Ben There, Done That

There I was, shivering as the icy wind kicked up off the East River. It’s night in DUMBO and I am in line outside the Galapagos Art Space. I have been here so many times that I can’t possibly recall them all, but I do know that I have never waited in this long of a line before.

"Here we go again. Out at another gay bar."

Apparently the two guys standing behind me were straight (in Brooklyn it can be very hard to tell) and even stranger, one of them was clearly reading my mind. But while they hurriedly texted their friend Rachel, hoping she was already inside, I waited impatiently as the time dwindled away. With the new hours of my show and the rigidity of the Metro North train schedule, I don’t have time to sit idly by on Grindr chatting with Mr. Easy-On-The-Eyes-Even-Though-Mine-Are-Rolling-From-Annoyance. For this latest adventure, I had literally fifteen minutes and the thought of spending all of them in line to get into a club was not my idea of fun. 

My Submission To DouchebagsOfGrindr.com

The occasion was the third anniversary of Ben Harvey’s smash hit GUMBO party. Fittingly, this was my third time seeing Ben this week and my second night in a row out on the town with him. Last night, I was his ad hoc plus one for the Out 100 party at Milk Studios down in the Meatpacking District. If you are keeping kosher, you know Milk and Meatpacking should not mix and in this case you are right. The crowd was lively but the venue was too small.

Miracle On 52nd Street

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Dystopia

“This is not utopia!” I thought to myself, but it was. While standing shivering past midnight outside Utopia on 52nd street waiting for people to meet me, it couldn’t have been more of a misnomer. But this is how my life is. I can sit in a room for four hours with thousands of people across North America hanging on my every terrible joke, and then just a few hours later, I am in the well of obscurity on a midtown cross street, dirty snow swirled under my shoes like creamed brown sugar on its way to the Tollhouse.

Cavin Knight, a tight hunky newcomer to the porn world, was on the show tonight. A long time listener now in town filming a scene with Tristan Jaxx for Michael Lucas, he really wanted to drop by. All the insanely hot photos of him on the web made me want to have him on the show too, in particular on my lap. And while he is very hot, I have lately (today) become somewhat obsessed with his screen partner in Fit For Service (one Paul Wagner) who for some reason has long escaped my casual gaze but suddenly has all of my attention. I am certain there is nothing more flattering in this world than to be a porn star, finally meet a radio show host you have followed for five years and then be peppered by questions about someone else. At least, I hope so.

Hooked On A Feeling

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The GayVN Awards

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My Life On The F List

I am not really that famous. True, I host a radio show on SIRIUS Satellite Radio but so do about 700 other people. It is hard to feel special in that kind of environment. There is Howard Stern, and then there is everyone else, and then there is me. Romaine and I have been hosting this show since April 2003, almost five years now. It has been a lot of fun for us, and I hope the listeners too. There have been some high moments for me (dancing with Charo, meeting Olivia Newton-John, being called a “faggot” by my beloved Meredith Vieira) and some low moments (interviewing Amy Sedaris was worse than a root canal). But overall, I think it is a body of work that I can look back on with a certain amount of pride in accomplishment. After all, it is the second longest running talk show at SIRIUS (Mike is the longest) and it can’t be that bad if we are still around.

This doesn’t mean we haven’t received our fair share of criticism over the years. The former head of programming at SIRIUS famously predicted early on that our show would be the first one on the OutQ Channel to wash out (we didn’t). In the outside world, Datalounge.com in particular has been filled with some genuine and for us even hilarious vitriol. I particularly enjoyed the gay face vs. carb face debate about me some years ago, and who among us can forget when they said of Romaine pictured in the Long Beach Pride Parade, “I didn’t know whales rode in convertibles.” More recently they have taken aim at my gay voice and my obnoxious laugh, two points that while I would probably not start a datalounge thread about, I am generally in agreement on (and if you want to know what I am packing datalounge.com, drop me an email). But the hatred really kicked up a notch when we announced this week that we would be co-hosting the GayVN Awards this year.

From the beginning of our show, we have had porn stars on with us. Our closest and longest running porn friendship has been with John Rutherford of Colt Studio, dating back to the summer of 2003. John’s boyfriend Tom is a long time SIRIUS subscriber and he encouraged John to take a listen and then to have Colt stars on our show. Colt even did an early ad buy on our show for Buckleroos, and the on-air interview about the film spurred listener phone calls that encouraged John to make Big Rig under his Buckshot Productions line. John even offered us both cameo roles in the film, of which mine, the lascivious motel manager who tries most unsuccessfully to bed Colby Taylor, earned me a GayVN nomination last year. I lost in a tie to industry favorites Paul Barresi and Savanna Samson.

