Why Pieces Should Be Your Favorite Bar

Posted by Michael Musto at 1:30 PM, May 5, 2008

Vodka Stinger and Tallulah De Bayous

Like a bar beamed in from another city—anywhere, USA—Pieces (8 Christopher Street) is my favorite, most reliably unreliable hangout in the world. With its cutely homespun decor (large crepe butterflies are currently stapled to the stage for spring) and utterly casual feel, the place is comfortably free of pretensions or aspirations, yet it has a slight edge that suggests something might happen, even when only five people are there and the bartender is joking that "We're filled to capacity!" Eric Einstein, the manager, is a cute Elijah Wood's daddy type, presiding over the battery of weird events with a bemused half-smile. And the events? On the third Monday of every month, fabulously sexy drag stars Vodka Stinger and Tallulah De Bayous put on an informal show called Too Ugly For TV, which last time around climaxed with them making Black Russians for the crowd (and, naturally, for themselves). On other nights, you'll find Broadway know-it-all Vodka playing diehard theater-queen videos (the favorites are the ones with scarily talented Linda Eder and Julia Murney and of course the last number from Star!--the one that makes the last three turgid hours worthwhile). And on Thursdays you sticker a number to your chest and deflect notes written to you from all the other numbers. (Last time, my friend and I were targeted by a very weird man with a roving hand and a face I seem to remember from a post office poster. Still, we considered it.)

Is it Studio 54? No, but it's a place where you can stir up some fun if you've got the energy—and even the karaoke nights aren't that repellent, star quality radiating from every skinny boy and fat fag hag. And they even still have a pay phone! Some of the old regulars are gone—Delano seems to be hanging more at the Gym Bar these days—but you'll still run into the house geezer ("Cryptie") and the local dork ("Ed Grimley"), among other pieces of stray human furniture. Do I go to Pieces too much? Hey, that's between me and my therapist.

What Drunken Gays' Lies Really Mean

Posted by Michael Musto at 1:00 PM, April 25, 2008

Go to a gay bar at 2 a.m. and you'll be swathed in self serving lies and cuckoo delusions, all spewing at you with unspeakably boozy breath. As someone who's been there—every single night of my adult life—let me decode some of the b.s. for you:

"I'm sober" generally means "I've been doing so many drugs for so long it feels totally natural to me."

"I'm not on manhunt" means "I'm not on manhunt right at this moment."

"I'm a top" mean "I'm a bottom."

"I dated Chace Crawford" means "I dated a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who waited on Chace Crawford at a Chucky Cheese."

"I've always been bisexual" means "In high school, I had a fake girlfriend, but the story fell apart when everyone realized she was my sister."

and. . .

"I dumped my last boyfriend. We had grown apart and I was so bored with him" means "He took out a restraining order."

Studly Party Promoter Overcomes Neurological Disorder And Has Drink Tickets

Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, April 11, 2008

After a night with the gays at Beige, it's a welcome palate cleanser to toddle around the block and drop by the new cub Antik to see how the other half loves. Last Tuesday night, the waitress-only hangout was mainly filled with squealing straight girls along with a few feyish boys, some heteros on a date, and a burly mafioso-looking type brooding in the corner. Worked for me! The promoter there is Keith Collins, the personable guy whom I've long known as the spiritual nephew of the Village People's original cowboy Randy Jones, and who is both an actor and a spokesman for Tourette Syndrome, which he's battled. Collins told me that he got beaten up a lot as a kid for going into fits and spitting at people, but he's gotten things under control, letting off unwanted energy by wiggling his toes. That's ingenious! Come on, everybody, let's all blow off steam via our toesies! Let's do the Tourette!

