boy culture

Je Ne Gay Quoi

La couverture.

TÊTU (Septembre 2007) offers another set of reasons why the French are superior to us; just kidding, but barely.

First, I was happy to see an ad for Boy Culture. Here it is, in as large a size as my scanner would go for:

C'est moi!

Check out this feature on the restorative powers of water. It'll leave you...wet:

Yer soaking in it.

The cover-boy is 21-year-old Ohioan Tyler Lough, who has the innocence of a young Bill Henson, or (as is appropriate since this is the trend) of a Bruce Weber discovery. He's captured by Greg Vaughan in several pages' worth of vulnerable masculinity. Only hitch? The French text references Rocky IV, making me worry that's one of his fave flicks. Ah, well. Ohio and all:

Dreamboy.

Then there is a beautiful spread by Benno Thoma called "Anges ou Démons" that shows perfect men romping nude. Is it a religious statement, questioning if perfect men romping nude are examples of how God made us or are vessels of lust? I sometimes read too much into things, but I think I'm right this time—one of the dudes is eating an apple, for Christ's sake:

Snakes in the Garden of He-den.

Continue reading for many more images, including Joseph Sayers and J.P. Calderon.

Gay Men's Health Crisis

The new Genre falls victim to something that plagues a lot of people these days—looks great but kind of empty inside. I don't want to unfairly trash something that obviously took a lot of effort, but my honest opinion is that it's got a terrific newsstand cover, but one that is a clear knock-off of Men's Health...which is weird in that new EIC Neal Boulton was once EIC at Men's Fitness, which got into hot water for knocking off Men's Health. (Boulton was not EIC of Men's Fitness at that time.)

I know from firsthand experience that magazines shamelessly copy other, more inspired (or more upwardly mobile) magazines' cover designs and interiors, but I think the strategy here—to turn Genre into a sort of fitness magazine that makes space for gay-lifestyle elements, is not a blueprint for triumph. I could be wrong, and I respect their risk-taking, but my thought is that gay men who are fitness buffs read fitness magazines and will not need a gay fitness magazine to add to the pile. Rather, what would lead a gay man to buy Genre would be a desire for an all-around, full-service gay-lifestyle read. We'll know soon enough if I'm right or wrong. We already know I'm not fitness maven.

Boulton was the source of a minor outcry (what's that, a whimper?) when he was announced as the new Chris Ciompi, since his status as a gay man was challenged. Bizarrely, a whimper also went up when Out's latest EIC, Aaron Hicklin, was said to be straight. He's not, and neither is Boulton, who is something even worse than not gay...he's post-gay. His editor's letter really turned me off, sorry to say. Isn't "post-gay" terribly 1999? I know that definitions are for old men like me (38), but post-gay counts as a definition. If you're truly without labels, you wouldn't even waste your brain cells on arguing that you're post-gay...and you damn sure would not be reading Genre.

Along with some post-gay gobbledygook, Boulton offers some strange, macho chest-beating:

"I'm gay—but I'm an American. And a damn proud one, too—one without the time for labels that have baggage...

"Labels aside, like any American, I like what Americans like.

"I like a hot car (actually, in my case, a hot motorcycle); I want to have a hot body (so I train at a boxing gym where I may not be hot, but I am working on it); and I want a walk-in closet full of hot clothes to put on that body (sadly, I live in Manhattan, so, the walk-in part is still only a fantasy). And sex. Can anyone ever really get enough?"

I've had enough. Look, I don't envy anyone the task of attempting to revitalize an ink-on-paper magazine—let alone a gay one!—in 2007-going-on-2008, so I'll hold back (besides, this dude knows how to box 'n' shit), but I really feel that an editorial letter with a bit more self-deprecation or at least humor would be more winning. This slop reads like "GREED IS GOOD!" except "greed" is code for "sucking a cock hanging out of a pair of pants no one outside a metropolitan area could ever, ever, ever afford" and "good" is code for "all you should ever hope for and screw any faggots who tell you otherwise."

I just don't think labeling is Boulton's root problem. Or rather, if "American" is the only label you feel you share with your readers, you might be working in the wrong genre.

I will say this for the new Genre—it has a beautiful, clean design (reminds me of Cargo, which of course died young, stayed prett-ay) and Boulton has assembled top-notch photographers.

Leather so hot the cows were proud to give it up.

"Leathermen" is badly titled but assertively shot by Rick Day, and not one of the leather goods looks silly or International Male-ish.

The cover story, much more creatively entitled "[short stories]," is also by Day—not sure what it is by night, but it's extremely sexy and exceptionally persuasive. It's written by an ex-roommate of mine, so I'll leave the text alone (it's good).

So the fash is good, the health is dominant—but the rest feels like filler. And I just hate that G Man feature, highlighting (I'm sure perfectly nice) guys from around the nation. It's a feature that wants to be a personals section and isn't. I think it's intended to be a nod to the small-town gays who think that New York and L.A. and San Francisco gays think we're all that (we do, shame on us). Good instinct (oops, that's another gay title) to counter those thoughts, but there must be a better solution.

