Queen!

If we absolutely must have a new 90210 ...

... may we please have an actual gay character this time instead of one that's just "confused"?

The Physicality of Performance

This weekend I saw Desir, an erotic, adult circus of acrobats and gymnasts. It plays at Spiegel World, the wonderful German-style, performance-art circus tent at the South Street Seaport.



And I finally saw Naked Boys Singing, the all dancing, all singing, all naked musical that has run in New York City for 10 years.


The sex appeal of these shows is obvious. But after the titillation of fit bodies stripped bare waned I noticed something else entirely ... the physicality of performance.

Singing, dancing and even just speaking in a stage voice all require quite a lot of physical exertion. The signs of this exertion, however, are usually concealed by costumes and makeup. Watching the performers in these two shows and the athletes in the Olympics I've been fascinated by how the body moves and works to achieve these feats.

Singers' diaphragms rise and fall. Gymnasts' muscles become taught and ropey revealing the fibers. Dancers' and swimmers' expanding and contracting chests reveal their huge lung capacity and voracious need of oxygen.

But even the subtle signs are interesting, the tense of abdominals needed to project a voice in a theater, the sheen of sweat on a chest or a small of the back, and the little flourishes of movement used to maintain balance. By the end of his Naked Boy Singing solo song and dance number, one of the actor's whole body flushed the most adorable shade of pink.

From now on when I go to the theater, I'll be picturing the performers naked ... and not for my usual reasons.

Putt, Putt, Zoom, Zoom Through The Countryside

I've done paintings, sculpture, architecture, food, tours, sightseeing and nightlife! It’s my last day in Italy. What’s left?

ROAD TRIP!

My travel buddy and I grabbed a matching pair of the iconic Italian scooter, the Vespa, for a magical journey through the Chianti region of Tuscany. Of course, it’s not that simple. I had to get an International Driver’s License in the U.S. before I left and the rental itself took an hour. Italians don’t hurry. But finally I got my sleek, black, little cutie and off we went.



I’ve had a motorcycle license for some twenty years now. But a scooter is a different creature and I haven’t biked in a couple years. So I was rusty and busy watching moving targets. In the first five minutes I took two wrong turns, got separated from my friend, got lost, had to back track and drove the wrong way up a one-way street.

Strong work.

Things improved one we got out of the bustle of Florence. Within a few hours all the old muscle memories had returned, along with a feel for the road and a sense of mastery of the vehicle.

On our way out of town we stopped at Michelangelo Plaza which offers views of all of Florence.











The David here was created by the artist himself. Yet it is a pale copy. I was aware immediately of it's many differences and shortcomings. After my time with the original, I feel I know David ... like a lover. Still, there is a fondness for even a copy ... like a photograph of family, hardly a replacement, yet a comfort nonetheless.

---

The cool breezes and warm sun of the Tuscan countryside enticed me to lay my skin bare to feel closer to the lavish world around me.











I plucked an unripe grape and squeezed it between my teeth, slowly releasing the powerful flavor. It was sharp and very strong, like concentrated lime juice, yet enjoyable in very small amounts.

We didn’t have time to visit all the vineyards ourselves. Which is OK because boozing and piloting a two-wheel vehicle are only a good combination if you’re keen on cranial intrusions and facial reconstruction surgery.

So we went to Le Cantine, a do-it-yourself wine and cheese tasting room. Machines dispense tastes of wine, cheese, meats and olive oil in an elegant yet low-key environment. You buy a Wine Card and then run amok.



Chianti Classico Riserva is one of my favorite wines. So I decided to sample a survey of 100% Sangiovese wines and record my impressions. My survey was neither scientific nor expert, but it was fun.



After lunch and a break to metabolize the wine, we headed to the tiny town of Castellina.



We were told they have the best Gelato in Italy.



They did. Click to check out this babe’s awesome eye makeup.



42 kilometers from Florence to Castellina for ice cream ... absolutely worth it.

Back to Florence we went.



Our tour was planned for us by the hardcore biker at the rental shop. Picture a guy with a beard, muscles, leather jacket and some serious tattoos giving directions on where to get the best ice cream, wine and cheese. Memo from Italy to American men: masculinity and culture are not mutually exclusive.

There’s just one more thing....



"Hands on the wheel, sir. I’m going to need to see your license and registration."

What's more slutty than an American Apparel Ad?

Why, a European American Apparel ad, of course.

Super Gay and More Than A Village

Gay Village is Rome’s huge gay nightlife party. It’s only in the summer and it’s in a park. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Tents, kiosks, bars, booths and dance floors sprawl as far as the eye can see.





It’s a veritable carnival of gay, gay, gay. It’s refreshing to see so many gay men and lesbians out together. New York’s queer community is quite segregated.

The selection at the snack booth is dizzying.







There’s a spin class. People brought biker shorts and gym bags for it.



The tobacconists are there to poison us and make otherwise attractive people repulsive. Fuck you, Phillip Morris.



There’s even a car show.



I decided to do it all. I was interviewed live on Radio Dee Gay. The lovely Sophia offered to teach me some Italian and asked what I wanted to learn. I said, “Since everyone here is so gorgeous I want to learn how to say ‘you are beautiful!’”

Bellissima!



There’s a booth where you can have your own photo shoot. I was feeling tipsy and sexy so I went for it.





Afterwards everyone spills out onto the streets.



These stands sell drunk food and, of course, more beer. What a country!

Poi, The International Language

I've been meeting people with mad poi skills ... like raver boy here.



Look who's back.



Everyone wants to try out my new kite poi.



Turns out you don't even need a common language to learn poi. I taught this deaf girl to spin. She picked it up right away.



If you're happy and you know it spin your poi.



Mari J is a fire spinner from Japan. Her poi dance is fabulous.

Good, Clean, Nude Fun for the Whole Family

I am attending Broadway Bares on Sunday at 9:30pm in the General Admission section. If you'd like to join my group and me, buy your ticket and drop me a line to let me know you're meeting us there.

Everything Goes Better with Glam

The chick who made my sandwich at the Washington Heights Wendy's had false eyelashes.



That rocks! I love Dominicans.

Quiero La Señora Del Flan!

Luscious

I was thinking my blog needed more tits.

Foxy!

Hey you, click this!