Friday, March 19, 2010

The Blue Folder

Brandon left his blue folder in the studio tonight.

Friday night is The Hookies, the annual award show for gay escorts and he was on the show to promote it. What’s the word of the year for 2010? Classy! Naturally, I am presenting the award for “Best Ass.” I don’t know if this is because I know my way around a porn star escort ass or if I am just the biggest ass they could find. In either case, I will be there. And no doubt see porn star escort extraordinaire Drew Cutler, who joined Brandon in studio tonight.

Drew was very hot and kept winking at me and sidling up against me, and I will admit, I got that rare churn in my stomach when he was around. I don’t often have that kind of visceral reaction to a man, especially not porn stars, but it was there for him. Such is the make believe island I live on. Through it all, I had to keep reminding myself of “Notting Hill” and Julia Roberts’ immortal words, the important part before the famous part: “The fame thing isn't really real, you know.” Besides, didn’t I just have a porn star showmance? Thank God Drew lives in Los Angeles and at best we might have some mild flirtation in the VIP lounge at The Hookies. Or better yet, it was all just for air and evaporated the moment the door to the studio swung back open. The last thing I need is thoughts of a man cluttering up my mind, just when I was so close to exorcising the last one.

I took Brandon’s blue folder with me to GUMBO in Brooklyn. I knew he wouldn’t be there but I figured if he needed the collection of printed emails and porn star travel arrangements contained inside, I could always drop it at his hotel later. As it was, he finally responded to my texts assuring me that nothing in there was that urgent and I could make the covert drop at Club Rebel, or even throw it away if need be. So I tucked the blue folder and my blue jacket into my backpack and deposited them both at coat check.

GUMBO faced its first real competition tonight with the launch of FOX over at our old Manhattan haunt The Park, but I didn’t notice a drop in attendance. It was filled as always with skinny-legged gays with gently yet laboriously tussled hair. “They’re not gays,” insisted Eyal Feldman “They are queers.” The winter v-neck sweaters over button downs have given away to white v-neck tees under flimsy grunge rock plaid shirts worn open and waving. But as queer as they think they are (and the ultra of-the-moment akimbo posture confirms their commitment to the role), they are still little gay gay gays to me. And so tiny! Eyal and his equally hot boyfriend towered over them, in a eat me/drink me juxtaposition that would have delighted Tim Burton if not Lewis Carroll himself.

But if the bar was crowded, absent were so many of the usual suspects. Matty, finally back from Europe had already ducked out before I arrived. “I needed a burger,” was his simple text response, and having spent long periods of time abroad, I completely understood. But Ben was there and that was the reason I went in the first place. I spent last Saturday night lingering on the press side of the red carpet at the GLAAD Awards with Ben and his business wife Dave Rubin while they interviewed celebrities. After winning an award last year, life on the other side of the velvet rope put me in a foul mood and I was even more unpleasant that usual. Ryan and Caroline were there and I was horribly dismissive, especially to Ryan.

After I left the GLAAD Awards last weekend, Curtis’ ominous words about me haunted my brain: “Sometimes when Derek is talking, he has no idea who he is talking to.” Most of the time, it works like gold on the radio (or at least I like to think it does). But when it comes to maintaining friendships, it can make an already exhausting person like me completely unbearable. So tonight I apologized to Ben. It wasn’t his fault I was so blue and was just terrible company. And when he asked me why I was in such an ill-temper last weekend, I didn’t even have a good excuse.

“Just the usual nonsense.”

My own blue folder full of nothing important. I should just leave it behind or throw it away. No sense in carrying it all around the make believe island, even if there is room in my bag.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Your writing style is so good - and self-deprecating humor is so engaging.

First fan note of any kind ever - with the exception that I do respond to the real stories on Driftwood.

Does that mean that I think you are real? I believe that it does. A real person being real - and creating a gay celebrity.

That is nice. I find myself turning into quite the fan of you as a real person. Just the kind of sharp (as a scalpel) wit that I most enjoy being with.

Just a generation removed!

Regardless, great post (as usual) - looking forward to more.

Kirk in Atlanta (