St. John of Hell's Kitchen

Monday night at LaBamba, I bumped into someone who had once served as my altar boy. John (on the left) is honeymooning in Fort Lauderdale with his cute partner, Mauricio.

John is exactly the type of man I recently wrote about on Bilerico in Why weeding out the gay is a good thing for the Roman Catholic Church. A tireless gay advocate and community activist, he would have become a great priest had he not left the seminary. This is why the Roman Catholic Church is doomed to come very close to extinction before it may be revived.

20th Annual GLAAD Media Awards

First look at a night of glitz and glam. Much more to come.

Here's the Bilerico video by Jay Lassiter and pics by my husband.

The shirt is an original Adanesinevas by a designer I met in Buenos Aires, Manola Argento.

The Hacking of Bilerico reported in The Advocate

Bilerico Project Attacked in "Internet Hate Crime"

(This may make it even more difficult for me to eroticize East German skinheads.)

The Orphans of Madoff

A few days ago, we dropped into Palm Beach for lunch. Bernie Madoff could not have emptied that town more efficiently if he had actually gunned down its denizens. It is a sunny and meticulously clean ghost town. A posh mausoleum where the waiters really wait. For customers who do not arrive. And stuff is not selling.



Anyway, we walked down an almost deserted Worth Avenue, enjoying the Addison Miznerized nooks and mews that draw you into shady alleys that open onto precious little courtyards stuffed with statuary and gardens and pretty tiles. The nervous silence of the place was astounding. All the Bentley-ensconced, augmented, blonde-streaked, nipped and tucked countesses of the county were in hiding. Perhaps a Lenten shrivening, or are they all really broke and busted?

Here are ten conspicuously unobstructed Palm Beach Worth Avenue vistas from the day.

Today on Bilerico: The Gay Death Wish.

You will have to go to Bilerico today after 10:30AM EST to see my response to Steve regarding the recent murders:

Dear Father Tony:

I love your writing. and I remember your postings about Vishara. I hope you would consider doing an entry about cruising safely. I spend alot of my time in Cape May county. We are on the tip of the Cape, and we have no sex club or bookstore available for at least 30 miles. The internet (Craigs list, and Manhunt are the main cruising venues available here. We do have a couple of mixed bars, but if you don't drink the internet is the only game in town. Atlantic City is over 36 miles away, and they only have one bar. 

You have pointed out the dangers of cruising online, you've posted about your experiences in sex clubs, and bookstores. I find it kind of odd, because you have taken a rather absolute "do not cruise online" stance on the subject, where you are more generally tolerant, or take a live and let live attitude on sexual matters. I would love to read more of your thoughts on the subject, and your thoughts on safe cruising.
Steve

The alleged killer of George Weber

Also, read Nowholdon's comment on the previous post for directions to more pictures and videos while they are still available, and if you have the stomach for it.

Young gay men who are beginning to socialize in bars and on hook-up sites ought to view these things and carefully read about the victim and the alleged killer. I see no reason to sugar-coat these things.

I wonder which of the many knives in his collection he used on George Weber.
I wonder if his father, pictured with him in some of the photos, will maintain that collection while his son is in jail.

Hey, Bargain-hunters and Killers

For sale on Craigslist. One life. Briefly used by George Weber.

Repairing something dangerous

Don't miss the comments on this post. Anyone got ideas? It's not like we haven't all been there.

Update: Be sure to read Nowholdon's insider police info in those same comments. There was a 911 call to which the police responded earlier that night. I'm guessing they have enough info to find the killer.

Bilerico is giving away $400 worth of celebrity dazzle

Hey folks, 'specially you greater New Yorkers, go to this post on Bilerico if you'd be interested in winning tickets to the 20th Annual GLAAD Media Awards in New York City this Saturday. And who wouldn't? Wait till you read the list of celebrities who will be there.

I myself am ethically barred from tossing my name into the contest hat, but last I heard, Bilerico was thinking about getting me a media pass, so I might see you there. Imagine you and me and Clay Aiken under the table. (I don't think he'll have the baby with him.) I'm steamin' the wrinkles out of my Monica-blue dress just thinkin' about it!

Yellow police tape around a dead man's blog

In a case similar to the murder of Larry Ellison, a Brooklyn radio host/newsman has been found dead after missing work.