This was not our first brush with the GayVNs though. We did a broadcast of the 2005 GayVNs on our show when it was hosted by Chi Chi La Rue. From that original recording, we captured Chi Chi’s desperate attempts to keep the drunken show moving with a wide variety of line readings on the word “alright!” which now populate our canned phrases database on the show. Since then, Chi Chi has also become a SIRIUS subscriber and frequent listener of the show (and as you have seen from my previous blog entries something of a delightful travel companion for me).

After several years as host, Chi Chi would appear to be done with the duties for the time being and offered to help the GayVN folks find another host. The bar was set insanely high last year with comedian Kathy Griffin, so almost anyone after that was bound to feel like a letdown. And that was the moment Romaine opened her big mouth. John Rutherford was a guest on the show and we got to talking about this year’s show and talk turned to the search for a host. Ever the egomaniac, Romaine naturally suggested us, which sparked John to call Chi Chi who called the GayVN folks. The next day I got a call from Chi Chi asking us if we would like to do it in the company of another host, ideally one in a dress. In a way, Romaine and I are perfect non-political hosts for the show, I thought. We are supportive of the industry but unlike other better known names inside the industry (Jason Sechrest, Tim and Roma, etc) we have no built in associations and allegiances. Even Michael Lucas likes us! Plus we have the added advantage of a national radio show to help promote the awards on. I knew we would be a disappointment after the Griffin, and as I could tell from my GayVN appearance last year, porn stars are not early adopters of satellite radio, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how rapidly we would be sent down the river.

During the show tonight, I got an IM from Jason Sechrest, who we have had a long and very mildly complicated relationship with. I first met him in 2003 in Chicago (which he won’t remember) when he and Chi Chi (who also wouldn’t remember it) were hanging out in a VIP room at some nightclub. I tried to introduce myself to him and to Chi Chi, but I never got past Jason. Our show was completely unknown and SIRIUS had fewer than 200,000 subscribers at the time, and his icy reception reflected our very low status on the media totem pole. Since then, as our subscriber base and profile have risen, so has Jason’s warmth toward us. It is a version of celebrity geometry I became quite familiar with when I lived in Hollywood and I don’t take it personally. Most recently, Jason facilitated booking Ben Andrews and Jonathan Vargas on the show, both of which were great additions to the show and I am much appreciative of him in his efforts.

His IM tonight during the show was one of quick apology. He wanted to assure me, as he already had posted online, that his video blog about us as the new hosts of the GayVNs was all in good fun. We don’t have sound in the studio so I had to wait until after the show to give it a good viewing. Romaine and I sat upstairs and watched it and frankly, he didn’t say anything I wouldn’t have said about it myself. He held his hands out over and over weighing the two shows. On the one hand Kathy Griffin. On the other, Derek and Romaine. No comparison! Even with the addition of Lady Bunny, the unconfirmed additional host (who I adore), still no comparison. Kathy Griffin is a gay icon (despite her recent awkward run-ins with the community)! Jason’s video blog was all in good fun and we got that (as he knew we would), but it was the posting on TheSword.com that he knew was going to piss us off.

Written anonymously, and clearly by someone who (like Jason) had never heard our show. They had done nothing but read our show one sheet and my latest blog entry and pronounced sentence on us. Romaine was a “steroidal puffin” and I am “Reichen-fawning”, and both of us are interchangeable houseplants. Wow. Bold choice calling a woman who had a baby six months ago fat in an anonymous web posting. But what they said about Matthew Shepard was really below grade. I know you are upset about not getting to host the porn awards (that must be the end of the world), but is it necessary to discount the work someone did on a global scale to combat homophobia? You know, to make the streets safe for a low life piece of shit like you. Oh and she had a fucking baby! What have you done with your life? Frosted your tips? Finally fit into a size 32 pair of jeans? Got out of bed this morning? Sorry she has been too busy to have an eating disorder or a meth habit, she is raising a baby and hosting a national radio show. And by the way, I know Romaine can be a pain in the ass, loud-mouthed bitch sometimes, but she came out as a lesbian at 13. In Wyoming. Still the only openly gay person in her high school's history. Then she got to endure the death of her brother, her father and her friend all within a matter of a couple of years. But you didn't get to host The Pornies, so I guess it's all even now.

Our little radio show is not for everyone. Hell, most days, I don’t think it’s even all that worth listening to. But we have been doing it for five years. And even if I don’t always think its great, do you know who did? Time Magazine. They said our show was “suggestive of radio’s party days, before big radio ate the AM/FM dial… and sucked the fun right out of the control booth.” Oh and the Washington Post. They said our show was “frisky, freewheeling… a distinctly different brand of radio.” The New York Times even called me “handsome” and my ego has been dining on that for five years now. What have they said about you? And what will we say about you when we get on stage at the GayVN Awards? I guess you will just have to come by on February 16th and find out. If you dare show your face. Tickets are still available!

