atlantic. This has been a great trip, mainly because I have been able to take a little more time to be a tourist than usual, instead of working 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. every day. Still, it wasn't enough.
I had heard that the people of Cologne were friendly, but that was apparently an understatement.
Cologne is fast becoming one of the major gay hubs of Europe, and it is threatening to dethrone Berlin as the gay capital of Germany. There are two main gay neighborhoods, one of which, Rudolfplatz, my hotel is smack-dab in the middle of. Conveniently, it is the younger and more twinkish of the two areas. The other one (east of here, near the main bridge across the Rhine) is older, hairier and abounding with leather. (Sorry, bears, them's just my tastes.)
On Friday night I went to a bar called "Ex-Corner." (Thanks to the reader who suggested it.) People there were exceptionally friendly, initiating several conversations. I did my best to speak almost entirely in German to them, which most of the natives agreed wasn't bad for not having spoken it in about 15 years.
The bar was playing an interesting variety of music. There was popular American stuff like "Hung Up," the ubiquitous Abba, and some older but fun American songs. (Who knew so many Germans knew all the words to the theme song from "The Fall Guy"?!) There was also a lot of German pop music that I had never heard.
Everybody sang along to almost every song, even the ones in English, and then when they would play these cheesy German ballads, it almost became like the stereotypical German beerhall (but without the putsch). Everyone would grasp arms, raise their Kölsch's high in the air, and sway to the music. It was a very cool tourist moment for me, and it felt great to feel accepted and part of the crowd.
We've all heard so much about how Europeans supposedly don't like Americans very much these days. Maybe I was expecting them to quiz me about Iraq and whether I support the president, or whatever, but there was thankfully none of that. Anti-Americanism might hold sway in some places across the continent, but not last night in Ex-Corner. There were just friendly, fun people.
But how they drink all that beer and stay thin, I'll never know!
By the way, I really must find a way to take photos without making a spectacle of myself, because I need some visual proof that the men of Cologne, as a group, are among the hottest guys I have come across in any city anywhere. But take my word for it, and considering penciling in some travel plans of your own.
A few tourist snaps follow after the jump.
Wow, based on what I knew about Cologne, I expected to find a lively gay life here.
But who knew that I would wind up a short slog from Rudolfplatz, one of Cologne's hippest, youngest and cutest areas for the ho's and the 'mos.
I'm going to have to give whoever booked me this place a big hug!
I think I will try some reconnaissance in between my meetings for more active indulging later in the week.
(Still waiting for reader suggestions! Tap tap tap ...)
P.J. O'Rourke says Ana Marie Cox should keep her day job.
Whoops, too late!
I have problems with this statistic:
Just over 7 percent of American workers drink during with workday - mostly at lunch - and even more, 9 percent, have nursed a hangover in the workplace, according to a study.
Does this seem absurdly low to anyone else? During the odd moments I have lunch with my boss, she not only recommends drinking, she insists on it. Three martini lunches? Tch. Light-weights. Bring on the pitcher. And hangovers? Please. If I've been drinking the night before, by the time 8 AM rolls around, I'm not hungover - I'm still drunk.
Young, single men are tied most often to workplace-related drinking, especially managers, salespeople, restaurant workers and those in the media, according to the findings by the University at Buffalo's Research Institute on Addictions.
I always thought the problem with the media is their core liberal philosophy. Turns out, no, just tanked.
What would you do if you were as young gay man who didn't want his straight friends to find out about his sexuality?
If you were 23-year-old Chris of Pontiac, Mich., naturally you'd go on national television and out yourself.
The young bartender was featured on an episode of MTV's "True Life," focusing on people who are leading "double lives." He hasn't told any of his straight friends for fear that they would be "grossed out." But as is usually the case, some of them know anyway.
In this clip, you'll see Chris frequenting both gay bars and straight bars. The main difference between the two: "If I were going to the gay bar, I'd probably shave."
[Watch video – 5:36, WMV format, high bandwidth]
[Watch video – 5:36, WMV format, low bandwidth]
My transition from DC to New York City since May has been difficult in many respects. It's not easy to carve out a niche in one place for 10 years and then try to remake yourself somewhere else entirely, especially in the fishbowl shark tank of Manhattan.
But if I had to pick the one thing I miss the least about DC? Easy: the smoke in bars and clubs.
Yes, it's true. I am probably one of the most zealous of the anti-smoking zealots you will meet – at least, one of the most anti-smoking zealots with a political background like mine.
What famous TV designer (who briefly tried to deny his identity) was spotted going downstairs – where the "sex rooms" are – in The Malcontent's favorite seedy UES bar, the Tool Box ... and who, according to those who were down there with him, shares something unfortunate in common with Enrique Iglesias?
Bonus blind item: And what male comedic actor, who has strenuously denied being gay or bisexual (despite certain evidence suggesting otherwise), has also reportedly been a patron there?
Rapper "accidentally" kills self after putting pen gun to head and pulling trigger. Friends don't let friends commit mock-suicide drunk.
It was a pleasure to see BoiFromTroy last night for only the second time ever, and to finally meet in person Gay Patriot, Cake or Death, and Party Crasher.
And the woman "female impersonator" at Therapy was, well, just a train wreck.
I remember little else.
Friday night my husband and I decided to expand our horizons. Instead of going to a New York gay bar, we went to a different New York gay bar.
Wannabeleader gives us all a reason to matriculate – many, many times. (Ba-DUM-bum!)
I'm trying to decide whether to post a "NSFW" with that, so I guess the question might answer itself.
