Not Quite Labor Day...

"Sometimes, when I’m feeling down because nothing seems to be going right, I like to take a home pregnancy test. Then I can say, ‘Hey, at least I’m not pregnant."* - Daniel Tosh

Yesterday was just your typical Sunday. FB & I trekked over the hill to visit Pimpin' D. Naturally, all three us decided to take a 99 Cents Only Store pregnancy test. (They're actually fitty cents, since there's two per box, but I digress...) After figuring out the complicated instructions, one by one, we peed on those little green fortune sticks.

While we waited for results, FB caught up on hard hitting news of the day thanks to the LA X-Press.












"Did you guys know that Matt Damon's middle name is Paige?"






After a torturous three minute wait, we were ready for the news. It's moments like this - the ones where everything may change in just an instant - when you really take your life into account. Am I ready for this? Will s/he look like me or dear old dad? And just who is dear old dad? With all of that in mind, we braved the great unknown together.





Sadly, it was not to be. We'd feared those two red lines and yet, when only the one showed...well, the looks on our faces tell the story better than I ever could. Witness the face(s) of being young, gay, and without child...










Sadness and lack of hormones got the best of us for a time. But then a funny thing the happened...





We realized, "Why would we want to be pregnant anyway?!?!"*






So we looked on the bright side and celebrated. We hit the town for fish 'n' chips and later sushi. And I made sure to take with us our evidence.







That way, if something bad (like a mugging or FB slipping and getting some nasty-looking scrapes and bruises as we ran down the boulevard), we could all say, "Hey, at least I'm not pregnant."*


-J.

This post was sponsored by the Lowered Expectations Committee.

*Clarification (08:11am 09/06/05): This post in no way implies that being pregnant is a bad thing. It just would be for us. Besides the obvious physical limitations (where would it birth from? ouch!), we would have to give up our cruising habits. And that would really be society's loss...

Rolling up for the looong weekend...

Where, oh, where have I been this week, friends? I checked in for my half of the tag team post and then proceeded to make scattered comments on my favorite blogs. Sorry about that - I even ditched out on work yesterday (a lot of that going around) and didn't manage to blog either. And here I am, cheating by simply bringing you another installment of:

FB & Jay's Superhero Corner!!!


(Next week I'll be back to actually share this blog, as opposed to the timeshare it's been lately. Not that FB's been boring in the least...yikes!)

This sexy scuba instructor has a secret. (No, not that - that's hardly a secret!). What his seafaring students wouldn't ever suspect is that he doesn't need the wet suit and self contained underwater breathing apparatus to breathe underwater.

Ruler of the Seven Seas, the fearless Prince Matt a.k.a. The Slip, oversees the ocean gently. But when evil crosses his path, he's on it with the press of a B A B A on his belt and he's off.

He can of course hold his breath for long periods time for other things. And pressing on his belt can result in a whole different set of super powers. But that's a Corner of a different kind...


Welcome aboard, Chippers!

*********

Have a great long weekend, kidz! We'll be back and better than usual next week.

-J.

What's Your Function? or How L.A. & N.Y. finally managed to get along...

That's right, kids. It's that time again. The return of the Hotter than ever, and even Fresher tag-team post. FB's return couldn't be better timed, because this post wouldn't be right without him!! So let's get this Monday afternoon party started...





Wonder Twin powers....ACTIVATE!!!

FB: Form of...a Mojito!
Jay: Shape of ...a Lounge Lizard!

This Sunday, we ventured down to Silverlake. Good friends of a good friend (the much missed Princess - hi baby!!!) invited us along to the annual Sunset Junction, where they close down like four blocks (more like ten dude) and have a party. Freak flags fly and food and music waft simultaneously through the air. We thought it would be a good time. Then, out of curiousity, we checked out the roster for Sunday's musical guests. My heart stopped. 8:30pm. The. New. York. Dolls. As quickly as I could, I told FB. Oh my GOD!!!! The New York Dolls!!!! AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! The annual conjuction junction, Sunset Junction that has a great function. It gets all the hip and hip replacements a chance to get together in an intoxicating enviroment. Conducive (Conducive? Who taught you such big words? Have you been reading the dictionary?!?!) to good times and loud music. We gots the gays and the straights. Bear daddies and pretty boy twinks . 80's Punk kids who were born in 1990 rubbing faux mohawks with actual punk rockers who overdosed more times than these kids have celebrated birthdays. Everyone is invited. It f*ck'n rocks. So whatever. I got a little drunk. He's kidding - we didn't have lunch and drank before we ate dinner. So we got wasted. And being Monday, no menudo. That sucks. I did have some pan dulce for breakfast this morning, though. That's one step towards getting on that damn list... I think pan dulce works. I felt so much better after consuming two of the three I had.