Gay Basketball Players Don't Slam Dunk Each Other's Privates

Posted by Michael Musto at 12:31 PM, March 31, 2008

I passed by the testosterone-laden bar the Eagle with a friend and sensed that something fetishy was going on there, so in we ran, only to find a bunch of tall guys standing around in jerseys and shorts. It turned out to be a benefit for the NYC Gay Basketball League! And though the event was called a "NY Warriors Jockstrap Fundraiser," I didn't see any jockstraps, just a couple of hot African American athletes walking around shirtless and flaunting their tats. I cornered one of the Warriors to ask the all-important question: What's it like in the locker room? "We're the meanest team ever," he admitted. "We're mean and bitchy. Even when we lose, we pretend we won. So believe me, there's no sexual tension at all in that locker room." Damn! What a waste of black cock!

Club Etiquette: Why Getting People's Numbers is a Waste

Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, March 26, 2008

I just blogged about the insanity of gays who'll practically let you fuck them in public, but if you then try plant a kiss on them, they'll squeal, "Outrageous! How dare you do something so personal in front of people!" Well, I've noticed yet another odd bit of gay club behavor. Even if someone begs you for your number, they generally will never call! They just wanted your freakin' info to add to their grisly collection! They consider that a conquest in itself! I swear, the freaks simply wanted to use you to increase their cellular menage of people they hope to never see or talk to again. It's a total score for them--they get an immediate rise out of all that frantic number punching—and once they've gotten a druggie charge out of it, they're completely satisfied and don't want to risk any further interaction. Call them the next day and you'll be greeted with a veritable sheet of ice as if you've beamed in from outer space and crashed in on their utter serenity. Trust me. Exchanging numbers in clubs is a futile exercise that is done strictly out of late-night compulsion. There's no point to it at all—except that if the person DOES call, your Caller ID will say who it is and you'll be sure to not pick up!

Shocking Revelation: Club Sluts Stop Short at Kissing!

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!

Stalker Alert: I'll Be At Splash Tonight!

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.

Departed Party Planner Baird Jones Gets Another Party

Posted by Michael Musto at 12:00 PM, March 17, 2008

After party promoter, art curator, and all-around nerd Baird Jones recently transitioned, there was a quickly organized memorial event at the Plumm, but some people were either banned or went there and felt there needed to be yet more hoopla. So Baird is getting another event. The memorial will be at Webster Hall, which Baird tirelessly promoted for, this Thursday, March 20th. As the club's owner says, "Numerous artists and performers who knew Baird will be presenting their own tributes. An open-bar reception, open to the public, will take place from 7-9pm followed by an after-party from 9-11pm." So go on, have another drink on Baird. But don't do any of this for me, mind you. Just put me in a Hefty bag and lean me against the trash.

Club Quickies...

Posted by Michael Musto at 12:33 PM, March 11, 2008

The beloved Maverick will no longer work the door at Hiro ballroom on Sunday. He should be an actor anyway...Drag hostess Linda Simpson is semi amicably leaving Slurp Wednesdays at the Cock after this week's event due to "budget differences" with the owner. I guess Linda thought there should BE a budget...Sweetie will be starting drag-show Thursdays at the legendary Stonewall. The name of the night? Riot!...Creative types James Tully and Ken Emerson say they were barred from the Plumm's memorial event for their dear friend, promoter Baird Jones, so they're throwing their own memorial for him at Webster Hall. They will in turn bar the ones who barred THEM from the bar...As if at a funeral, the piano player at Marie's Crisis drunkenly hugged me the other night while charmingly adding, "I'm not a fan." Even worse, he once announced to the room, "Musto is well known in certain parts of the West Village"--as if they don't know me in parts of Hell's Kitchen too! Anyway, the guy wants a plug really badly--and he does play "Another Hundred People" whenever I want--so here comes his mention: The piano player from Marie's Crisis!

Gay Nightlife Update. . .

