Placido Domingo
Enter to win tickets to an exclusive HD theatrical presentation of "The Placido Domingo 40th Anniversary Gala Concert" at The Sunshine Cinema on Mother's Day!
Lit Lounge
Enter for complimentary admission to see Power Solo from
Denmark with Band Antenna, Sea That Dried Up, and Chem Trail at Lit Lounge!
Rasputin
Enter to win dinner and drinks for two at Rasputin Restaurant and Cabaret!
DeVotchKa
Enter to win tickets to see DeVotchKa on Tuesday, May 20th at Terminal 5!
United Artists
Enter to win a 90th Anniversary United Artists DVD prize package!
Jazz at Lincoln Center
Enter to win admission for two to one performance of the Québec Jazz Series at Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola!
Iron & Silk
Enter to win 5 personal training sessions at Iron & Silk Fitness!
It was inevitable, folks. Someone has spoofed my spoof of Lindsay Lohan's spoof of Marilyn Monroe. And it's brilliant! Feast your eyes on Glace Chase as Michael Musto as Lindsay Lohan as Marilyn. I have no idea who Glace Chase is, but he certainly has balls, and he wisely doesn't bother to hide them. And now the field is wide open for all you daredevil copycats out there. Come on, all freaks and fetishists. Do YOU have the cojones to serve the world You as Glace as Me as Lindsay as Marilyn? As if!
The American health care system is designed to make sure that old people get attended to in a sensitive, cost-efficient manner that humanely suits their needs. That's one theory.
Let me explain my bitterness. A while ago, my old father fell in the house and my almost-as-ancient mother tried to catch him and tumbled too. Hilarious! They ended up in a hospital—let's call it Lutheran—where mom stayed for rehab, while dad was moved to a rest home across the street (part of the same complex) for his own rehabilitation. But I was assigned the most demanding workout of all. Right away, the home's admission staff urged me to sign a mountainous stack of papers, mostly forms assuring that they'd get paid by any means necessary. (I nobly signed some of them.) They also made me autograph something saying the insurance provider just added a lovely $125 a day copay after a six-day stay! I reluctantly did so while thinking that Michael Moore was right to think the most harrowing movie you could make is about people who DO have insurance.
Oh, well, I thought. At least dad will be privy to all the medical services he needs. After all, this is a hospital complex and everything will be readily available, right? Think again, honey. When my father had to get the monthly injection required for his prostate condition, we had to pick up the drug at a freakin' Rite Aide, arrange for an ambulette (which you pay for in cash), get dad to his regular doctor's office to get the injection, then wait for the ambulette to come back and return him to the home. By the end of that ordeal, he looked like he'd fallen five more times.
Posted by Michael Musto at 3:30 PM, April 23, 2008
Please buy my book, La Dolce Musto! It's a brand, spanking new collection of my greatest rants and ravings through the years! All right, it actually came out a year and a half ago, but it must still be available on Amazon, and it's probably just a quarter by now. I swear to Christ the book got rave reviews ("Rapier wit...Musto is masterful at cutting through thickets of hype to get at something true"—Chicago Tribune) and the publisher was actually all set to come out with a follow-up—they even printed promo cards that everyone at a Tony awards luncheon last year got in the gift bag (see above)—but then out of the blue, they fucking dissolved that particular label! And it was not at all because of me—blame Adrienne Barbeau's book first!
Anyway, Grand Central Publishing was interested in taking over publication of the sequel, but they must have also derailed or something because I never heard back from them. (Maybe they're mad that I declined to write a book they were desperate for me to do about the Mickey Mouse Club. True story.) And some time ago, the LGBT publisher Alyson Books told me they don't have good luck with compilations, so they took a pass and wished me lotsa luck. Thanks, gay community! So here I am, a celebrated international author with a lovely best seller all ready to go, but no contract. But why am I telling you all this? I should be saving it for my next book.