Down The Rabbit Hole

It seems like I am always running late. I don’t know why time consistently slips away from me, but the older I get, the more it seems to evaporate before my very eyes. Over the years, I have had jobs that have barely required me to show up at an office, let alone at a specific time. I used to joke during my years at America Online that I worked dry cleaning hours: In by ten, out by four! Even that was an improvement in structure after working from home for two years. Since coming to SIRIUS, I am required to physically remain in one place during very specific hours. This has been the hardest challenge for me. I just don’t know that it is in my nature to be on time.

I was watching a documentary a while ago about Marilyn Monroe, a woman notorious for being horrendously late. She apparently arrived at her last photo shoot before her death only two hours late, which was early for Marilyn. When she sang for President Kennedy, Peter Lawford introduced her as “the late Marilyn Monroe” an irony brought home weeks later when she died. During the shooting of “Some Like It Hot” a few years earlier, she was eight hours late to the set. Director Billy Wilder was exasperated but not surprised. “I got lost on the way to the studio,” she declared of the studio lot she had worked on for more than a decade. I figure as long as I am never that bad, I am money ahead.

Last night after the show, I had agreed to attend a Project Runway premiere party, hosted by my new friend Jack Mackenroth. The TV show started promptly at 10pm of course, which also happens to be the exact moment my radio show ends. So it was physically impossible for me to travel from my studio in midtown Manhattan to Greenwich Village is the blink of an eye. I warned in advance that I would be late, but even still. It just seems so like a diva to stroll in late for a live show. Especially when claiming your own celebrity as the excuse for such bad behavior. But it is the nature of the beast. It also happened to be the last day of work for our show producer Dan. I entreated everyone to not have the going away festivities on that night because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stick around, so that is exactly when they scheduled them. So then I got to look like a complete douche running out on everyone. But when you live a story, I guess people around you want you to live it too. Consistency, however annoying, is more important than perfection.

The party was in a converted carriage house and I must say it was a delightful living space. NYC is the best place to go for unusual homes and I was most impressed by how simultaneously modern and antiquated the place was. When I arrived the door to the street was wide open and a hundred attractive men were squeezed into the upstairs watching a flat panel 70 inch screen on the wall. I made amazing time, arriving just 20 minutes into the show, but still, I was too late to mix, mingle, or talk to Jackenroth. I watched the show there (and again when I got home), and I am definitely looking forward to this season. However, I hated most of the clothes. Just blah. And Jack’s model walked like a lumberjack carrying an axe uphill. Jack’s dress was cute, a perfect Barbie ensemble, that I half expect closed in the back with a large metal snap at the neck. But then, Lumberjack Barbie started trudging down the runway and I thought he should have swapped out her sexy purse from Bluefly.com with a nice redwood log.

While the show was going on, a cute guy named Ben started up a conversation with me. He was adorable with a rocking body and we seemed to be hitting it off. Then, Michael Lucas met my eye and started over toward me. “Do you know Michael?” I asked. Ben let out a declarative bleat and beat it on the lam. Michael was in rare form, air kisses and broken English filled the air like perfume. He lifted his shirt several times to show his amazing abs, which were quite impressive. It must be hard in the winter time to have a sensational body and have to hide it under so many layers. His abs popping out made me sad that I love ice cream more than physical perfection, but then I remembered that I get to eat ice cream and no one has to see me naked in order to have a career. It turns out that Michael and Ben had shared an awkward moment earlier in the evening when Michael introduced himself and Ben reminded him that Michael had fucked him three months ago. “I did not remember him, “Michael purred as he gazed at Ben’s perfectly formed back from across the room, “but then I saw his ass and it all came back to me.” I have to admit that Ben did have, in jeans, one of the most perfect asses I have ever seen. “He also has a huge cock” Michael assured me, his head nodding carefully in approval.