OH my GOD!!!! THE NEW YORK DOLLS!!!!!!!! AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

But J and I got down there around 5 and it was bloody hot. It' was like my ass crack was doubling for the movie A River Runs Through It. It was that hot. Seriously - it was hotter than crotch at a bathouse. When you live in the Valley, nay when you've grown up in the Valley and you think it's too hot, it's fuckin' hawt!! We met our new friends who we stole from our English Rose who is away. So since she isn't using her friends J and I will. They are so great. I like meeting nice people. I always turn to J. at the end of a day when hanging out with nice people and go, "I'm so not that nice!" "I wish I could be. But I know I'll never be that nice." I think it's a midwest thing. People seem to be so nice once they move somewhere cool like LA. I'm sorry for y'all who don't think LA rocks but it so does. Screw you. I'm so in love with my city right now. Oh my GOD!! It's the NEw YorK DoLLs!!! AAHHHH!!!

I'm so hung over I can't write. Sorry. So here are some pictures to give you a visual on the event. Ahh NEWYORKDOLLS!!!!

This is what part of the festival looked like. There was like a kajillion people there. And only one fight. That I saw at least. Shockingly, it didn't smell bad and I totally expected it to be rank. Of course, I was drunk so maybe I didn't notice. For all I know, I stunk up the joint. By the time we got back to my place, I had to take a shower, so maybe...



This is seriously like half of what the fest looked like. They closed off like 10 blocks of Sunset Blvd. So cool. Lot's of fair food. J and I ate some yummy stuff. But we didn't stop by the intestinal bomb stand (you mean danger dogs?!?!? ugh.) or funnel cake stand to the rest of you. It looked good. But I had to save room for "lemonade". Hurray for flasks.

Then I stalked this dog in a drunken haze for about ten minutes. This dog is wearing boots!!!! Shoes on a dog!!! What a hoot!!! And now we know what happened to Paris Hilton's abandoned Tinkerbell!



Then we waited in line to get more "lemonade". The we saw this guy. He was having people sign a petition. For what I don't know. but I think his shirt gives us a clue. I love the look on this guy's face. I guess he just found out what it was for.



By the way the guy in the shirt was cute. I mean, any guy who can rock dolphin shorts, a fanny pack, 80's bandana and be on roller blades is hot. Has to be to pull off that sh*t. I should've signed his petition. AAAHHHH!!!!! The New York Dolls!!!!!!

FB totally forgets one part of day that rocked every casbah in the freakin' multiverse. Back in the day, when FB and I dated (almost ten years ago - crikey!), we had a partner in crime to go out dancing and drinking with. We reveled in being the teenage twinkies. But in the last few years, we'd fallen out of touch and weren't sure what happened to our dear friend. Lo and behold as we're walking stumbling down the street and there he is, passing out flyers for one of the booths. It was one of those moments the universe has in store for you that makes you stop and think. Connect with new friends, reconnect with old friends - how much luckier could we get?!?! Oh yeah.... Actually I wasn't going to talk about it. I missed my friend like hard core. I really thought he was dead. I was so sad. If you get caught up in the gay "lifestyle" it tends to chew you up and spit you out. I had a mexican vision my friend wasn't doing well and when I saw him I almost cried. But I was to drunk to have emotions so I just hugged him a million time. I'm so happy I found him. Count your blessings kids. AAAHHHH THE NEW YORK DAAWWWWLLLLZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then we come to that special part of the night. When I got to see a certain band perform. The funny thing is I had no idea they were headlining the final night until a couple hours before we showed up. I love happy surprises. Actually, I hate surprises but this was a good one. So running all through my head was, "AAHHHH THE NEW YORK DOLLS!!!!!!" after I found out. I'm still screaming in my head because I am so happy. I was Disneyland happy the whole time. Like frat boy with a new keg all to himself happy. I've never bounced up and down so much at a concert. I never thought I'd see them and then kaboom. There they are. Now I have to go stalk them while they're on tour. So here are a few happy punk drunk shots of THE NEW YORK DOLLS!!!!AAAAHHHHHAHAHHAHHAHAHH!!!!!