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, April 18, 2008
The Gramercy Park Hotel was once as squalid and fabulous as the rest of New York. In fact, according to the synopsis for the documentary film Hotel Gramercy Park, it was "a drug-fueled haven for the likes of Bowie and Blondie." And so many other tempestuously fun good friends of mine. But a few years ago, hotelier Ian Schrager took the place over and made it upscale, with more art on the walls and fewer needles in the halls. The film—by Douglas Keeve, best known for the Mizrahi mirth-athon Unzipped—apparently views the hotel's transformation as a metaphor for all of New York. I agree—or at least I think I do. I have to wait to see the movie to see what I say. (Yes, I inevitably appear as a commentator, despite the fact that I've barely even been there. As Cindy Adams once wrote, "He's everywhere like crabgrass,") You can check it out too at one of four Tribeca Film Festival screenings starting Saturday April 26. Don't bring drugs.
Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, April 16, 2008
Illustration from the Out piece by Julien Pacaud
In the new issue of Out magazine, I have a story called "Shattered Glass," about how the celebrity closet has changed since my 2007 Out cover story on "The Glass Closet"—you know, stars' tricky way of living gay lives without actually coming out on the record. The new piece covers the subtle shifts that have happened since then, which I can very gaily summarize like so:
David Hyde Pierce came out in a very quiet way soon after the "Glass Closet" piece, um, came out. (Yeah, I'll take credit.) But then he got REALLY quiet—there's not been a word since. (Don't blame me.)
Neil Patrick Harris and TR Knight are still out, still successful, and still happy. Hooha!
Ditto for fellow TV stars John Barrowman and Bryan Batt, both of whom came out simply because they wanted to—not because of internet chatter or screaming fights with bigots!
But on another channel, Anderson Cooper is still publicly ambiguous. And still cute.
And bigtime movie star Jodie Foster? Well, after getting us inordinately excited by thanking "my beautiful Cydney" at a luncheon last December, she's now more closeted than ever. Glass has practically turned to stone. Clearly Jodie left her honesty somewhere on Nim's Island.
Who would YOU like to see come out? (Or go back in.)
Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, April 15, 2008
I was walking with a friend down 12th Street Friday night when I heard a man at the wheel of a parked car call over to me, "Hello, sir!" I looked in, and it turned out to be Alec Baldwin! The movie star, constant SNL host, Golden Globe winner for 30 Rock, and Baldwin brother! I've interviewed Alec a few times and always marveled at the seductive charm he exudes in that sort of situation, though in his private life he can be more tempestuous than a wet hen. In fact, I spent much of the last year making TV appearances in which, while I said his ex-wife Kim Basinger should not be withholding legit access to their daughter, I also criticized Baldwin for leaving that horrendous "thoughtless little pig" message for the poor girl. Physician, heal thyself! Like so many of us--see my Naomi Campbell item--Baldwin clearly flits between oozy gentility and volcanic rage. But this time, he was beaming and shaking my hand, killing me with kindness by taking the high road—the way I would never do—and greeting me like a friend. What a pro. But what the hell was he doing sitting there behind the wheel? Is he taking on chauffeur work for extra cash? "I'm waiting for my girlfriend," he said, still beaming. Kim Basinger probably had her strapped to a chair somewhere.
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, April 14, 2008
"What are YOU doing on the PATH train?" asked a bemused commuter last Saturday, his jaw dropping to the spit-out gum on the floor. Well, believe it or not, I do venture out of Manhattan every few years—especially when there's a screening of All About Eve in the glorious Loews Jersey City Theater, featuring a live appearance by its only surviving star, Celeste Holm. I expected to be completely alone out there, only to find swarms of people—all kinds of people—lining up for the event and fastening their seatbelts for a night that made them pretty happy rabbits. After the film, 90-year-old Holm told her familiar story about the very first day of shooting. She said she approached Bette Davis to say "Good Morning," only to get the salty response, "Shit! Manners!" (Holm never spoke to Davis again unless she had to. I bet no one else did either.) At this point, the interviewer made a big point of saying he thought that as Eve, Anne Baxter was way too phony from the beginning and should have initially seemed more sympathetic. He tried to get Holm to agree that Baxter's acting sucked, but she absolutely wouldn't take the bait. (Shit! Manners!) Anyway, it was recently Bette's 100th birthday—God, she doesn't look it—and this event can be counted as part of the celebration, along with Broadway's A Catered Affair (Bette starred in the movie version) and the DVD release of the Granny Guignol shocker Hush. . . Hush, Sweet Charlotte. By the way, the special "making of" feature on that DVD includes ME! And Bruce Dern who DID talk to Davis on the Charlotte set, saying he couldn't believe she wanted to play herself in the romantic flashbacks with him. ("She was 60! I was 25!" relates Dern, eyes popping.) Well, Davis told him a thing or two and got her way, God love the bitch.