I wish the staff well and will keep an eye out—you should pardon the expression—for the next installment.

The end.

100 iMAGES

My photoblog iLOVESNEWYORK is up to 100 images. Woot! (Oh, no..."woot?"...I'm really a blogger now.)

It's not what you think.

In The DNA

Cover me with it.

DNA #90's been out forever—I've already previewed the smoking-hot #93 on this blog—but I just found it in the U.S. recently so forgive me if this is old news to some.

Of most pressing interest to me is a page-long interview with actor Jonathon Trent and director/co-writer Q. Allan Brocka from Boy Culture. The stand-out quote was Allan's—"I feel I have a lot in common with Matthew—the writer—and the characters." I think that's sweet, and it's more explicitly stated here than in any other interviews, where it's already pretty implicit. Dark minds think alike.

The body and its dangers.

There is also a compelling piece on Brett Mycles, the gay porn star who mysteriously died at the age of 29 this past year. Mycles—real name: Rob Sager—lived a life that could be described as a cautionary tale. He was a teen bodybuilder and fitness model who graduated/degenerated (your call) into solo and eventually hardcore (albeit quite limited in scope) gay porn movies. He regretted this decision, which he'd naively made under the assumption that no one would really see those movies and that they would not have any impact on his other goals. Unfortunately, they did to some extent. It's not whether or not a choice is absolutely moral or absolutely immoral; it's about your own comfort with that choice. If you're not comfortable, you'll feel regret and that can weigh even the strongest of men down, down, down.

Unique physique—Brett/Rob's last shots.

The money quote is, "The price Rob paid for that body was high. You don't get a body like his naturally." This seems to me a fair and all-too-seldom heard sentiment, and it's ironic coming as it does in a magazine full of credibility-stretching bodies read by the men who crave them, and/or who hope to attain them. The images are by Tom Cullis, and were the last ever taken of Brett Mycles, who might be considered the killer of Rob Sager.

Obligatory tribute MySpace here.

This thorn could prick you.

Speaking of amazing—but not impossibly so—bodies, there is a lengthy spread on Danny Thorn by Gabriel Goldberg that satisfies the athletic supporter in me. Oh, and in case you were wondering, his jockstrap is by BIKE.

Check out coverguy Levi nude here, and after the jump check out more of Levi's DNA spread as well as many more Danny images.

DNA is slow to hit NYC, but it's usually worth the wait.

Parting Glances Gets An Eyejob

"Surprise!" Parting Glances is back and she's had work done.

I've blogged and retro-reviewed the seminal gay film Parting Glances before, and was ecstatic to hear that it had been chosen by the Legacy Project of Outfest and UCLA as the first film to be fully restored. Yes, it's only 20 years old, but that's decrepit in movie years—you'd be surprised how many not-so-old films are impossible to see in anything but a visibly degraded state.

The big news is that a sterling new print of Parting Glances will have its East Coast premiere at Lincoln Center (The Film Society Of Lincoln Center's Walter Reade Theater, 165 W. 65th St., New York, NY) on October 29 in a benefit for NewFest and Outfest.

I'm proud to say I'm listed as one of the hosts. Come say hello and we can exchange not only parting glances, but lingering stares.

Seeing is believing.

Buy tickets at NewFest.org.

If you cough up $100 (or approximately what this indie was made for to begin with), you can attend a 6:30 p.m. pre-ception in the Frieda And Rory Furman Gallery At Lincoln Center along with seeing the film at 7:30 p.m. (followed by a Q&A!) and a 9:30 p.m. reception back at the Furman Gallery.

Original cast members Richard Ganoung, John Bolger (yes, he's related to Ray Bolger, who knew???), Kathy Kinney and Steve Buscemi are scheduled to appear—seeing them reunited in the flesh will be like...what if Nick had survived as a PWA all these years? A little queer bird tells me that Richard Wall, everyone's favorite too-too party guest, might be there as well!

I can see right through you.

I heard about Parting Glances when I arrived in Chicago as a freshman at The University Of Chicago. It played at The Fine Arts Theatre on South Michigan Avenue, but I was too scared to go. (My first in-the-theater gay flick was Maurice and I was petrified that everyone KNEW why I was THERE, much like how Maurice believed a doctor could tell he was gay by looking at his penis.) Later, Parting Glances was screened on video by my college's gay group. I hated that group but was desperate to see it, so I made the journey on the bus after hours to get to the scene, plunked down on a folding chair and had a completely transcendant experience that made me feel more connected to a huge world of other people like/unlike/related to myself, in spite of sitting around a bunch of those same kinds of people with whom I inexplicably wanted nothing to do. Greener grass, and all. But the film touched me deeply at a time when I would have been grateful for even a little shallow touching.

My original review of Parting Glances, written for Outrate as linked above, follows in its entirety after the jump. Please come see the film if you're in NYC. I expect it to be a lot of fun. Unless I don't get to say hi to or meet any of the four or five stars, in which case you can witness a host having a trés embarrassing meltdown..."I neeever dine in a restaurant with less than two stars!"