Isn't he so cute rockin' the belly shirt!!?!!!!! David Johansen, better known to you young'n's as Buster Pointdexter, rocks the house like nobody's business without breaking a sweat or seeming all that interested. And he's waaay skinnier than FB. Wow. The Stones wish they sounded as good and had as much energy as the Dolls '05. Maybe they should have broken up and gotten back together thirty years later. Keith would probably be dead , but they'd rock again, I bet.



OH, He so ready to rock. They did an awesome cover of Piece of my Heart. I almost died. No shit - it was amazing.



David looks confused. I think he can't find me in the crowd. He's so lost without his rock. That's me damn it!!!! Now I can throw my panties and die a happy man. So that's what he meant by "Looking For A Kiss" (the opening bars of which sent FB into convulsions of bliss when they opened the show with it). I wonder if Mr. Johansen knows that it's about FB...



My highlight was the abbreviated cover of original guitarist Johnny Thunders' solo masterpiece, "You Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory" - dedicated to both Thunders and their other departed bandmember, Arthur Kane, who died of leukemia just over a year ago. It was, to this music geek at least, moving and it rocked - a rare feat.

All in all, this was the best Sunday ever. We had a blast and it renewed our belief that we both belong nowhere but L.A. for this time of our lives. You may not be able to put your arms around a memory, but a memory can wrap arms around you. This one will be hugging tight for lifetimes to come.

L-U-V, kids.

The Ever Elusive Sunday Edition

Blogger was giving attitude on Friday and I wasn't in the mood yesterday (read: I woke up waay too late in the day to do anything but eat and a drool.) But we owe a friend something. And so without much fanfare and with much love, we present yet another...

FB & JaySix Supehero Corner!!!!

Meet Lady T. - by day a mild-mannered bookseller. That is, she was, until she opened that first edition version of Emma - while playing Teena Marie record in the background. The gypsy curse placed the book was activated by a high note...

Nobody would suspect that when duty calls now, she becomes LoverGirl. Ready at all times to aim her crossbow at a bad movie or bad movie maker, she's an arbiter and protecter of good taste.

Welcome aboard, T! I'm sure you and Wonder (whoa!) Man will have fun shopping for leggings and stuff...

-J.

Time Magazine Sucks.

For those who still remember who he is - no, FB is not dead. And rumours of his Farewell Tour are greatly exaggerated. He's not fully vested in the Hot & Fresh 401k yet. He's just been on a recharging hiatus. He assures me that come Monday I will no longer be a sidekick sans hero. I think that was a compliment - or as close to one as he can get.

In any event, the reason I am bringing him up is that last night at the gym I was perusing the magazines and happened up Time magazine's The 25 Most Influential Hispanics In America. I don't know if you've read it yet, but if you haven't, I have some shocking news. Please sit down. Oh, right...internet, computer. Well, um, there's no easy way to say this.

We're not on the list.

That's right - neither FB nor moi made the cut on this supposedly comprehensive tome. Unlike many of the chosen ones, we don't speak Spanish. We haven't been married three times in seven years. We're not Attorney General. And we sure as hell don't like this in an evening gown. But seeing as I've never heard of most of the selected, I'd say we should have been given more careful consideration. Or a phone call to let us know where the party was going to be. Vanity Fair would have at least called us for the composite photo shoot.

I suppose all our contributions are too low key. That time I made rice and only burned like, half of the bottom? When FB learned to make chile rellenos from my grandmother? The fact that I've seen Like Water For Chocolate at least twice? Apparently these acheivments don't count for anything. So here, in front of El Dios and all of our readers, I'm throwing our sombreros in officially for next time. We will be on the next list and we may even be on the cover!