I did not know George Weber and I am unaware of mutual friends, but the circumstances of his death immediately made me suspect that he was the victim of a bad hook-up. I felt this even before reading the New York Daily News account that included this:

He was found in his bed with several stab wounds in his neck and upper torso, cops said.
Police were investigating the possibility he was killed by a male date.

George Weber had a blog. I explored it, looking for the traits of a gay man. I haven’t yet found any, but reading the blog of a murdered man is unsettling. Like entering the victim’s apartment alone and examining his possessions. The recent entries abrupt and so clearly not what one would hope for as a final life-statement. Like finding a dry kettle on a lit stove, its whistling done for lack of water. Because he is gone, there is an eerie vacancy in the words.

I certainly hope the police have read his blog entry of March 5th in which he speaks of a murder with some similarity to his own. Maybe he had been investigating this murder and had gotten a little too close to its solution.

In any case, we are all again reminded that inviting strangers into the loneliness of one's house is not a jovial manhunt. It is a death wish.

High Mass at high noon, earlier today

Can't tell you how we were ushered in without tickets, and with camera, but here are my ten discrete stills and some vid overlapped by what he was playing at noon. It's still a great party in a great space. Arrive late, and, spared the sight of those crazed by ingestion or ejaculation, you'll be among the hordes of beautiful soldiers who live to dance. We didn't see anyone we knew, but I did see the quintessential lobby decorations: large papier mache phalluses sprouting from greenery. I always enjoy the bananas and Italian cookies after worship and before returning to sunlight. If you've never been, you should go. If you've retired, do it again while you've still got two good knees.

B16. Not the vitamin. The bromide.

It’s hard to justify slapping an old man in a dress, but B16 has earned it. He can’t seem to get a non-offensive word out of his mouth.

He pardoned a weird English bishop hiding out in Argentina without doing the simple homework that would have shown the guy to be a Holocaust-denier. After getting some irate phone calls from significant world-leaders, he un-un-excommunicated the weird bishop, announcing that the guy would need to distance himself from that kind of thinking before the Vatican would exonerate him.

Why did B16 spend time trying to legitimize that bishop? He did so, as part of his continuous effort to strengthen the extremely conservative end of the Roman Catholic Church. (The weird bishop had been ordained by a renegade archbishop who was bitterly opposed to some of the modernizing changes made to Catholicism in the second half of the 20th century.)

In an unprecedented harrumph, B16 wrote a letter to all the Catholic bishops on the planet with what seemed to be an apology for having made a mistake, but what turned out to be a gripe. He was pissed that the faithful did not rally immediately to support him but rather were among the first and most ferocious to attack him. In the same letter, he goes on to say that he will be paying more attention to what is being said about him on the internet! This is a spectacular disclosure because it shows us his true colors. He is a man who plays to an audience. But he is also a man who has no clue about that audience. He is very much like the elderly Diana Ross, wondering why she can no longer fill an arena, but too proud to play a lounge or a casino.

A quick trip to Africa is a great way for a pope to feel the love. It’s one of the few places where Catholicism is growing. Let’s not however, pretend, as does B16, that the reason for that growth is love for God’s word as presented by Catholic clergy and nuns. It has more to do with the fact that in the poorest parts of the world, a parish hall with a ping pong table and a case of colored sugar water is bound to attract kids who will then learn to sing hymns. Cue Crosby in The Bells of St. Mary. Those who live in poverty, holding no Miley Cyrus tickets, will run in hordes to the tarmac to cheer the well-shod exotic in immaculate white and his magenta circus.

While on the papal jet, even before his arrival in Africa, B16 delivered his opinion that condoms might actually be part of the cause of the HIV epidemic. He supposed that we would all appreciate his logic. Abstinence is a perfect preventative. Condoms sometimes fail. Therefore, substituting condoms for abstinence facilitates an increase in the spread of HIV.

I was fascinated by the reaction to this. It seemed to reflect an exhaustion on the part of those who hope for excellence and inspiration from a pope, and are ordinarily angered when they receive the opposite. The world seems to have finally made up its mind that B16 is a Gerontius, a dull head among windy spaces. We don’t much mind the prattling of such a one but we would never be guided by his bitterly irrelevant words. We allow this type of old man a comfortable route to the grave. We are respectful of a lifetime spent wrestling with big issues and reaching big conclusions. But the world moves forward and the old man’s voice grows weaker. The naked children who ran to greet him in Africa grow up to learn the meaning of suffering and disease. They vaguely recall his gleaming smile.