Posted by Michael Musto at 5:00 PM, February 25, 2008

Promoter Josh Wood has launched Sundays at the Cuban-flavored (and formerly hepatitis-tinged) Socialista, where gym gays stand around and ogle each other's pecs in the semi darkness. Drew Zailen and Akash Abraham have started Thursdays at Ultra, where some outer borough queens plus one big guy in a zebra print jacket flit around trying to uplift themselves through boozing and cruising. Butch Cordora is coming in from Philly to do "Bluffin' with Butch" poker events Wednesdays at Splash, starting March 5. (No, they're not strip poker events—not yet, anyway.) And the sleek club Touch is launching Solarium Tuesdays that hope to bring the gays back to the Broadway district. As if Xanadu didn't already do that!

Sad News: Another Death in Clubland. . . Baird Jones

Posted by Michael Musto at 3:00 PM, February 22, 2008

Baird Jones (left)

It's been confirmed that art curator and Page Six staple Baird Jones has died from natural causes, which was discovered when emergency workers knocked his door down last night because a friend hadn't heard from him. Baird was an offbeat, pasty-faced figure who tirelessly promoted Webster Hall and various B-stars' artworks (he put on gallery shows featuring paintings by the likes of Elke Sommer, Tony Bennett, and John Wayne Gacy) in between phoning in obscure celebrity items to the columns. I always assumed he was gay, though he long promoted himself as a virgin and at one point claimed he was "dating" then-scandal gal Sukhreet Gabel. In any case, Baird was peppy and chipper and seemingly well off, and did rather endearing things like sending me a list of hundreds of anagrams for my name. One of them involved the word "slut," but I don't hold grudges.

How To Become a Nightclub Star!

Posted by Michael Musto at 8:00 AM, February 21, 2008

Bouncers are mere toys

Or at least how to get in! First off, pay no attention to the losers lining up outside. They're just misbegotten window dressing and joining them would not further your cause at all. Brush right past them and barrel up to the doorperson to blithely announce, "I'm on John's list!" Chances are there's a John that's promoting there, and even if there isn't, if you say it with enough swagger, the doorperson will assume there is. They'll inevitably flutter through a stack of clipboard pages and, unable to find your name, they'll decide it's in there somewhere. You've made it—now track down the person with the free drink tickets and tell them you love their outfit. Oh, speaking of outfits, wear your absolutely shittiest coat. This way you can just drape it on a banquette rather than check it (thereby saving three bucks), and if by some chance it gets stolen, you won't care that much. Better yet, flirt with the DJ—no doubt named John—and he'll let you leave it in his booth. One last tip: Before picking someone up, be sure to drag them to the bathroom—yes, the john—to see what they look like in the light. Otherwise, you'll be very sorry in the morning. If it's already the morning, please go home alone and on the way, kindly blow the cab driver to save 10 more bucks. And now you're all set, gorgeous. You're a nightclub star!

Rejoice, East Village Gays! A Site for You!

Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, February 14, 2008

I hate promoting another site—in fact, I hate promoting ANYTHING—but I have to put a word in for eastvillageboys.com, which revels in all things pertaining to gay males from that particular geographical region of my soul. That means everything from fashion and music to photography and tattooed butt baring. According to the site's mission statement, it's fixated on a very special type of penis-wielder—namely those who are "indie, emo, alternative, freaks, fags, geeks, nerds, punks, rockers, skaters, skins." In other words, all of Gus Van Sant's former and future boyfriends.

And these dot commers truly put their money where their pierced mouths are. I saw the guy who does the site two nights ago at his hangout, Eastern Bloc, and it was studded with indies, emos, freaks, fags, etc. (By the way, a special shout out goes to Gabe, Bloc's comely co-owner, who loomed behind the bar that night, playing with bottle nozzles and dripping decanters. Hubba hubba. Fix me a very private cocktail, Gabey baby.)

Hotshot Promoter Tries To Jazz Up the Nightlife

Posted by Michael Musto at 9:00 AM, January 31, 2008

Chris Ryan is an up-and-coming party thrower who floats around handing out invites and occasionally even a drink ticket! On February 10, he’ll be launching a series of Fusion parties with one at Cielo featuring DJs Larry Tee and James Anderson, along with a dance performance, two electric violinists, and a partridge in my pear vodka. Some questions for Chris:

What will make these Fusion thingies unique?