We'll see the Virgin of Guadalupe in every tortilla we happen upon. I'll eat menudo every weekend - hungover or not. FB will buy all of those mariachi records Linda Ronstadt made. We will not just go back to our roots, we will tend them, fertlize them and grow into the biggest, baddest Homo-American Hispanics on the vine. We will each be getting married and divorced at least three times in the next year. And who knows? Maybe the Attorney General position will be available if Rehnquist steps down from the Supreme Court after all. In any event, we'll be there. And we'll tell them that we owe all of it to our loyal Hot & Fresh readership. Well, almost all of it - we'll probably owe several big favors to the Mexican Mafia by the end of our campaign. But we'll be able to throw some kick ass fiestas.

Now, I don't want you think this is just about us. Other notables left off the list included: Lynda Carter (why, yes she is half Mexican), Trent (!), and Freddie Prinze, Jr.! Alright. Win some, lose some. If Wonder Woman beats you to list, you still win. And Trent's waay more established and has far more readers. If Buffy's Sarah Michelle's lesser half beats you at ping pong, you should call it a day. So our standing is still somewhere in between greatness and a half step away from cater-waiter. But we're climbing that ladder.

Look out Cantinflas! And stand aside Bumblebee Guy! J6 & FB are primed and poised to make every day gigante, not just Sabado. ¡Qué Lastima, bitches!

-J.

Este poste fue patrocinado por el ¡¡I Just Used Up All Of My Spanish!! Comité

Catwoman: The Jay Six Review!

Inspired in part by Lady T. and her declaration of August as Bad Movie Month, we bring you the very first movie review on our humble little blog.

Now, as you may have noticed, I have a little thing for superheroes. OK, I have a big thing for superheroes. And I tend to cut big screen adaptations a little slack. I understand that the translation from page to camara can't always be an exact carbon translation. Some of my favorites - Tim Burton's darkly gothic Batman films or Richard Donner's take on Superman, for example - deviate wildly. But I still enjoy. Alas, sometimes this was not to be the case when it came to the long delayed meeting of myself and Catwoman.

I know what you're saying, "But J. that stinker came out last summer to critical scorn and dismal box office. And it's been on DVD for months!" Well, like hell was I going to pay money, be it a ticket or a rental, for something I was guaranteed to hate. But when a movie hits cable TV, all bets are off. And lo and behold this weekend past, FB was over and happened upon it. Now it was free! (Sort of. You know what I mean).

I don't think it will come as a shock that the plot has some major holes. For one thing, this plot was obviosuly written when Michelle Pfeiffer (the world's second best, live action Catwoman) was being sought to reprise her Catwoman in a non-Batman movie. Right down to certain visual references that remain, it's pretty obvious this script owes a debt to Burton's slightly pyschotic version of our beloved Selina Kyle. But Halle Berry isn't playing Selina Kyle. She's not even playing a nondescript Catwoman like Julie Newmar (and Eartha Kitt and Lee Meriwether after her). She's Patience Phillips, possibly the stupidest name this side of Apple Martin(i) or CoCo (koo koo!) Arquette. And just like Burton's Selina Kyle, she kinda sorta dies and is brought back to life by cats. Unlike Selina Kyle, she sucks. And also she kinda turns into a cat. Seriously, she's afraid of rain. It's that bad.

The direction is a cracked-out music video style. Halle Berry, who really camps it up (though perhaps not intentionally), claims the director barely spoke English. Benjamin Bratt blandly plays Patience's love interest, a police detective (all Catwomen have a thing for detectives it seems). To be honest, this guy is stupider than Lois Lane could ever be. Patience is as far as I can tell), just about the only black woman in town and yet he's not sure if she's Catwoman. Also, he looks really bad in close-ups. They give poor, underused Frances Conroy (late of Six Feet Under) a frosted lens in ever shot she's in and couldn't even managed to hide Benji's fine lines. And don't get me started on the CGI cats. Are animal actors really that expensive that special effects are more cost effective? Or did all of the cats require a script that made sense before they'd sign on?