Sweet Like Gandy

The dancer who claimed to have taken the Oscar de la Hoya cross-dressing images has since hedged on her initial claims—suggesting to me either that they are fake and she's scared of the legal fall-out, or that they are real but she was finally paid off by de la Hoya. I don't know why some people's initial reactions have been to assume they're fake—they don't look particularly fake. I know that some of the explanations for why they would be fake are preposterous, like, "Why would he let someone take his picture like that?" as if celebrities (and regular people, too!) have not done potentially embarrassing things that defy logic in the past. I think they're real, and until it's shown who "PhotoShopped" them and where they got the candids of his face that matched this imposter's body—they fit like a golden glove—then I will go on believing they're real.

If they are fraudulent, and it's eventually proven, they'd almost have to be the result of a look-alike...a look-a-lot-alike!

In the meantime, it's a pretty hot coincidence that the new issue of V Man (Fall/Winter 2007) has these images of male model David Gandy by Mario Testino. I'm sure they were PhotoShopped, too. Gee, if you're a boxer, it's a devastating assault to your image to be portrayed in fishnets (even if you've been accused of assaulting women in the past), but if you're a male model, it's a step up the career ladder.

I Know You've Been Waiting...Yeah...

"Everybody, come on—dance and sing! Everybody, get up and do your thing!"

Yup, as predicted, the very first MOMENT she was eligible, Madonna has been nominated for a spot in the Rock 'n' Roll Hall Of Fame. Has it really been 25 years since the release of "Everybody?"

She is a shoo-in—she's already all over the place.

She's been nominated along with a truly outstanding group. In order of most likely to least likely to be chosen (they pick five of the nine nominees), they are: John Mellencamp, Beastie Boys, Chic, Dave Clark Five, Afrika Bambaataa, Donna Summer, Leonard Cohen and the Ventures. I'd love to love you, baby, but Donna is not considered "rock" enough, and two disco divas in one year will never happen.

Wow, first Blondie and now Madonna—Kylie must be counting down the days.

And here is a comprehensive list of acts eligible but not nominated this year. The most shocking absence is Metallica, but Sting is pretty crazily left behind as well. Sonic Youth looks golden for the future, but the others all look like pipe dreams. Janet Jackson will never, ever make it. Actually, no other diva seems likely to be included (I'd be less surprised by eventual nominations), among them Janet, Whitney, Mariah and Celine.

Will The Last Janet Jackson Fan Please Turn Out The Lights?

I'm not into Janet—she had some technical dancing abilities and some of her songs were okay, but she was mainly a manufactured face person for Jam & Lewis whose radio success in the '80s and '90s was befuddling. But this really tickled me—a block-long stretch of a wooden barrier around a construction site was whitewashed to hide all the advertising posters and graffiti, but whoever did the job couldn't bring him- or herself to cover Janet's face on what used to be a Tyler Perry poster. I guess it was done all for love.

Missed a spot...missed it much.

Same Time Next Millennium

Every once in a while, I use Google for something other than keeping dibs on Madonna, monitoring the latest political polls or trolling for my own name—I look up people I used to know. It's fascinating times 10 how easy it is to find some, and how invisible others seem to be. If you're not Google-able, I almost wonder if you're a vampire or something.

The U of C...so warm 'n' fuzzy.

Recently, I Googled an acquaintance of mine, Jeff, from my University of Chicago days. We were never "friends," but we got to know each other a bit in a poetry class in my junior or senior year. But our real introduction was to have taken place when we were freshmen—his uncle had let my dad know Jeff would be attending the U of C along with me and suggested we look each other up. Hm. A coach was telling my coach dad that his jock nephew and I should meet up—this seemed like the kind of association I was escaping from back in Michigan, not the kind I was hoping to find by moving to The Big City.

I passed.

But I kept the slip of paper with Jeff's name on it and I remembered it when we shared the poetry class, where he proved to be an upbeat and enthusiastic person to read in front of/listen to. I won't get into the specifics of his story because it's his and not mine, but the end result is that I wrote a poem based on my vividly imagined perception of how his life might be and I didn't find out for years that I'd hit the nail on the head. Among other things, he was gay, though in the closet throughout college.

If only I'd called him, we might have both had an understanding pal from Day One instead of however long it took me to find Zafar and however long it took him to find whoever he eventually found (possibly his now-partner was his first gay friend).

Flash forward, and we're eating together, catching up. I'm blogging this because I highly recommend doing something similar—as long as you're sure the person you're hunting down has any interest in seeing you again!—because while we didn't get too intense, just being in a situation where I was boiling down my life of the past 15+ years out loud to someone was quite touching. I've got nothing to deeply regret or anything, but nobody is 100% satisfied with how they live their lives except for non-thinkers...so let's see if I use this pleasant experience to tweak the aspects of my life that I found it a drag to say out loud.

We Are All Neanderthals

The video going around of an actor who pretends to choke and then actually chokes is really harrowing to me to watch despite a lot of people making fun of him and it. I felt so bad for him I looked him up—turns out he's John Lehr, the Geico caveman in some of the commercials, including the hilarious one that pits him against his own therapist. Glad he didn't choke to death—somehow I think that video would have ended up on YouTube anyway.