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, April 10, 2008
I adore Jews. I feel they've contributed a lot to society, and not just in restaurants and fashion. So when two Jewish ladies named Ronna & Beverly (aka R&B) contacted me to be in their comedy show as an interview subject, I was fa-fucking-klempt. The email from comic Jessica Chaffin went like so: "We play 'Ronna & Beverly' and do what's essentially a talk show. We play two yentas who have written a book called You'll Do A Little Better Next Time: A Guide to Marriage and Re-marriage for Jewish Singles. Essentially, it will be like being interviewed by your mother's nosy friends, only hopefully more fun." After checking out the gals' videos on RonnaAndBeverly.com—no pressure—I said oy vey, I mean NO WAY would I not do this. It's tonight at 8 at Upright Citizens Brigade (307 W. 26 Street). Come and help me out of this pickle.
Posted by Michael Musto at 5:48 PM, March 28, 2008
The other week, I was photographed for a head shot by a director who wanted to submit me for the Dolly Parton video he was doing in which both regular people and notables lipsynch a rousing Jesus song (which I was assured is not the least bit religious, it's just about belief, blah blah). All was fine and I was ready for the closeup that would finally get my face below the Bible belt, as it were, but then I was told a few days later, "Sorry, they decided to go with non celebrities." Yeah so what's the problem? My belief in Dolly is ovah!
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, March 25, 2008
The craziest thing happened to me at Hiro ballroom's gay night on Sunday. A guy from New Jersey barreled up to me and said I was cute—no, that's not the crazy part, I don't think—and ended up grinding his butt into my crotch (fully clothed, of course) for about 10 minutes in front of swarms of alternately amused and horrified strangers. It was quite a show, honey, and we didn't even charge extra for it! But when I leaned over to peck the guy on the mouth, he became all outraged and shrieked, "Why'd you do that? That's not for public, that's for private!" Huh? So let me get this straight, hussy. You can put on a raucous sodomite display for the masses without a moment's self-consciousness, but a quick kiss on the lips is deemed way too intimate an act to perform in front of others? Is this how gays really think? Is this not the weirdest little peek into the perversity of twisted-sister sexuality? Would a hug be considered even more egregiously inappropriate? I really want some answers, people!
Posted by Michael Musto at 3:00 PM, March 21, 2008
The thing I detest the most in life—even more than prequels—is when “friends” cancel on getting together, even though it was THEIR idea in the first place. I think being set up to basically do them a favor, only to get dissed is the rottenest one-two punch in the seamy world of human relations. Can I give you a rundown of my victimization by such flakes in the last two weeks alone? If so, will you please not cancel on reading it?
First, a photographer friend from Baltimore begged me to take him to clubs so he could snap shots of fab people for a book. He planned this weeks in advance and I was nice enough to go along with it, but then an hour before our meeting, he texted with "Can't go out tonight." No explanation, no apology. And I never heard from him again.
A friend set up a night out with me, then a few hours later, texted, "Sorry. My 'straight husband' had a fight with his girlfriend'." Huh? And did your gay dog pee on your homework too?
Another pal texted all day about going to a club and convinced me to come along, then at the last minute said he couldn't get out of work in time to do so. The reality is he went to ANOTHER club with ANOTHER friend, but since he couldn't get in, he ended up right smack at the club we were supposed to go to together.
A fan wrote that I'm so fabulous and he was dying to get together and do anything just to share in my greatness. I rarely go along with this kind of thing because it usually spells trouble, but this time I relented, whorishly needing the chance for an ego boost. Sure enough, no matter what I proposed to do, the guy either couldn't make it or didn't show!