Moments later, lurid creep Baby Chic entered the party which caused Michael Lucas to bristle like he had just wandered into a smoldering dump. You may recall that Baby Chic tried to molest me and Ben Harvey at Vlada some months ago, while Ben was trying to make nice with Jonathan of the famous Biscuits and Bath Jonathans. I remembered Baby Chic’s clammy hands all too well and did everything in my power to escape his clutches. Michael and I parted company and I think he was more successful at getting away than I was since seconds later Baby Chic was grabbing my chest as I pushed my way through the kitchen. I was trying to meet Jack but his adoring fans had him completely surrounded and pinned up again the stove. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

Jack is so pretty, and as one of the contestants pointed out on Project Runway, he looks like a superhero. He seemed to be in his element last night, a gorgeous tipsy doll swirling through a glamorous party of attractive men and waif thin girl models. We chatted in the kitchen and he introduced me to the other contestants from the show. It was fun to meet all these people just at the beginning of fame, not after they had already been cast aside by the cruel fate of reality television. Jack also pointed out a beautiful blond model named Megan who had been on America’s Next Top Model, although during that reality stint, she was Meg, the rocker chick with the brown hair and bold-faced attitude. She was giving us full tilt Grace Kelly though as she slipped away from the crowd and down the stairs.

Unfortunately, my own time at the party was drawing short. Even though I am late all the time, the train home to the suburbs doesn’t wait for middling radio personalities, no matter what their reputations. So I made my good bye to Michael Lucas and to sexy Jack Mackenroth. I tried to say good night to Ben but I think my obvious friendship with Michael Lucas had tainted me for him. He was in the midst of a conversation about fisting with a sexy blond named Chris, who like me, had not had sex with Michael Lucas. Ben related a tale of fisting a guy once, pushing down, down, down, finally getting in up to his mid-forearm. “There is an artery right there and it sort of squeezes around your hand tight and you can feel their body. It’s so intense.” That was my cue to leave. I love intensity in life as much as the next person. But if I want to feel blood racing through an artery it’s because I am in a panicked dash through Grand Central Station trying to catch my train home to Normal Town, USA.

The Life Of Riley

I have a lot of empathy for my friend Chi Chi La Rue. Last year, I was in New Orleans for Southern Decadence and I went up to the VIP room and Chi Chi was there. That year, I was hanging out with Roman Heart, who spent most of the weekend gingerly stepping over glasses and spilled drinks in between half-hearted dance moves on top of the downstairs bar at the Bourbon Pub. When I ran into Chi Chi, she was screaming for her cardboard box. Suddenly, there it was. A non-descript cardboard box labeled “For Chi Chi Only! Touch It And Die!” This was the box of giveaway porn and I recognized it immediately. When Romaine and I travel for the show, we also have “the box” and while it is sometimes filled with porn, it is more likely to be stuffed with t-shirts or mardi gras beads. It was in that moment at the Bourbon Pub that I realized how similar my life on the road was to Chi Chi’s and how grateful I was that I didn’t have to do it in a dress, wig and heels.

Chi Chi has a powerful personal effect on people. I have wondered for quite some time now just what it is about Chi Chi that creates the opportunity for them to do things they would never otherwise do. I think it is her utter exuberance about everything. She is just so enthusiastic, and when someone is cheering you on so vigorously, it is hard to say no. I suppose it is a combination of this aspect of her personality and my empathy for her that turns me into her personal assistant whenever I see her lately. And it’s not Chi Chi demanding that I wait on her hand and foot. But there is just something about her that makes me happy to get her a fresh cocktail or carry her suitcase full of CDs around. I did it a bit in Minneapolis during pride and was back at it again tonight.

Chi Chi is in town this weekend to DJ at the HustlaBall. Now I had never been before, but it is exactly what it sounds like. It is a big party/event featuring dozens of porn stars and escorts mingling and having fun with three packed floors of potential customers. The HustlaBall staff just assumed I was Chi Chi’s assistant, which was fine with me. This weekend when I go to Dallas, I won’t be able to walk down the street without being recognized. It’s nice to spend an evening being not just an ordinary person, but even better, an unimportant one. I only wish it hadn’t been such a struggle to get a free drink, but I guess that is the trade off.

The only people at the event tonight who knew I even had a real job were prior guests on the show. It felt like everyone was there tonight. Barrett Long, who was also in New Orleans last weekend was there with new roommate Jason Crew, whom I first met on the set of Big Rig two years ago. That’s a lot of trouble for one household. The third musketeer was the ever delicious Rod Barry. He was upset about something and after some shots started getting belligerent. We danced a bit until his playful punching got too painful and I pawned him off on Barrett Long, who seemed to have more experience with unhappy Rod. Michael Lucas was there and apparently was one of the performers on stage (I heard he planned to pee on someone so I skipped the show). I kept running into him all night and he kept looking at me expectantly but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it was that he wanted me to say. Chi Chi was effusive in her praise of Michael on stage. Yes, she was almost too nice, like Robert Blake gushing about his great wife at the restaurant moments before she got shot. “Did you hear how nice I was to Michael tonight? Tell everyone how nice I was.” Duly noted, Chi Chi.