Attention must be paid to such a man. Pope Willy Loman is speaking. It won’t hurt us to kiss his ring while it is still warm.

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "Gaytheist or not."

I hope you will go to Bilerico tomorrow to read my response to the following question from Roxanne:

Are all gay/bi people atheiest? Or just don't believe in the bible or something? I dont understand how some gay people can say they are Christian, when the bible clearly states that homosexuality is a perversion?

The monastery is almost the new black.

A favorite reader sent me this link.

Although the emphasis is on the green and self-sustaining aspects of this housing development, the fact that the residents are like-minded and all on a first name basis is significant.

Like monks brewing their own beer and sealing themselves off from the madness of the outside world, these folks are just a few steps away from the medieval model.

If we move in this direction, we would need the federal government for very little. For national security. For interstate transportation. To fight epidemics. To protect the potability of large bodies of water and the quality of the air. To provide free national wifi.

I cannot shake off the thought of starting a gay monastery here in Fort Lauderdale. The fact that real estate is now affordable makes it even more attractive. It would only take a small group of men (and women? Maybe, why not?) to pool resources and begin it. Let it be built around a central private courtyard. Let the monks share the work of producing food, clothing, art and music. Let them work naked f they want. Let them have sex with whomever. Let them believe in God or not, but let them meet frequently to discuss the business of being the best and healthiest human beings possible. Let them learn to think with discipline and to relax and to find peace. Let their celebrations be magnificent. Let them leave the monastery, if and when they feel that need, with no recrimination and with the good wishes of those they leave behind. Let the monastery be bound to some level of broader social service to the larger community in which it is located.

Meanwhile, back to the real world.

We'll get there from here, thank you.

This article in today's NY Times got me thinking.

And, you know what? I honestly don’t care if the diversity directors of NBC, FOX and CNN, etc. leverage the production of diverse programming or not.

I’m glad we’ve fought to secure the albeit imperfect level of diversity we now enjoy, but I’m not so sure about continuing this fight. Even though the article focused on black TV programming, if one of the major outlets should produce a news program anchored by an out gay man, I don’t think I’d feel all mushy inside and start clicking madly on that channel, while gulping the products of its sponsors.

Let’s be grown-ups and cut to the chase about the near future of media and diversity. You don’t need Professor Marvel’s crystal ball for this.

On the net, one may get to what one wants to the exclusion of all else. Product delivery addressing the demanding urge of sex is the best example. If I want gay porn, I can get it in seconds and without slogging through images of heteromping. If I specifically want to see only a naked black man from Cleveland wearing Walmart gold and singing Sondheim while straddling a Heywood Wakefield club chair, I can get there (not that I’ve tried) in moments, and he greets me by name.

I think it’s time we released those diversity directors from their agony about how to serve the ten percent of us while making their deliveries profitable. Their ships are sinking anyway. Let the great splintering continue. Let there be millions more searchable options, all of them equally close to your doorstep. Even Bilerico itself is taking this future in stride, as we deliver specially tinted regional editions (nicely ahead of the curve, Bil). Will it be long before we can subscribe to Trans-Bilerico or Bilerico-Leather (sponsored, of course, by Mitchell Gold)?

In the 1950s, the milkman making his rounds early in the morning would read the note from the housewife whose regular order he had probably already memorized. We got away from that because of the dazzling variety of the supermarket. Now, the milkman is back, and this time he's got everything you want.

Arrested in Miami Beach, a Delaware drifter confesses to strangling Larry Ellison.

An update to the news about the murder of a Wilton Manors man.

Police have 27 year old Gabriel Nock of Dover, Delaware in custody. He had escaped from a work release center in Delaware.

He had built an obvious trail of purchases using his victim's credit cards.

Look at the mug shot. What do you see in his eyes?



I’ll tell you what I see. Nothing.

This is his victim, Larry Ellison.

St. Patrick's Day Fort Lauderdale

Pianopiano

Dear B and P,

On my skates earlier today in the park, I stopped to take a picture of the lot you are considering.



The house looks nice from here, but having seen it close up, I agree that it's not really a great example of its genre, and knowing you would tear it down and replace it got me thinking about what you might build.

I came up with a concept house for you that I'm calling Pianopiano which is Italian for Go slowly which is what we do down here, no?