A coke addict who'd fucked me over before suggested we have lunch soon and make up in a civilized setting. A total sucker, I said "Sure." He never called.
And I won’t even tell you about the equally narcotized guy from the Cock and so many other unreliable freaks who've toyed with my good nature. None of them are really as busy as they say--and not one of them could ever be as busy as I am--they just don't seem able to budget their time or follow through on the well-meaning crap they spew. So please tell me, people: What do you do about this kind of shit? Never make plans with anyone? Find a different type of friend? Pay for friendship? Or just cancel a lot yourself?
Posted by Michael Musto at 2:30 PM, March 19, 2008
Peppermint, the host of "Faggot Feud" at Splash
Want me to tell you about all the dazzling premieres and Broadway openings I'm going to so you can show up to throw flowers at my feet and bask in my surreal glow? OK, deal--except there AIN'T none of that shit happening this week. Because of Easter or something like that, there is absolutely nothing going on, as we all sit home and silently wait for the resurrection (of nightlife, that is). But tonight, I AM appearing in a very special edition of "Faggot Feud" at Splash (50 W. 17 Street) sometime around 9 PM, and that will just have to do. Drag star Peppermint hosts the wacky, boozy game show, and I'll be teamed with club regulars Chuck Attix, Ian Benardo, and Maverick Cook, as we guess the answers to all sorts of queer-ies about gay things from Poppers to Palm Springs. Come and blow kisses like Richard Dawson or pig out on bar nuts like Louie Anderson or kill yourself like Ray Combs. Come on, come and give me a hug--or better yet, give me an answer.
Posted by Michael Musto at 3:00 PM, March 18, 2008
Mama's gonna be in the Tribeca Film Festival again! I play a small role in SqueezeBox!, the documentary about the hawt drag rock club that livened up the trannie-sitional '90s, though I imagine more screen time will be filled with names like the Toilet Boys, Sherry Vine, Debbie Harry, and John Cameron Mitchell. The official synopsis of the film—which will have five Tribeca screenings starting on April 25—tells you why we care: "During the turbulent reign of Giuliani in the '90s, when Times Square was being sold to Disney and sex clubs were shuttered in favor of fast food chains, there was a brief shining moment when drag queens rocked New York nightlife. The epicenter of that moment was SqueezeBox, a weekly pansexual rock and roll party at Don Hill's. Started as a refuge for gay rock and rollers who felt like outsiders in both the gay and rock worlds, the party grew to become the seminal event in nightlife history."
A few questions: "The seminal event in nightlife history?" Are the drugs still kicking in? More importantly, when will all the other club docs I was interviewed for find an audience (Jackie 60, Motherfucker, the Roxy, the Saint, etc)? And finally, since when did sex clubs and fast food chains become two separate things?
Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, March 17, 2008
The hoopla over my recent Village Voice cover as Lindsay Lohan as Marilyn Monroe just won't end! First, Life & Style magazine ran the cover alongside Lindsay's and called it, "Best Nude-Cover Spoof" (of the week). As they wrote, "What's sexier than a naked Lindsay Lohan channeling Marilyn Monroe on the cover of New York magazine? Male gossip columnist Michael Musto embracing HIS inner Linds on the cover of the Village Voice!" Thank you, Life & Style! And I love that you had to identify me as male!
THEN I got a letter from a fan in an upstate correctional facility, who said he saw the spread on Regis and Kelly and it "went down like a bomb within the block." Now I know where my fan base is mainly located! The guy said he's desperate for an actual hard copy, as it were, so I might just head up there for a quickie conjugal visit, paper in hand! If I don't come back in two weeks. . .don't tell anybody
Posted by Michael Musto at 3:30 PM, March 11, 2008
As my reign winds down, I feel like a beauty queen preparing to hand over her crown (and wig and chicken wings and vodka bottles). If you haven’t seen my spread, as it were, I’ll give you one more chance to click on my immortally shameless session (“The Ultimate Re-Vamping”) spoofing Lindsay Lohan’s immortally shameless session paying homage to Marilyn Monroe’s immortally shameless session. The response to the response to the response has been dazzling! I got applause on entering the gay bar Posh—and once inside, I got groped! I got written up in Page Six, Liz Smith, Huffington Post, Salon (which did a serious appreciation), queerty, towleroad, and Perez Hilton, where the vast majority of the usually vicious commenters were kind! Even sweeter, Perez himself drew little white hearts on my titties and butt—I guess because cum was already there!