Lucas exclusive Ben Andrews was there in his eyeglasses and hoodie with no shirt underneath. I think Ben has a Superman/Clark Kent thing about his glasses, like somehow no one will realize he is porn star Ben Andrews if he doesn’t take them off. Colton Ford was also there, preparing to sing later at the event. I spent a few minutes talking to Colton, and Ben, and it was nice to have a private conversation with them for a change since nearly everything else we have ever said to each other has been broadcast live on the radio. RuPaul was Chi Chi’s other guest for the evening (aside from me), but he didn’t stay long. He just dropped by to say hi to Chi Chi and then headed home. It was too bad because Ru was one of the few people there that I wish I had gotten more time with.

A huge number of those porn star/escort types at the HustlaBall were brought in by Howard from FabScout. I met Howard two years ago the first time we did Fort Lauderdale Pride and I kind of really like him. Porn agents generally have a bad reputation. Well, why be so narrow? Agents generally have a bad reputation. Porn performers are consistently and depressingly messed up and flaky. Tonight in the DJ booth Chi Chi and I waxed poetic about the former Gus Mattox and how nice it is to see a hot man who also is reliable, smart and fun. “If only all porn stars could be forty-five…” I thought out loud. Unfortunately most of them are 22, or younger, and don’t know what they want to do with their lives yet and don’t know what it means yet to have a job. So, I don’t envy Howard’s job (or Chi Chi’s for that matter), although he does have lots of cute guys to look at so it could be worse.

One of Howard’s boys was a porn star named Riley Burke. Riley is a delectable blond with a thick of chest hair and a willing personality. If given half the chance, I would desert us on an uninhabited island and fuck his brains out forever. Unfortunately, my three and a half year old niece has a better grasp of her own emotional state than he does, and tonight was especially messy. He spent most of the time hanging out with adorable Seth, the “hung Czech” personal assistant, future lawyer, certified massage therapist. Seth has a flawless body, which was on full display during his 20 minute nude massage in the VIP lounge, and he was totally sweet and fun. Not to mention that years of yoga have paid off to the point where he can put both of his legs behind his own head. However try as we might, there just wasn't any real sexual chemistry between us. Riley on the other hand, had my attention at all times. One minute sweetly standing with me at the bar telling me his hopes and dreams, the next getting his ass eaten out by a stranger. The munching must have been fantastic because as soon as the guy was done, Riley was unzipping the stranger’s pants, barely getting “where do you live” out of his mouth before the stranger’s cock went in it. What a lesbian.

Riley’s self-esteem was falling faster than prices at Wal-Mart. This made me want to rescue him but fortunately I am old enough now to know what a complete waste of time that is. Riley kept asking Chi Chi, who had directed him in one of his most recently movies, how he looked. It didn’t matter how many times Chi Chi said he looked great, he asked again and then caught another disapproving glimpse of himself in the mirror. When I tried to say good bye later, he smiled wanly and brushed me away. Seconds later he burst into tears, surrounded by the comforting arms of two muscle bound escorts. I guess the evening was just too much for him and he snapped. Riley had said earlier in the evening that he thought Howard was too hard on him, but now I am thinking maybe Howard wasn’t tough enough with him. He is a beautiful guy but if he can’t pull himself together he won’t last six more months in this industry and he’ll be dead before thirty.

We left the HustlaBall and headed into a cab. Chi Chi and I were both hungry for a classic slice of NYC pizza. In the cab ride back to her swank hotel none of the pizza places were open, so I volunteered to run to the corner and pick up a slice for her while she got out of those painful heels. Sixteen blocks later and nothing, including the all night pizza joint with the “Open 24 Hours” sign, was open. Ugh. Doesn't anyone in Chelsea eat greasy food in the middle of the night anymore? Then it started to drizzle. That was the end of that. I love Chi Chi but it’s not like she promised me a kidney. I performed above and beyond the call of duty. It was fun, but now it was 2:15 in the morning on a school night! Time to wrap things up. I picked up a couple of sandwiches and a bag of chips and returned finally to Chi Chi’s room, where I think she had given up all hope of ever seeing me again. “Postcards From The Edge” was playing on her TV and we bonded a bit more over our shared love of the movie. “I love ‘these are the options? Lana, Joan and you?’” Chi Chi declared, quoting her favorite line.

In the car on the way home, I thought about my favorite line from the movie. “Never let ‘em see ya ache. That’s what Mr. Mayer always used to say. Or was it ‘ass?’ ‘Never let ‘em see your ass.’” Tonight I saw Riley’s ache and his ass, and I think I speak for everyone when I say, I’d rather see his ass.