Believe it or not, I did find some bright spots in this movie. First of all, since this isn't Selina Kyle, the real Catwoman emerges unscathed. Second, Alex Borstein is really great as the best friend/co-worker who succumbs to the effects of the evil cosmetics company before getting a deserved happy ending. Third, Sharon Stone looks fantastic in all of the photographs they have draped around the cosmetic company's offices. Sure, the character she's playing makes no sense, but if her career has survived just about everything post-Basic Instinct, it can certainly survive this.

This screening by the way, took two viewings. The movie was so bad, I fell asleep halfway through (leaving poor FB - remember him? - alone with Patience and her problems) and had to catch up the next day (bless that OnDemand feature Charter gives me!). To make myself and you feel better, I'll leave us all with the one, true Catwoman....

Meow.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Statuesque Committee.

Today we get a little confessional:

I love being depressed.

OK, not actually depressed. Been there. It sucks. No, I'm talking about that semi-artificial kind of depression you only get from music, the movies, and TV. I guess it just makes me feel better about my life to see something heavier than my problems put down as art. Some people watch Jerry Springer for the same reason, I hear. In any event, for me, it's Dolly Parton ("Me & Little Andy," "Dagger Through The Heart," or "The Grass Is Blue"), Joni Mitchell ("A Case of You"), Billie Holiday (Lady In Satin - the whole album). See also: the "Wise Up" sequence in the movie Magnolia. And one particular commercial.

Yes, I said commercial.

Sure, I've been sad when characters have died on my shows or at the end of a series. But nothing has ever traumatized me like that stupid Campbell's Soup commerical...The one where a little girl is dropped off to live with a new family, all Punky Brewster-like. Oh my God, was she orphaned? Abandoned? Just poorly parented in a ghetto somewhere? Either way, she meets Foster Mom and her sympathetic eyes with steely, mute resolve at the door. Until Foster Mom brings in a bowl of tomato soup, Campbell's can in full view. Then Lil' Mutie pipes up:

"My Mommy used to make this soup for me."

Gulp. Worst fears confirmed. Real Mom is...DEAD! Overdose? Cancer? And where is Dad? Jail? Oh God. I can't handle it. Where is this going? Then Foster Mom intones,

"My mom did too. Maybe we talk about them over lunch."

Orphan Girl smiles. Foster Mom smiles. The announcer shills condensed soup at me one last time. And then Ally McBeal is back with her delusions. Orphan Girl's fine now. Ally's as fine as a crazy woman can be. But I am a mess. Does she get placed for adoption or will she go through a slew of dysfunctional foster homes a la White Oleander? I never get my resolution. But I work through some deep-seeded shit that no therapist could ever pull out, unless they had the commercial on TiVo.

Anyhow, that's I meant by I like to be depressed. Being depressed over your own problems sucks. But empathizing with a Campbell's soup orphan? That's not just good and cheap therapy, it's damn good comedy, as this post proves.

Night kids. This is way past my bedtime...

-J.

This post was sponsored by Lil' Orphan Cannie's Committee.

Happy Friday, True Believers!

I didn’t intend for this to become a weekly thing, but with another Friday comes another…

FB & Jay’s Superhero Corner!*


Secret Agent AJ Lox is the world’s greatest and gayest super spy. Armed to the teeth (seriously, he’s not above biting if in a pinch!), he can be anywhere and do anyone anything when duty calls. Whether it’s exposing holes in government conspiracies , killing vicious Memes or just the occasional friendly fire on an innocent blog, Agent Lox is always on the closet case.

Although you’d think a man this armed wouldn’t need superpowers, you’d be wrong. Besides being trained in every martial art you’ve ever heard (and three you haven’t!), he possesses an unusually high level of Gaydar^tm and lightning quick with a cutting remark. And when he cuts you – be it with a backhanded compliment or a good ol’ fashioned homemade shank, you won’t mind being kept in stitches. He’s just that good.

Welcome our newest hero to fold, kids!

-J.

*Credit must be given where credit is due - FB designed this one, so his name goes first.

Full Moon Fever

Today, some woman at work told me my new hairstyle resembled her father's toupee. Try as I may, I couldn't take that as a compliment.