Regis and Kelly even held the paper up and talked about it in a clip I'm so proud of I've attached it for those who don’t roll out of bed in the morning and land on the remote. Reeg seemed particularly obsessed, comparing me to his producer Michael Gellman (hmm) and also noting the ad for body fat reduction smack in the middle of the spread. (By the way, I'm not even going to charge them extra for providing a five-page pictorial that helps their cause!) Meanwhile, friends came out of the woodwork to applaud my balls and even publicists who NEVER contact me had to email with cootie-laden kudos. Some people said they lost their lunch. Others said I was even prettier than Lindsay, if a little hairier. One anchorwoman snipped, “Blonde is not your color” (It’s not hers either; I could see the roots as she said it.) And a TV producer gleefully remarked, "All that whipped cream!" (But there wasn’t any! It’s amazing how a sex spread plays tricks with your mind.)
Anyway, it’s pretty much all over now, so I’m going back to wearing just panties WITHOUT a wig. Thank you all for humoring my humor.
I'm a big star in Austin, Texas, and it's all thanks to a gorgeous thing called bisexuality! See, a documentary I'm in called Bi The Way—executive produced by Arianna's ex, Michael Huffington, and directed by Brittany Blockman and Josephine Decker—is playing at the SXSW 2008 Film Festival in Austin, and it's gonna make me a big star. According to the release, it's "a documentary on bisexuality and the 'whatever generation' featuring Dan Savage, Michael Musto, Jonathan Caouette, and 100 other people from across the U.S. and across the sexual spectrum." The premiere screening is Saturday, March 8th at 9PM, and Blockman tells me they're planning to have 100 girls making out outside, but she's not sure why. I'd be there—but I'm furious that Savage got better billing than me! And besides, I'll be busy fucking a GUY.
I was delighted with the shot used in this week's Voice of me laying on a bed naked as Lindsay Lohan as Marilyn Monroe, mainly because photographer Howard Huang flooded my buttocks with light and made them look as supple and luminescent as a baby sow's bottom. I was also delighted with the tattoo that had been magically applied to my delectable derriere. I had suggested we go with "Merrick, Long Island," "Teenage Drama Queen," or "Wilmer" with a line drawn through it, but instead the perfect tat was dreamed up—for me, mind you, not for Lindsay or Marilyn. It's "Fire Crotch"! My mama must be so proud. Any other ideas for what can be added to my bum? (And please be kind.)
What will pop out of Angelina's privates next? Whatever happened to jukebox musicals? And what's Michael Musto's favorite neighborhood? I know those are the three burning issues that occupy your time, especially whenever you're fully unconscious. Well, unfortunately, I can't answer the first two questions, but I CAN tell you my favorite nabe—or at least you can find out if you click on this Yelp interview with me, which just dropped today, as the kids say. (And it's off da hook.) It will help you map out where to go when you're craving some nasty gay attitude on a Saturday night.
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:38 PM, March 5, 2008
Musto in panties, flanked by art director Ivylise Simones and photo editor Staci Schwartz (photo: Howard Huang)
I would get naked for you people—and in fact, I did! If you'll simply stop everything and click down below, you'll see the unspeakably titillating evidence of my shameless firecrotch. It's my current Voice cover story and the accompanying photos by Howard Huang in which I perform a nearly starkers ego-balancing act as "Musto as Lindsay as Monroe." No, that doesn't mean me as George "Goober" Lindsay as President John Monroe. It's moi emulating the embattled yet still glamorous tartlet Ms. Lohan in her recent homage to the immortally mortal Marilyn Monroe. With the help of panties, a blonde wig, and a whole lotta balls, I became a total love goddess, and you'll have to take my word for that, even after seeing the photos. I just hope the Kennedys don't kill me now!