It is based on the shape of a grand piano to reflect B's love and it also maximizes the view to the south that P was so taken with. It would be curved white concrete in the modern/deco style of the Fort Lauderdale houses you both most admire. The three layers would fall within the zoned height limits (34 feet?) with open terraces on the upper levels including the rooftop. The railings/balustrades could be made of metal shaped like an upright keyboard, or, in clear glass with the black keys in etched glass. The exterior walls would be floor to ceiling hurricane glass.

One possible modification would be to extend the straight sides of the upper layers west toward the street so that they each overhang the one below. This would make for a less severe street side facade and provide a shaded overhang to the front door.



Here it is in situ. I think it fits within the set-back requirements and would give you 3000-4000 square feet with lots of outdoor space. I threw in a pool and brick terrace leading to the water. C likes it, and I'll be curious to know what your architect thinks. (You know you can click it for a closer view.)

A Murder in Fort Lauderdale

The body of Larry Ellison, a 68 year old resident of Wilton Manors, was found in his home by friends who wondered why he had not arrived for dinner with them. He had been murdered. The police and media reports are vague, but note that his car, a silver Infiniti FX35 with Illinois tag number LBE14, was stolen.

The real news quickly ran through the gay community. Larry Ellison met someone at the gay beach and brought him home.

I didn't know the victim, but he and some friends briefly intersected with me and mine at a local restaurant a few days before his death.

In somber discussion of this incident all over town, we are all reminding each other of the dangers of hooking up with strangers. The popularity of Manhunt and other cruising mechanisms lulls us into a false sense of safety, as if that virtual crowd of the like-minded is somehow with us even in the ensuing private moments. Someone mentioned today that he would never bring a stranger into his home, and that this unfortunate incident illustrates one strong advantage gained by going to bath houses and sex clubs. This I strongly seconded.

We live in a dangerous world of equally malevolent gods and monsters.

We must listen to these voices.

Here is the latest of 160 comments left on my Youtube video documenting the gay protest at the Mormon Church in Manhattan:

civil union would be ok in my opinion. It would protect same sex guys from losing their assets, but marriage was criated God with the porpouse of having children...

At first read, I dismissed this comment as just another bit of homophobic stupidity. At second read, I focused on the fact that the commenter is OK with civil unions. That certainly lifts him out of the bigger pool of haters. I began to think that this is exactly the person our advocacy groups ought to be contacting. This is the man we ought to try to convince to expand his thinking.

As always, the comment is easily linked back to a Youtube user. The commenter's uploaded videos show us the simple joy a father takes in his young daughter. In one video called Daddy's little girl, he sings along with John Lennon's Imagine....

Dear Alexmetista, I hope someday your daughter will live in a world where these protests are not necessary, and even if you yourself don't see things just as I do, something tells me that she someday will. We can wait.

The fabulous Kenann Building

In Fort Lauderdale, once you turn your back to the sea, almost every public space you look at is annoying. There are some bright moments, and the Kenann Building at the intersection of Federal Highway and Oakland Park Boulevard is one of them.





Handily, another blogger has done the key research for me:

Designed in 1962 for Ken and Ann Burnstine, by Architect F. Louis Wolff who Wikipedia currently references with the architectural firm Wolff DeCamillo Associates Architects Planners, Inc, the KenAnn Building was remodeled by Architect Dan Duckham in 1992.

With its glitzy glass, glowing lights, soaring exterior mosaics and swervy concrete, this building is a delightful mess. The interior is even worse/better. It seems as if each renovation left just enough of the previous iteration to contradict and argue with the new styling. The basic futurama curves are intact, with, at the entrance, some very vintage Miami Beach/Eden Roc green up-lighting behind tropical foliage around a water feature nesting in the bend of a curved staircase faced with rough-cut travertine. There is smothering beige carpeting that surely hides terrazzo. The second floor lounge is scream-inducingly wonderful. The domed ceiling is fail-faux painted. The winding multilevel bars are Home Depot granite and brass. Two immense traditional crystal chandeliers take on garish colors from the frightening disco –light show while Lawrence Welkish organ music drowns it all in a suicidal bubbling.



You really couldn’t ask for more, and yet, that same blogger links us the a New Times article that tells us:


F. Wolff designed this piece of fabulosity in 1964 for Ken Burnstine, a local drug smuggler and pilot. Burnstine disappeared 12 years later during an air show in the Mojave Desert. A single thumb was recovered from the wreckage, prompting some to speculate that he faked his death (Burnstine was scheduled to testify for the prosecution in a number of drug cases). The Kenann building's billowy white circles were inspired by — no joke — The Jetsons.

