Gay Sex In the City
December 3rd, 2005There was a blurb in New York magazine this week which shouted me and this here blog out. The journalist contacted me via email last week about it, which I totally didn’t read cuz it was lopped in the mix with all those Horse Fucking spams in my Junk folder. She was rushing a write-up and found stuff on my blog that she wanted to feature, I told her she could use whatever she wanted as long as she referenced like this: NYC blogger Spriteboy of spriteboyworld.com says…., hence jacking up my pop-cult cred and boosting this scrappy little webpage that occassionally gives me something to do. (I think my exact response was “Scratch my back and I’ll give you your scoop, Lois Lane.”) Yes, I straightup haggled her —- hell, I’m totally taking a tip from those hipsters who know and making this shit count. My rent’s not getting any lower. Anyway, by the time I got back to her it was way past her deadline, so I figured it wasn’t happening. No harm, whatever, I’ve never even read New York magazine. I watched Gilmore Girls and went to bed.
Suddenly Monday morning my cellphone was spazzing out with text and vmails. My inbox was jammed. Apparently, Lois Lane ran the write-up, which referenced me briefly in the blurb and apparently, according to Gawker, the article is especially noteworthy b/c New York mag scooped the New York Times on the same subject. And between the two tiny spotlights on my very little name tossed into the mix as a SOURCE on this very shady subject, everyone in the free world has been contacting me. Webzine editors, bored and horny 9 to 5ers, old roommates and college friends, bloggers who never link to me, people from forums that I used to post in 4 yrs ago, totally random strangers who just want to say “Hey, cool!”. Sounds kinda fun right? It comes with a twist: the article was about GAY SEX IN PUBLIC. Some offhanded little comment I made at the end of an entry from last year is what got the journalist’s attention (over ALL the other stuff I have to say) and BAM I’m suddenly this expert on gay cruising spots in Manhattan.
This is insane. Since that little mention on Monday? 153 random Tom, Dick, and Horny’s have emailed me, wanting to know where else they get some hot gay action around town — a few of them are even pissed that I helped “blow the whistle” on their secret deep dickin’ club. Did we learn nothing from the George Michael scandal? This is so not the fanbase I was hoping to welcome. But whatever. Welcome to my website, you bathroom-sex-having sluts. All the seediness aside, your emails have been very well-written and some of you are even a little funny. Own that shit, dudes, and God bless your nasty asses. I totally know all about the need for free stuff, I also know all about the need for some good good lovin now and then’, but I honestly know absolutely nothing about where to go find free fucking in the park after dark. (Shit, if I did I probably wouldn’t have time to blog). So um, stop asking, ok? Also, not that I don’t appreciate the sharing, but you don’t need to keep sending naked pictures of yourselves. I have a Sean Cody account for that mess.
If you really want a tip though, guys, I’d suggest getting an appointment @ the free clinic, cuz that bathroom sex ain’t no joke. Be smart. Maybe get some Jesus too. Or a Sean Cody account. Both commitments will change your life.
CLAP YOUR HANDS!
December 2nd, 2005 / 6 comments »I’m going to see PETER PAN on Broadway tonight and I’m so damn excited about it that I can hardly contain myself. I saw this shit when I was 7yrs old, the National Tour came to Houston and my 2nd grade class went — I wasn’t even supposed to go. My parents were struggling with money and I had to pick either the pumpkin patch field trip or the play. My foolass picked the pumpkin patch and ended up getting bitten by chiggers; I spent the whole day crying and scratching and wishing I’d picked the other thing instead. So I turned on the charm (even at a young age I knew how to whore my emotions out) and Mrs. Semanack reached won in her purse to pay my way my homeboy’s way and sometimes my cousins way. BAM, 5th row center.
7yrs old. Dazzled, amazed, and wide-eyed. I was just FIXATED by these kids flying around in front of me… and I remember that something seemed so terribly wrong with the whole production. Odd things kept happening. Like when the children would fly, the ropes they were on would just keep breaking … and the actors would fall, like thumping to the ground and have to be carried off by stagehands. There was this unlimited supply of understudies taking their places, and everyone just kept falling. Then the crocodile that chases Captain Hook fell off the stage and I think crushed a couple of kids in the front row — and then some of the understudies came and took their places in the audience! And maybe it was just me but Wendy seemed to get fatter and fatter until finally they stopped flying her and just moved her around the stage with a cart.
Remember how in the second act Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter is about to drink in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and goes, “Tinkerbell is going to die because not enough people believe in fairies. But if all of you clap your hands real hard to show that you do believe in fairies, maybe she won’t die.” So, we all started to clap. I clapped so long and so fucking hard that my little palms hurt and I think started to bleed. I clapped so hard. Then the actress playing Peter turned to the audience and she said, “That wasn’t enough. You did not clap hard enough. Tinkerbell is dead.” And then we all started to screaming. It was chaos. The actress stomped off stage and refused to continue. They finally had to lower the curtain. The ushers had to come help us out of the aisles and into the street. I don’t think that any of us were ever the same after that experience. It certainly turned me against theater. And even more damagingly, I think it’s warped my total sense of life. Nothing seems worth trying if Tinkerbell is just going to die.
OK ok, that didn’t really happen. It’s mostly a monologue from “`Dentity Crisis” by Christopher Durang, I used to perform it at auditions. But no, I actually am going to see it again tonight. The best part is that Cathy Rigby, the same woman who played Peter when I saw it damn near 20yrs ago, is still playing the part. That crazy bitch is like 80yrs old now, she probably thinks she really is the boy who didn’t grow up. I fucking love it.
I made them hold 4 tickets for me @ the box office b/c I’ve just been convinced that everyone of my friends would be just as anxious to as I am to see this and totally give up their Friday night. Yeah, not so much. Folks are straightup like, “Um, no but have fun.” All those people who flocked to see “Finding Neverland” are looking at me like I’m crazy. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! It’s Never-Neverland for fuck sake! Tiger Lily! Yes, I know she’s a sexist characterization of racist Native American stereotypes but come on, y’all! Captain Hook alone, in all his pedophiliac lust for Peter Pan, is totally worth our time. Lost boys! Children with perfect diction flying over our heads in nightgowns! It’s too much for me, man. Clap your hands for Tinkerbell. Throw your hands up, bitches. I damn sure will be tonight.