PS: Regis and Kelly showed and talked about the cover this morning and everyone else seems to be loving it with one hand even if they're vomiting with the other. Only the ever-sour Gawker—ignoring the recent New York Times article that says THEY'RE sliding—finds it another sign that the Voice is sad and old. Funny, some of my blog posts get more page views than theirs do—and this just one of a BUNCH of blogs we have! Plus the entire paper! But back to my chicken wings.
Oh, the horror when I recently threw out a painting a downtowny friend had made for me some years ago, then found out his prices had been skyrocketing! And he's not even dead! Now, I hold onto every little canvas—and thank God, I've not only kept the portrait Olan Montgomery made of me, it's looming on my living room wall and lording over all the portraits. (Yes, in lieu of mirrors, I have wall-to-wall visions of a younger, lovelier me.) Olan starts by taking a photo of you while telling you how meaningful you are to society and/or how you have penetrating eyes. Then he does painty or digital things to the photo and emerges with a portrait that's generally super colorful and very true. I'm hardly his only subject; he's also done Boy George, Justin Bond, Rufus Wainwright, and even some straight people. At the Art Expo last week, he sold a bunch of those paintings and had even more for sale at the after party at, aptly, Kanvas. "My work is an effort to capture an essence," says Olan, "and place it into a perpetual freeze frame. Why can't a nanosecond last forever?" My Olan portrait will last forever, that's for sure. I ain't throwing it out!
Posted by Michael Musto at 1:00 PM, February 22, 2008
The news that some wack-job thought a photo he had was a rare shot of Marilyn Monroe hitchhiking nude, only to find out it's really that famous Madonna image from her Sex book reminds me of my own hot and sexy Madge moment. Way back in the '90s, right after that boobalicious book came out, I stood on a New Jersey street, completely naked except for a blond wig, fuck-me pumps, a cig, and a handbag, to simulate the now immortal hitchhiker pose. As photog Catherine McGann shot me—quickly—I almost froze my tucked nuts and prayed this bit of public humiliation would end soon so I could get back into male drag and enjoy the rewards of my momentary lapse of sanity. We were temporarily delayed when two cops pulled up to chastise me for this obscene display, but they relented the second we gave them a free peek at our copy of the Sex book! (It had sold out and was virtually impossible for mere mortals to get at this point.) And now, from the vaults of shamelessness, here is the raunchy result that ran in the very pages of the Voice as a testament to my balls and the way I can hide them. Maybe someone will buy it, thinking it's Marilyn?
Posted by Michael Musto at 4:24 PM, February 20, 2008
Turning my fuckups into writeups has become my favorite accidental high, and the Huffington Post is the latest venue to deal me a fix. That site's Seema Kaliajust interviewed me for her regular column, "My Favorite Mistake," in which various notables and eccentrics reveal the big boo-boo that threatened to destroy their lives, but which they somehow emerged from all chastened and wiser. Mine was a career messup way back in the '80s, when a chance for me to become even more rich and famous was sabotaged by a horribly conficted little person named Michael Musto. I ended up being mad at him, mad at them, mad at the world, and mad at the dirt, but fortunately a few decades later, I've managed to get some press out of the whole thing. Don't make the mistake of not clicking on the interview.
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:35 PM, February 7, 2008
Note to TV reporters: this is 'Hillbilly Heroin.'
The ones who block an exit by standing there when 200 people are trying to leave.
A cashier who assumes that since you’re on your cell phone, you won’t notice they’re only giving you half your change.
Cab drivers who insist your credit card didn’t work for some obscure technical reason and you’ll have to pay in cash, knowing full well it DID work and they’ll get double payment.
Anyone who compulsively sends you dozens of useless old YouTube videos every day, assuming every single TV appearance of, say, Della Reese will prove endlessly fascinating.
The ones who take five days to answer—or even see—an email you sent, then wonder why they're complete failures.
“Gotcha!” types who e-mail in droves to say stuff like, “You misspelled Hillary.”