They introduce what’s been lacking for a while now—ART, simply put. Parties have become too mundane. I’d like to call what we’re doing spectacles. Our events will have a “fusion” of different styles, yet remain cohesive. We plan to integrate dance/fashion/art/music of different genres/cultures. No two parties will be alike and the venues will change. Every guest will be treated with concierge service from our staff.

Ooh, that part I like. Is New York nightlife dead?

No, it’s just on life support.

Like my love life. How does one get a crowd of hot guys together? No, really, tell me!

Having their hot friends promote it is one way. And promise an attractive crowd. I think [Beige/Hiro promoter] Erich Conrad has it down.

Oh, how I crave his mailing list. How has being a promoter affected your social life?

Well, I have a lot less “real” friends, but a ton more fake ones! Ha-ha!

I’m for real, Chris. (pause) Do you have any drink tickets?

What I Learned at Beige Last Night... Simon Cowell Has a Small Pecker?

Posted by Michael Musto at 2:38 PM, January 16, 2008

World Famous *BOB* photo by Cary Conover

Downtown superstars the World Famous *BOB* and Dirty Martini are going on a 39-city, multi-booby tour with the controversial Sex Workers' Art Show. . .

Egyptian-born drag queen Sultana, who works at Tiffany's by day, pops up as a man with a bellyache in a commercial for Tums which airs during Oprah all the time. (He shot some extra work for the Sex and the City movie too). . .

Celeb photographer Patrick McMullan's next book, hot off Glamour Girls, will be one of bodaciously cute guys, even some smart ones. . .

Probably not in it will be Simon Cowell, whom disgruntled American Idol personality Ian Benardo swore to me is small of penis, having seen Simon whip it out at a Chelsea Piers bathroom during auditions last year. (Yeah, but he's definitely big of balls. Paula, your reaction?). . .

And finally, having taken in all this stuff about breasts, tummies, abs, and ding dongs, the MAIN thing I learned at Beige last night is that when promoter Erich Conrad is away in Mexico, I can't even get a free fucking Sprite!

This week's La Dolce Musto: "Oscar Predictions Filled With Greed and Vengeance!"

No More His Eager Call, The Writing's on the Wall...

Posted by Michael Musto at 2:00 PM, January 15, 2008

photo from an early Sebastian by Elena Dahl

Another man has gotten away. Sebastian, that, is—the Thursday night bash at the Madison, which had dwindled to much less of a gay funfest than when it started, like so many men do. As a result, the promoters were getting less cash from the club every week and it became hard to pay their fabulous underlings. And so, Sebastian's been nailed to the cross and, even more tragically, I might have to go to Williamsburg every Thursday! Fuuuck!

Nightlife Update: Sebastian Is Crucified

Posted by Michael Musto at 1:45 PM, January 11, 2008

Sebastian photo by Elena Dahl

For several months, Sebastian has been the go-to place for cute gays and a smattering of club freaks, every Thursday at the Madison. But the last few weeks, the energy has been erratic, the crowds haven't been big enough, and the up-down momentum has been more down than up. The weirdies have been a little bit sparser and the generic bar gays seem to be have taken over. (Mind you, I'll still go there and find my fun. There's always some zing to be captured between bouts of admiring Ladyfag's feathery outfit.) Now, I hear promoters Kenny Kenny and Josh Wood might be aiming to move the party to a smaller space to reclaim the bash's prominence. I say move it, Terri Schiavo it, stroke it, do whatever it takes to keep this thing of fabulosity going! And on Tuesdays, we'll have a still unannounced bash Kenny is planning to do with his old Happy Valley partner Susanne Bartsch. And on Monday I have the drag show at Pieces and chicken wings and pool at View Bar. Who says my life is completely hollow and trivial?

Previously:
"Public Vulgarity and Claire Danes," a piece in which Musto hits Sebastian.