Thursday on Bilerico: Summer Fashion Rx for the Geritol boys

You will have to go to Bilerico on Thursday for my response to the following:

Dear Father T,
I'm feeling old and out of date. No one looks at me. What should I do?
Model T

Waymon Hudson becomes First Lady of Oakland Park, Florida

Just ran out of the victory party to let you all know that Anthony Niedwiecki has become a city commissioner in Oakland Park, Forida, winning his first race for public office. At the time of this report, he is the apparent highest vote getter, making him the Mayor of Oakland Park, a community of 42,000, for the next four years.

It appears that Anthony is the only gay candidate to win in this year’s round of elections in this region.

And, everyone at the party was congratulating Bilerico’s own Waymon Hudson, Anthony’s husband, on becoming First Lady of Oakland Park, Florida.

PS: the victory party is raging at Fort Lauderdale’s most fabulous building.

Just assume it.

Photo retouching is an art not exclusively applied to supermodels. The tools are available to all.

Photo retouching is not a new art. Anyone who has ever spent any time in a dark room has learned how to pass a hand between the negative and the substrate to alter a section of the image. That primitive pass became air-brushing which became Photoshop.

The level of retouching sophistication is what seems to be the issue in France where mandatory disclosure of magazine photo retouching is under consideration.

I cannot believe there is anyone in the western world who does not assume that all the published photos they encounter have been in some way retouched.

I do like the idea that every publication ought to list the names of the retouchers. It is after all an art, not a deception, and its practicioners have various skill levels. Some retouchers have a good eye, while others a high tolerance for the ridiculous. Consider this jennifer Hudson album art.

Set your clock forward, six decades back.

It seems the new look for men's spring fashion is a resartus of the 1940s/Clark Gable/Howard Hughes/Harrison Ford thing. The key is rumpled comfort. Fabrics that require ironing, have received ironing, and have then had their creases interrupted by wrinkling due to lounging. Alas, even in thrift stores, you can rarely find that kind of jacket or shirt. You can, however, find some more recent vintage stuff using older synthetics that behave the same way. Discard the ones whose cut and color evoke the 60s or 70s.

Two weeks ago, I needed a black jacket for an upscale reception. (Down here, I have little more than t shirts and flip flops.) C found it on the rack at Out of the Closet, the wonderful thrift store in Wilton Manors (Proceeds from Out of the Closet sales directly benefit AIDS Healthcare Foundation. Think Housing Works gone south). It's not from the 40s, but it is a Botany 500 with good approximate attitude. I'm wearing it over a thin white Armani cotton/nylon shirt that demands ironing and sheds it the minute you move, and, charcoal Zegna jeans with subtle purple stitching.

The price of that classic jacket at Out of the Closet? One dollar and six cents.

overexposed

Of all the possibilities, this is the last one I'd have hoped to see on Mark's List. Do I look adequately distressed?

National Grammar Day (also, Excelano Day)

This is in Fort Lauderdale. Next door. Hard to avoid. There are nine of them in a row. I'd be restrained before I got them all.



PS: The classic Greek verb excelano means march forth, as in "Let the soldiers march forth".

Tomorrow on Bilerico: "Keep Your Enemies Closer"

This week, I thought I’d use the Bilerico column to see if something can be learned from the 158 comments that have been left to date on my Youtube video of the gay protest at the Mormon Temple in New York City in November of 2008.



I made a condensed list of the anti-gay comments.

Some of them are from Mormons. Others are angry, threatened and deluded God-fearers. Some are from those who feel that this LGBT protest showed the world that we who would dare to attack a church are not nice people. Some highlight what they feel are the horrifying things they assume we do in the course of having sex. Others warn us of the fires of hell. Some want us to be happy with what we have. Others outright deny that the Mormon Church spent money to influence the Prop8 vote. Some honestly believe that marriage is exclusively for a man and a woman.

If I were locked in a room with these commenters for five minutes, and could make five points, I’d have to make good use of my time to say a few words that might help change their minds. Although it might be futile, here is what I’d say.

Go to Bilerico after noon on Thursday to read it.

Update: It's up. Get on it.