People who send MTV an unsolicited proposal, then spend years saying, “I’m in negotiation with MTV for a show.”
Guys who, without having been asked, tell you "I'm sober!" as coke dribbles out of their noses like whitewater rapids.
TV reporters who cover Heath Ledger's death without noting that Oxycontin is known as "hillbilly heroin."
Closeted gay celebrities who tell the press, “I have no sex life. I’m too busy for it!”
Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, February 7, 2008
This man is a lawbreaker.
It's taken me several days, but I can finally break down and admit it: I'm a lawbreaker! Right up there with Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and Scott Peterson! No, I didn't kill a pregnant woman or wear shoes that clashed with my bag. I smoked! See, last Sunday night at the Hiro Ballroom, a cute boy was being all flirty and proffering a cigarette, so I impulsively took it, forgetting the no-smoking rule that's long turned clubland into a cancer-free (and fun-free) zone. He lit me up and almost immediately, a burly black man approached, urging me to come with him. THAT sounded good too, but alas, it turned out the guy was security and wanted to escort me out of the place (or, for all I know, beat the shit out of me), obviously livid that I was competing with the smoke machines that had made the place into a blurry Brigadoon. I should have just offered him a puff, but I didn't get a chance to, seeing as a sea of trannies and other club denizens chirped up to inform him, "But that's Michael Musto from the Village Voice!" After confirming that by looking at my ID, he relented as I promised to go back to just candy cigarettes. And suddenly, after years of bitching about the special treatment given anyone of note, I LOVE the idea of celebrity justice, cough cough!
Posted by Michael Musto at 10:27 AM, February 1, 2008
It's time to praise the past! I was famous then. In the '80s, I even costarred with Holly Woodlawn in a downtown camp version of The Sound of Music. (Well, "costarred" may be stretching it. Holly had the lead, telling the kids "Shut your Von Trapps!" while I played a nun named Sister Sledge and doubled as one of the brats vamping around the Alps with backpacks and Poppers.) Holly, of course, is the ex-Warhol star who has long brought wry glamour to her self appointed role as the new Maria Montez. (Look it up. It was in the past.) And now she stars in an intoxicatingly funny Douglas Sirk-ian campathon called East of the Tar Pits by Gary Legault, which is a veritable paean to gay history courtesy of them that was there. Holly plays a faded diva who longs more than anything to visit Barbra Streisand's former Malibu home. On the way to the ranch, there are songs, visitations, and some zany fights with a friend played by Mapplethorpe subject Robert Sherman about the old days. (Sherman's character was too busy having a fitting to make the Stonewall riots. And don't say, "What were the Stonewall riots?" Look it up!)
By the way, Legault tells me, "Unbelievably, the film was turned down by every major gay film festival." He's pitching it to the IFC and if that fails, he might sell it through the web. Someone take it already!
Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, January 30, 2008
Yes, I'm overexposing myself once again in hopes that someone will notice already. Fresh off the Whore's Mascara video with my glorious bathroom scene, I now surface in Michael Ferreira's short film It's Me, Matthew!, and this time I have lines! And not just on my face! I play a shrink examining Ferreira's complex gay psyche with a dry combination of professionalism and nonchalance. I may not have been the first choice for the role seeing as my script referred to the therapist as "she" (and let's not have any remarks about that, by the way). But the important thing is that, as a human sponge who listens to people's problems with a blank face all freakin' day and night, I was surely the BEST choice for the role. The film is aiming to haunt various screenings and festivals. In the meantime, let the trailer invade your complex psyche.
Posted by Michael Musto at 4:00 PM, January 25, 2008
I'm quickly realizing that my favorite subject on the blog is the same one as in the column—ME! Not long ago, ME did a cameo in a video for "All I Want" by a sardonically fun male duo named Whore's Mascara. As the guys robotically drone, "All I want is a cute blond boy who snorts cocaine and likes Madonna," the video takes you from East Village dives to a very gay bathroom, where ME pops up in all my Hitchockian splendor. Why would the director have automatically thought, "Musto...Psycho"? Who cares? As long as they think of ME at all—and honey, they did! Check it out, whores.
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