Then some kids referred to me as "that scary man" as I walked past them to get into my apartment building.

Last night, the cutie trainer at the gym didn't call me "sir," making me believe he doesn't think I look ancient anymore. That's a plus.

Finally, my roommate is sick. As I walked in, she asked me to bludgeon her to death and end her suffering. (Believe me : my roomie is tough as nails. This must be bad.) I explained that I couldn't for two reasons: A) "You have a boyfriend now - that's his job," and B) "If my name's not on the insurance policy, all this means is I have to search for a new roommate."

Now, I don't know how much there is to the whole full moon driving people crazy thing, but I feel it coming nonetheless. Sure, the evidence is spotty at best. People, if you ask me, are never very nice to each other if they don't have to be. And kids are always cruel. And roommates, even the lion-hearted ones, do get sick. And the weather hasn't been too wonky lately. Except for that freak thunderstorm everyone woke up to but me.

But that hair crack is sticking with me. You see, I am growing my hair out a bit. How much is "a bit"? I don't know yet. When it's too long, I'll tell you. Or cut it. Or both. Right now, it's in that "in-between" phase, the one where every other day I'm tempted to shave in all off and start from scalp. I was too dumbfounded to explain to my well-meaning, if slightly misguided associate. (She said my hair was looking a little too flat. With that I couldn't disagree - I woke up late this morning and rushed out of the house with minimal primping time.) But other people have been complimenting my hair lately. My favorite co-worker told me the new do was very Beatle-esque. Another recently called it very "movie star." So maybe it just looked bad today. And maybe I'm just too sensitive because of the full moon coming on.

To make myself feel better, I must note that Jason is back after his unexpected week off. And Jake has a connection while traveling, so we get a Breakfast At Tiffany's - On The Road Edition!! So, no, despite an apparent bad hair day, life isn't all bad.

Still, I'm going to wear a hat to the gym tonight. I can't take any chances that the guy who I suspect may be Andrew McCarthy seeing me with my toupee on.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the My Comb-over! Committee.

UPDATE (12:31am Friday) Two funny things to add...A) the guy at the gym is definitely not Andrew McCarthy. Darn. And I've one last one to add to my "people say the shittiest things when the moon is full" list. I took my lunch knapsack with me to gym to hold my wallet and such while I worked out. (I don't do the locker. I have lock issues. Don't ask. Long story). Anyhow, after the gym I stopped into Coffee Bean to feed my addiction and heard this as I was leaving.

Barista: "See? He has a man-bag. I'm gay enough for that, too."

Not my day, I guess. I should have gone and taken back the tip I'd dropped in the jar.

OK, the the gay blogging mafia has slowed down it's activities a little: between FB's dogsitting keeping him on minimal blog this week, Jake's work vacation, and Jason's computer crashing almost a week ago (!), cynics might scoff "This will be a light blogging week."

Well, fuck those naysayers. Fuck 'em hard.

Tragic Demise has got a trilogy of trashy fun with Matt's Ricki Lake story. And Pimpin' D's got, among other things, a continuing Vegas saga. (I'm heavy with the link love this week - what can I say?) And yours truly has posted like crazy this week ! So while we all await the return of our friends on sabbatical, never fear: the fort is being held down. And we'll kick even more ass when they return.

****

And today is Belinda Carlisle's 47th birthday. As far as we know, she hasn't fallen off of a horse today. Which reminds me: the same year I listened to Roxette too much, I was also listeniing to Belinda's Runaway Horses album. Just had to share one more embarassing factoid....

****

Today I found an email from last October. Subject: maybe you need a blog. The rarely discussed fact is this: not only is FB the funnier of of our little Vaudeville act, he's also the reason I'm blogging. And I wasn't any good at it until he jumped on board. So although he's in and out this week, there is never a moment of this blog that doesn't have FB written all over it. Especially the boring stuff. Blame him for that shit.

I've got a hot date with the gym tonight. Tomorrow's post(s) should be more profound. After all I think that tonight I'll be getting more than five hours of sleep - I hear that helps the brain to work properly.

It's Hump Day. So hump someone you love. Or at least someone who you like. Or the nearest table - whatever.
-J.