La Bamba

When Bobby suggested we go to La Bamba for its weekly gay night, I was skeptical. When he added that it was all locals and that Matthew Rush was frequently there, I warmed. When he warned of crowds and an arrival no later than 6:30PM to avoid a two-hour wait for a table, I had to see what all the fuss was about.

We arrived at 6:25PM and found all of the adjacent parking lots full. Bobby explained to me that the early bird aluminum walker set would soon be freeing up a few spots but that I should go inside and put my name on the list.

I entered a bifurcated space of heavily varnished wood dulled and scented with years of 409. (There are worse smells to encounter in a food place, no?) The bar half was already crowded with local men, some of whom I have never seen clothed. In the booth half, the hostess asked me for a name. (I always select from a roster of favorites: Agnes DeMille, Eleanor Roosevelt, Baby June, Jeff Stryker….)

The men packing the bar were each cradling stemmed bowls of the effluent-green signature Marguerita. This drink should be renamed the Bambuerita, and it should be infused with at least a drop of tequila, for God’s sake, because the only flavor I detected was that of tap water ice and insipid salt. I switched to Corona which came with a wedge of lime so large I had to take it out of the bottle and rip it apart in order to stuff it back in.

It took Bobby an unheard of fifteen minutes to find parking in a town of overly paved and endlessly interconnected strip malls. He had been circling the place until his cruise coincided with the departure of some shocked retirees from Boca who didn't get the memo about Mondays. We positioned ourselves at the advantageous annex of bar and booth rooms for a forty-five minute wait for a table. That is when I learned why guys go here. It’s incredibly sociable and cruisy. Forget judging the food and the drinks. And the longer you wait for a table the better. Everyone is there. If you are visiting Fort Lauderdale in the near future, this is a must-do. (Don’t wait. Now that I’ve busted it, within two months it will be so yesterday.)

Luckily, we were given the very front booth adjacent to where we had been standing, so our interaction with the crowd continued. Guys from the gym, from New York, from Ptown, from other shores and other decades, all spilled in. There was a lot of OMG, look at how old she’s gotten in the air, but none of us would say those words, knowing that they might also be playing in the nearby theaterheads of those inspecting us.

I ordered the La Bamba combination. It ought to be renamed the LaBambination and infused with some kind of flavor beyond FD&C yellow and red, but as I’ve established, this ain’t about the food, the portions of which are huge and mushy in a fun way. (The three dipping sauces were actually quite good.)


This, for the record, is how men should meet men and how cruising ought to happen: comfortably allied with a friend or three, in adequate light, waiting for a table, holding a bad drink, awash in happy chatter. Suddenly you see him across the crowded room, and he sees you, and a smile leads to a slow steering of your group and his until you are next to each other, and then a set of rude roidqueen shoulders knocks you into him or him into you, and your group and his are fused, and the rest is as it always is. You get assigned booths on opposite sides of the room but you meet accidentally in the men’s room where you are both too shy to exchange numbers, but, as fate would have it, your parties exit together, and this time…well you know the story. That is the kind of classic venue La Bamba becomes on a Monday night.

I highly recommend it. And don't be nasty to the cordial and exhausted staff if the service is delayed. It would be impossible for them to keep up with this crowd. The manager needs to double their number.

winter party photos

the 35 best, in this set on Flickr

Winter Party Beach Party 2009 - photos

They are delicious when clicked:

Winter Party Beach Party 2009

The rain held off, the shirts came off, and the Task Force pulled off another huge success. I can't imagine an event better managed or better organized.

There is something about a tribal gathering that is edifying even for someone like me, old enough to be the father of most of the men here. On the reverse, the older men are not marginalized here, nor are women, nor people of color.

Everyone ought to enjoy this exhilarating rite of passage at least once. A party with a purpose.

More of the Under One Sun Pool Party

The Under One Sun Pool Party at the Surfcomber Hotel is, in my opinion, the most fabulous event of the annual Winter Party Festival, and proves that the ever-replenished crop of hot gay men and women is not produced by the sluggish assembly lines of Detroit.


I peeked over the wall at the hotel next door where the poolside atmosphere was somewhat more subdued.


Thomas Barker (Executive Editor and Publisher of Wire Magazine) and actor Yuval David display their extraordinarily long tongues.


Beautiful actor Wilson Cruz displays almost everything else.


Photographer Mark, Rea Carey (Executive Director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force), Chad Richter (Chair of the Winter Party Festival)


DJ Roland Belmares


Random heat: