Juice with Junior

Welcome to another Sunday Swoon. Glad you're back. Over here, we've been showcasing undercover gay man hotness to celebrate gay pride. What have you been up to? Today, we have a gentleman who needs to get in my belly like yesterday. Nobody talks about him that much, but he is epic hotness.

Epic.

Today's swoon is: Andy Butler (above).

I told you guys a little while ago in my music post that I had been listening to a lot of Hercules and Love Affair. I still am. Butler is the NYC-based DJ who is also chief songwriter of my pants and creative force for the musical group. As you can see, he is also a ginger, which I love, and he has tattoos, which I love (on him), and he is all artsy and deep. He went to Sarah Lawrence College where he studied philosophical, cultural things, which I love less but is right around where I grew up so we could totally meet there for anything. I don't care if this makes me sound like a big 'ole whore, but Andy, if you read this, I will totally sleep with you. Just email me. Seriously. No, stop laughing. Seriously.

But I'm convinced any relationship we'd have would be me being all "Let's sleep together" and him being all "We're gonna connect our spirits through the mystics of time" and me being all "I think I love you" and him being all "Love is the embrace of all that is enlightened in the universe" and me being all "I want to move in with you" and him being all "Home is a construct of where we map our spatial identities" and me being all "No, stop Andy, seriously. I'm in love with you" and him being all "I'm F-ing somebody else."

Of course you are.

There are times when I'm a boy, and times when I'm a girl. Playing tennis, boy. Liking every boy near me in a 30 mile radius, girl. Listening to The Offspring, boy.

Plucking my eyebrows, girl (it gets unruly up there, this has to be done).

I am aware of my boy/girl split and work at creating a balance between the genders of myself so that neither side is taking over. There are aspects of femininity and masculinity that I enjoy equally. Except when it comes to watching make-up tutorials on YouTube. That's when I become a full fledged, card carrying, you go girl. I love make-up tutorials (like below). Love 'em!

Not because I want to be a make-up artist.

I am convinced I'd make someone look like that old lady that Zooey Deschanel gave the "Cirque Du Face" look to in "The Good Girl." No, I'm just fascinated by the artistry of knowing how to combine all those products and brushes and tools to make your face look completely different. I think maybe it's because I've never worn make-up before ever in my entire life and my face has basically looked the same since I was 2, that I am intrigued by these masters of the brush.

I first discovered these on YouTube when I wasn't employed and had all night to sit up and watch strange videos I'd never seen before. You have no idea the stuff that is waiting for you to discover on YouTube. I won't even spoil it. It's like those old 80s cable access shows, there is some strange stuff... But the bright spot was finding these make-up tutorials from a YouTube user named panacea81, who is amazeballs. Watch above and report back.

I promise that you will lose half your day watching them all.

Discussion Questions: Do you love make-up tutorial videos on the Internet or TV? What strange videos have attracted you on YouTube (please send links)? And aren't you glad I'm working because my idle mind was going to waste?

Alright, moving right along here. Celebrating gay pride for the rest of the year. Selecting (slightly) under the radar gay men as our swoon-worthy objects. Slowly realizing that all these attractive gay men exist in the world and are not dating me. Trying not to think about that too much. This week, we have a sexy CNN news anchor to swoon over, and no it's not my husband Anderson Cooper, and by the way, now that we're married, I won't stand for any "Anderson Cooper is hot!" talk.

Be respectful. We took an oath before Oprah.

This week's guy is: Don Lemon (above)!

Lemon's been doing news forever so when he came out as a gay man earlier this year, it was kinda a big deal. I hope for his and everyone's sake that they don't futz around with his shift on the network and leave him where he is. The fact that he's gay is secondary to the fact that he's hot, third comes his journalist ability, which is apparent and his sexual orientation shouldn't affect how the network treats him. He's also 45 years old, which is crazy talk. I totally want to get invited to his apartment late one night... so I can look through his medicine chest and see what products he uses.

I pray every night to Jesus I look this good when pushing 50.

Now, here's the question: How much do you love Don Lemon? And how much do you think of "Mad Men"'s Don Draper and "30 Rock"'s Liz Lemon when you say his name? And isn't it crazy that the actors who played those parts acted together before! Freaky...

New York City Boys
Chapter Ten - The Switch

(Revisit earlier chapters by clicking here)

Macks' Kenneth Cole clogs clicked as he ran down the halls of Lenox Hill Hospital stopping only to find a worn-looking Jon standing outside a room, his shoulders slumped low and his head pointed down, ever so forlornly. Macks spoke Jon's name and raced to him with his arms wide open.

The men hugged and Jon let his pain from the past few days release from his system like a turned faucet. Macks never bucked from the vulnerability. The two men went inside the room.

Erik was lying on the bed asleep when Jon and Macks sat on the nearby windowsill to talk. There were a few red cuts and abrasions on Erik's face, without which, he would have looked how he always does when he sleeps.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here when I first heard. I'm still dealing with Catt Kostas and her nonsense with the fashion… None of this matters," Macks whispered, eyeing Erik with a compassion he never really extended the man in normal life. "How is he?"

Jon sighed, "He's doing better. He has some internal bleeding so the doctors want to observe him for a little while longer. They cracked one of his ribs, busted his lips, gave him a black eye, on and on."

"What happened again?" Macks inquired. "He was leaving rehearsal and some thugs beat him up?"

Jon chuckled. If only it were that simple.

"He had been gambling and losing for a little while now, but he would never tell me about it. He'd be down a thousand, five thousand, whatever. He'd be down. He'd pay it off through the help of your friendly neighborhood loan shark and then he'd pay the loan shark back when he had money," Jon narrated in a disinterested, clinical way. "This went on and on, until he stopped getting jobs to pay off the debt. So he'd gamble more thinking if he won, he could pay off the debt with the winnings. Except he never won. His loan shark, bookie, whatever paid the debts so Erik owed him the money, which Erik was going to pay with the money he made from the play…"

"David in Saigon?" Macks interjected.

"Yes," Jon chuckled again, bitterly. "But his bookie loan shark got antsy and sold his debt to someone and he won't even tell us who that person or persons is. This new gangster sent a bunch of goons to the theater where Erik was rehearsing to beat him up, and they did a good job. What's so ridiculous is that he would have made enough money from the play to pay the money back, except now that they beat him up, he can't do the play anymore."

"Erik's not doing the play?" Macks exclaimed in a slightly louder voice than he intended.

"No. The producers found someone else," Jon responded. "So now not only does he still owe the money, he has no way to pay it back."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Jon answered.

"This is a pretty fancy hospital suite. How's Erik paying for this?"

"He's using my insurance."

Macks looked around at the warmly colored hospital room. Single occupancy. Private bathroom. Television. Small table for eating. He landed back on Jon.

"When I went to rehab many moons ago, it cost me an arm and a leg," Macks remembered. "What kind of insurance pays out this much for someone's gay boyfriend?"

"Andrew Kirshner."

"Excuse me, Jon," said a doctor who had strolled in the room while the two men were conversing. "Could we speak outside?" the doctor said.

We haven't had a Question to the World in a little while, have we? I don't think we have. Let's bring it back! I have a new Question to the World for you guys except, I'm combining topics a little in an effort to be space conscious. It's all about organization at Juice with Junior. Today's question has to do with my (lack of a) love life. See, remember I told you guys I would be keeping you in the loop as to my goal of finding someone, anyone to call my boyfriend by the time I turn 30. As I turn 29 in only a few months, this drive has turned into something of a mad dash some would say.

I would say that it is mostly an excuse for Junior to feel depressed and eat whole boxes of Zebra Cakes while watching belligerent brides on "Bridezillas," while yelling things at the screen like "How come this crazy B has a man and I don't?!" But I digest… Well, I wanted to use the Question of the World today to discuss the particulars of dating and finding a match in this world we live in.

First, let me present the question:

What do you consider to be the perfect date?

To better explain, this could be an activity or a place or an experience, it could be a date you've had already and it was perfect for you, or maybe this is a date with someone you'd like to have with someone you'd like to have it with (like in my case), I just want to know out of all the things in the world that exist, what are your favorites to do when on a date with someone you like romantically?

I recently went on a date that was not perfect.

Actually, it was the opposite of perfect. "Imperfect"? "Flawed"? "Hot mess"? Whatever you call it, it was crash boom bad.

I'll describe it and then get into how this particular question came into my mind and my answer.

---
So backing up a bit, after all that Charlie nonsense I told you about (in short, gay boy falls in love with misleading straight boy, gay boy eats Zebra Cakes) I decided that I needed to be more proactive about finding a man, a real gay man who was going to really date me. So I dialed up the gay speed dating on the Interwebs, found a reputable venue, and put on my blazer jacket and marched down there to meet some eligible bachelors. It was an interesting experience. I recommend that everyone do it once. I don't care if you're seeing someone or married. Go together. Do speed dating once.

It is a trip. Let me paint my picture. The room is on the third floor of a rec center, in the back. The room looks like a former classroom turned juvenile detention center exercise room turned performance art space. There are folding chairs lined up in four rows, with each row facing each other. There is one overhead light shining down on us like an interrogation room. The room is hot. Really, really, really hot. There is apparently no air conditioning, and me, in my blazer jacket, is already sweating balls. I am late. I tend to procrastinate things I don't want to do and I really didn't feel like being rejected by men I'd never met so I procrastinated leaving to go to the speed dating so I got there 45 minutes late. I walk in. A nice but firm gentleman snatches my money, asks for my name, writes it on one of those "Hello, My Name Is…" stickers, slaps it on my chest, and points to a cute young guy standing next to me.

The guy who snatched my money says in reference to the cute young guy, "This is Jacob, sit down. He's your first date."

Jacob and I fold out two more chairs and sit down. Jacob is ridiculously too hot for me. He says he's an actor and I can tell because his skin is milky smooth and his teeth are too big for his face. I am immediately nervous which is this thing I do around attractive men. So add together my nerves around Jacob, this hot room, my rushing to get there because I was late, that fact that I was sweating balls, the newness of the experience, and the fact that as there are 40 other gay men talking in the room at the same time meaning that YOU CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING EXCEPT YOUR HEART BEATING, and you can understand why I was a little flustered. Regardless, Jacob is being a good sport about it. He isn't saying anything about my sweat or my swirling eyes or my anxious stutter. I stop him for a second with "Sorry, I've never done this before and it's a little over…"

Then, the lights go out.

In the dark, Jacob shakes my hand and has moved to the next seat over when the lights flick back on. Apparently, switching the lights on and off is how we signal that your however many seconds date is now over. No one told me this. Can you see now why I say speed dating was an experience?

Eventually, I took off my blazer jacket, found a tissue and wiped my brow, got a drink of water, and settled into my dates. I was lucky to be the guy who didn't have to get up every three minutes, so I basically had a string of gay men rotate before me like a Lazy Susan. You know what I discovered? Each and every one of us said the exact same thing to ourselves and to each other: "Dating is hard."


None of these men I was meeting seemed interested in me, per se, but they were all interested in talking, which was fun in that it gave me a tangible understanding that I am not alone in this whole dating world. It universally sucks. That made me feel better. After a while, we stopped the dates and had a mingling period, which I dreaded because I always get awkward at cocktail parties. I don't understand them. First off, why are we all standing around? Second, why am I eating standing up? Third, why is there no music playing? Fourth, why are we all standing around?

So I was not enjoying the mingling period. Eventually, I waltzed up to a tall drink of water with a cute face and a British accent, but because I do not know how to speak to men I find attractive, I proceeded to babble something about how I love British things. I then started listing all the British things I knew to impress him (?). Crumpets. Lorrys. East Enders. Ellie Goulding. Red phone booths.

The British guy kept talking to me (no doubt because the act of talking to me was community service that he could claim at the end of the year) and then said "Good to meet you" before walking away never to be seen again.

Then, I met Eugene. He came sidling up to me and introduced himself. I wasn't paying any attention because I just realized how crazy I looked in front of the British guy. Ellie Goulding? Really? Eugene and I started talking and it was going whatever. Lorrys? Why?

Then, the way the speed dating worked is that you had to select the number of the guy you liked and if he chose your number, you were a match and would be told so. I was so flustered that I forgot to write down any numbers on the pen and pad they told me to write numbers on, so I was scrambling to remember people's numbers. 10? 18? 23? 4? Oh no! In the end, the only person I matched with was Eugene, a blonde nerd with a skittish personality. I gave him my number anyway, which he accepted like he couldn't be but so bothered.

And I left.
---
Two days later, Eugene texts me. He wants to go out. Where, I ask. Silence. How about Cafeteria, I say. Sure. He's there first on the Friday for our date. I'm like 5 minutes behind. He texts me. Where are U? I say, I'm five minutes away. Two minutes later. Where are U? I'm waiting. I say (and am realizing what I'm dealing with), I'm two minutes away.

When I finally get there, he barely manages a smile and we sit. I will finish this date if it kills me.


Right away, outside of the frantic speed dating room, I realize that I'm not really sexually attracted to this man. I guess I was before because he was the only one talking to me in the hot room, but now, not so much. I also realize that we are having less of a conversation as much as it is an interview. I would ask a question. He would answer it, and that was it. I'll give you an example.

Me: "So do you play any sports?" Him: "Not really." Silence. Me: "Well, I play tennis." Him: "Hmmm. *sips water*". It wasn't the worst date I've ever been on (that honor will always belong to the gentleman who left me in the middle of a walking tour. We started the tour of the park together and ended it apart), but it was pretty darn bad.
---
Afterward, I was commiserating with friends about the terrible date and they asked what I would have wanted to happen differently to make it a good date, a great date, the perfect date.

Here is what I told them:

A perfect date for me would begin with meeting at a Manhattan cafe, shaking hands, renewed introductions if necessary. A cup of coffee there and some light banter back and forth about how we set up the date. I'm glad we could both get away kind of talk. Then, we'd go and see a sweet but not terribly romantic movie. Because you should see the movie or play or musical or whatever before you have dinner that way you have something to talk about at dinner (the movie or play or musical or whatever). Then, we'd go to dinner. Someplace nice but not too date nighty, but you still have to dress well. At dinner, we use the movie as an entrance into asking more personal questions. What do you love about your job? What's the most adventurous thing you've ever done? Stuff like that. After dinner, I love the idea of a walk through Manhattan. Maybe on The High Line or along the West Side Highway looking over the Hudson. If things are going well, you get a little more affection, arms around shoulders, etc.

Now you're talking about relationships, love, sex, much more personal than at dinner. A walk may lead to the subway or a cab where you'd see the person off with anything from a hug to a kiss on the cheek (nothing more, this is a first date and you're a good girl). That to me is a perfect date.

It's a first date or an early date, but a perfect one nonetheless.


Now some people thought this was sweet, others actually thought that my dream date was too long, too many places, too many stops. I figured that if you like someone, wouldn't you want to spend time with them? That's why my first date is literally all night long. I want to get to know the guy, and give him time to want to get to know me. Or maybe I'm wrong? When you think about the perfect date? What images do you come up with?

p.s. the next post about my love life will chronicle my dalliances with a number of completely inappropriate boys (now with even less sex!) Get ready for it!

Lady Sovereign Goddess Tilda Swinton is on the cover of the August W Magazine (left) wearing Ferragamo and being generally amazing. I feel like the best way I can describe how I feel about this cover is through an anecdote.

Recently, I was out with my mother in suburban Pennsylvania walking around the mall. So if you're picturing large-sized people walking around in cargo shorts (no cargo shorts ever!) then you are picturing the scene accurately.

So I'm walking through the middle of this scene and feeling a little disenchanted by where I am, by life in general when I feel this breeze blow past me. I turn around and this 95-pound fabulous gay boy walking to H&M with his friend floats past me. What is he wearing? Glad you asked. He is wearing a black three-piece tuxedo (it is 95 degrees out), the jacket has long tails that have gold points at the end (!), a ruffled white blouse like from "Seinfeld", his hair is jet black, flat ironed, and swept to one side of his face covering his eyes that are hooded in heavy black eyeliner.

His friend is filming his every move on his iPhone, which is what I would do if I were his friend. As the fabulous boy walks, his jacket tails blow in the wind literally making him look like he's in a music video. People are staring at him, but the moment I see this boy, I turned and vocally said "Yes!"

I followed it up with a "Werk, girl! WERK!" although this was said in my head as the boy wafted by and proceeded to live on the rarefied air that he is used to. I felt the same way when I saw this cover.

Werk, Tilda. Werk.

p.s. "Rag Report" is not really a new feature. I've always talked about magazines, but now the feature finally has a name. It took long enough for my application to be approved. Whooo!

Hey everyone! We have another Sunday Swoon for you today! As I said before from now through the rest of the year, we will only be featuring out gay men as our Sunday Swoons to celebrate gay pride! We've already featured Rep. Jared Polis and Kele Okereke and now we have a new man. While my original intention with this series was to focus on gay men who were not known for their hotness, I couldn't not pick today's Swoon object because I saw him in THREE commercials today and it was his birthday last week! How can I not pick him today!

Today's guy is Robert Gant!

Gant, who starred in "Queer as Folk," turned 43 on July 13 and can currently be seen on TV in a toothpaste commercial, another one for The Olive Garden, and another one where he gets sand all up on his pretty face for a car company. Each time I see one of them, it's like a little gift wrapped in a bow like "hey, that's Robert Gant looking fine. Now back to folding laundry." or whatever. Now, have you seen Gant lately? Look closer. You probably have.

Some other things I learned about Gant today: his real last name is Gonzalez as he has a Spanish/Cuban background. Never knew. He was born in Florida, which I didn't think could produce anything other than complete insanity. And he's been acting in commercials since the age of 10, which explains why I keep seeing his face. Well, Happy Birthday, Mr. Gant and I'll be seeing 'ya!

Have you seen Gant recently? Do tell!

Well, we've made it through the first half of 2011. Can you believe it? I know, it seems like just yesterday I was… You know what?

Let's not dwell in the past.

Except when it comes to music and except when it comes to the past 6 months. One of my favorite activities this time of year is looking back and picking out what music from what artists really got us moving and grooving to the beat. I've selected a few choice numbers that I think you should have had in rotation on your personal music players, and if you haven't, this will get you caught up to speed in the year in music. Lastly, my list is far from exhaustive and is comprised of my own personal faves so by all means, submit your own favorite music of the year so far and I'll give it a listen.

I'm always in the mood for new music.

Alright, let's begin with that lady holding down the fort up there with her faux chinchilla fur covering her lady chest as I'm sure it was cold wherever she was. She is Beyoncé and her album "4" (June) was one of the more enjoyable albums of the first half of this year.

At times funky, at other times deliciously bombastic, and at other times the latter part of a West Philadelphia wedding reception in 1987, it was definitely the best total listening experience Bey has ever produced. The problem with a well-rounded album is that no single track can stand out and upstage the rest. The only track that comes close is a pounding Afrobeat/TV On the Radio homage called "End of Time" (listen at left). Seriously, she could have released an album of just this song played 14 times and I would have bought it twice.

Next let's talk about Teddy Thompson. The British alt-country folker (and son of Richard and Linda Thompson, friend to Rufus and Martha Wainwright) released "Bella" in February. A moving and delicately beautiful album, it is a companion to walking through fields and under covered bridges.

Try "The Next One," (click album title above for player) the most direct modern rock song and the best overall song on the album, for a refresher/introduction/slice of heaven.

Staying across the pond for a moment, ADELE released "21" (left) in January and proceeded to blow up the world (not to mention a certain Lady of American music royalty whom we will not be discussing in this post).

While I did not enjoy everything "21" had to offer (her voice is beautiful, but a variation in torch songs would have been nice), I loved "Rolling in the Deep" (and the video) just as much as the rest of the world. The song I enjoyed most from this album is track 2, "Rumour Has It" (below). It's Aretha/Etta/Mavis with a twist.

I demand a 1960s mod-styled video with a lot of shadows in angles, dancers in impossible stilettos, the longest of curly yaki weaves in Adele's head, knee-high boots, and downcast key lighting everywhere.

Let's talk about a few boys while we're doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well.

Moby released "Destroyed" in May. Better than "Wait for Me" but not as good as "Last Night" (and certainly not as good as "Play"), "Destroyed" is serviceable with a few flashes of brilliance like the bouncy, 90s-electro throwback "After." Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder's "Ukelele Songs" was pretty if only hindered by the fact that it's an album of songs for the ukelele. The standout is an epically beautiful Everly Brothers sing-a-long called "Sleepless Nights" with Glen Hansard, the guy who won the Oscar for writing that song from that movie that one time. I guess it's not a good sign that the song I picked is a cover, but how much ukelele can one man take?

Longtime soul/R&B creator Raphael Saadiq released 1960s inspired "Stone Rollin'" in May.

It seems curious that he would choose now to release this as the 60s sound has long since been dead as a musical trend, but the album is well produced (almost too well, the sound is as if it was created in the 60s, less than fresh) and catchy. Loving "Just Don't" and "Go to Hell" a lot...

My favorite is "Movin' Down the Line," a ditty I could see myself dancing to at a jive bar wearing a mustard mock turtleneck and high-water pants with a boy in thick black plastic eyeglasses frames.

Next is the second album by New York City collective Hercules and Love Affair called "Blue Songs" (left; January).

While the group's first self-titled album was so widely praised, I actually preferred this one to the first. The first is awash in 70s and 80s gay (bath)house music that is so technically perfect to the time and place, it loses the ability to have fun after awhile. "Songs," which picks up with a more 80s/90s sensibility and a host of new vocalists, is a little more energetic and takes itself less seriously. A few songs will def be on my party playlist this summer.

My favorite song is "Leonora," (left) meaning that I've listened to it almost 200 times since I put it on my iPod about two months ago! It's a sexy, twinkling disco tune about nothing and everything with a soft boy-girl tag team vocal offering something for everyone of any sexuality.

It will probably be my favorite Album Track of the Year, but we do have 6 months left.

I have a couple more before I hand over the mic. Danish electropop goddess and media darling Oh Land released her self-titled American debut in March. It's pretty much universally good with standouts being first single "Son of a Gun" and "Voodoo." British dubstep producer James Blake released his debut self-titled album also in March. It's interesting, but at some points slow (even for dubstep), with single "The Wilhelm Scream" being my favorite. Lastly, rapper Wiz Khalifa's "Rolling Papers" (March) features excellent production if weaker rhymes and does boast "Black and Yellow," one of the most addictive songs ever recorded. And alt rockers Cold War Kids released a terrible album "Mine Is Yours" in January. I mention it because there is one song I love on it called "Sensitive Kid."

It's worth a listen.


Now I've listened to more this year. Britney. J-Hud. k.d. but this is what made my iPod so far. Plus, I have a few more to listen to (here's looking at you Matt Nathanson (above)…) My work is never done! Now, what about you, what new music have you been indulging in for the past 6 months?

You guys know that I have been dating CNN newsman and person of distinction and excellent breeding Anderson Cooper (in my head) for quite some time now. Coop, as I call him because he is my boyfriend and he loves it, doesn't like to talk much about his private life, but dating me has been something of an open secret in the ultra-exclusive circles of which he and I frequent. It's an open secret like how we all know Oprah is Jesus God Incarnate or how Wolf Blitzer's is an actual wolf, but don't say anything.

That makes today extra special.

Today, I'm pulling back the veil to announce… I have to do it because Coop is busy doing something newsy and important that generally affects lives… And the thing is that very soon, Coop and I will be getting married in New York City! I know! Thank you. Seriously, thank you. It's too much. It will be a simple (completely fictional) affair attended by 1,200 of our closet friends and family that will probably shut down all of Manhattan when it occurs, much like Kate & Wills did in London except our wedding will be a little more understated. For example, we're not having a horse-drawn carriage because we recognize that these are difficult financial times for many people. Instead, we will take Bentleys. Used Bentleys.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, I have to say a big thank you to all my friends in Albany who supported and then approved gay marriage in the state. I think it is the domino that will begin the slow and steady approvals of gay marriage in other states (and eventually the federal government). While gay people as a whole have a lot of other hurdles to jump over before society stops treating us like the Undesired (when we've been here the whole time!), this is a very positive first step, particularly and most importantly because it paves the way for Coop and I to get married in the state that we were both born in.

See, doesn't this just feel right?

Enough with all that, you wanna talk wedding details?! Okay, now I know some of you have already taken out your day planners and Smartphones to block off the weekend of our wedding, and I can't blame you. It's going to be the wedding of the decade. If I wasn't in it, I wouldn't miss it. But Coop and I haven't chosen the exact date yet. We're still waiting to see when Oprah/Jesus will be free (she's officiating) and there was something about the skywriters who will spell out "Junior + Andy 4EVAH!" in the clouds above the East River not being able to fly during hurricane season.

Whatevs. Not my problem. Regardless of these setbacks, we have most all of the other details mapped out so let me break it down for you so you'll know what to expect when you show up (IN FORMAL DRESS! Srsly, I will forcibly remove sloppy people.)

Okay, we're having a 5-day wedding.

Yes. Five days. Not everyone will be invited to every activity during the five days, so it is very important that you review your informational packet that will be sent along with your invitation.

Make a few copies of your itinerary and leave them around the house. Along with the wedding registry list. Coop & I are registered at Bloomingdales, Crate and Barrel, The Trevor Project for those crunchy granola types that want to give to charity in lieu of a gift (hate these people), and Kenneth Cole (the person, not the store). Okay, now the day-by-day details are below.


Day 1: 8 PM, Shower Dinner at The Four Seasons (above)

This low-key, 250-person event will officially begin the wedding week and celebrate the love that Coop and I share. Seared foie gras with a raspberry-star anise compote, sweet corn ravioli with rock shrimp and chanterelles, thai-barbecued chicken and a papaya salad with mango-chili sauce, and gorgonzola-crusted filet mignon on a bed of baby romaine and grilled onions will be served.

(p.s. this food is not a joke)

Day 2: 12 noon, Parents' and Grandparents' Lunch at The Russian Tea Room (left)

Where Coop and I explain what it means for two men to be in a relationship. And where Gloria Vanderbilt and my mother will compete for the title of "Who Can Be More Bougie?"

3 PM, Final Review of Wedding Day Itinerary with Preston Bailey, who is co-organizing the wedding with me

When I will make one final push for doves with bells on their feet that will be released when Coop and I are officially married to be included in the wedding.

For some reason, I've been getting a lot of push back about this.


8 PM, Anderson's Bachelor Party with Kathy Griffin (above) at the Top of the Rock in Rockefeller Center

Ending time: when I tell him to come home.

Day 3: 12 noon, Signing of the Marriage License at City Hall, light reception to follow

2 PM, Final Wedding Party Suit and Dress Fitting at The Men's Store at Saks Fifth Avenue on 5th Avenue, light reception to follow

6 PM, Marathon Work-Out Session at David Barton

To work off the weight I gained from two "light receptions".


10 PM, My Bachelor Party at Barracuda (above)

Ending time: TBD.

Day 4: 12 noon, Family Wedding Guest Barbecue at Sylvia's in Harlem (right)

Another opportunity to explain what it means for two men to be in a relationship. This one's gotta stick. Plus, I wanted them to close 125th Street so we could all play tennis and have picnics, but again, more push back.

6 PM, Wedding Rehearsal in the Central Park Tent (the one on the Great Lawn that they're constructing solely for the wedding, oh I didn't tell you. They're building a tent just for the wedding...)

9 PM, Rehearsal Dinner at Nobu 57

I will not be eating anything as I will have to be poured into my Hugo Boss tuxedo otherwise.

11 PM, Friends-Only Pre-Wedding Slumber Party! at The Pierre, where I will be staying the whole week in a suite because I want to.

This is the last chance opportunity for anyone in the wedding party to sleep with anyone else in the wedding party. Here's looking at you two, Kathy Griffin and LL Cool J.


Day 5: The Wedding!

Six PM, Central Park

The day will begin with Coop and I getting ready at our separate hotels (he's staying at The Peninsula to be "one with the people," whatever that means) with our respective wedding parties. My party includes maid of honor Pippa Middleton, matron of honor Zoe Saldana, best man John Cena (whose tuxedo is sleeveless), and flower children the Jolie-Pitt children (led by Zahara natch). His party includes matrons of honor Kelly Ripa and NeNe Leakes, and best man Kathy Griffin.

We will arrive at the giant tent in the middle of Central Park in our USED Bentleys separately and greet guests separately because we can't see each other before the wedding. Mostly because I may rip his clothes off prior to the wedding, and his Prada suit is crazy expensive.

Now is a good time as any to mention some of the people who will be attending the wedding: New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo and Food Network host and slightly first lady Sandra Lee. Beyonce and Jay-Z. I plan on sending Gwyneth Paltrow an invitation just to disinvite her the day of the wedding. Chris Martin. Jennifer Hudson plus husband. Tina Fey plus husband. Neil Patrick Harris plus husband. Kate Hudson plus baby daddy. Rachel Maddow, Diane Sawyer, Batista, and The Rock (who will all sit together). Wilson Cruz. Kathie Lee Griffin plus a bottle of Pinot. John Cho. RuPaul. The hats Beatrice and Eugenie wore to the Royal Wedding. Meryl Streep and Amanda Lepore (who will sit together). Michael Musto. Chelsea Handler. Andre Leon Talley. I plan on sending Anna Wintour an invitation just to disinvite her the day of the wedding. Grace Jones. Christopher Meloni plus wife I guess. Dan Choi. Tilda Swinton plus whomever the f*ck she wants. And Liza Minnelli (left), because it wouldn't be a New York gay wedding without Liza Minnelli. And of course anyone Coop wants to invite, but not too many because I can't cut from my list. Because everyone is important, Coop!

Moving on. All 1,200 guests arrive and take their seats under a massive iridescent tent lit from underneath with hundreds of softly glowing votive candles (we are working on the fire permit). Just picture days and days of white roses, hydrangeas, calla lilies, white lilacs, everywhere. At the front of the tent there's a giant white gazebo with a big white throne where Oprah will sit before the ceremony (similar to the one she sits in in heaven!). There's white lace for days, gauzy white patterns, softly blowing curtains; seriously, this gazebo looks straight out of a 1980s music video. Then, a little Pachelbel "Canon in D major" starts and the wedding party makes it's way up the center aisle. Slowly. Like we practiced at rehearsal everyone…

Then once all this sh*t is over (speed it up Ripa!), we get to the main event. The stereo system turns up. On either side of the gazebo, a curtain lifts and Coop and I see each other for the very first time. Coop instantly bursts into tears as his love is too great.

I maintain my composure because I can't risk looking puffy in the pictures. Then, off to the side, Enya appears singing "Anywhere Is" (right) and we, Coop and I, not Enya, start making our way toward the gazebo. Are you crying? Good. So Coop and I start walking in step toward the gazebo. When Enya hits the crescendo at the end, the "it's either this or that way" part, we clasp hands, I remind Coop that we are on camera, and dozens of white doves with bells on their feet fly from a compartment inside the gazebo! Why can't I be allowed to do this?! Don't you realize how beautiful that would be? Fine, some rose petals fall to the ground or something.

Whatever. Not as good.

So then the ceremony follows, and it's pretty standard. Oprah says a lot of things about unity and the children and love and living in the truth. I'm not really listening as I am staring at Coop thinking about all the dirty little… Anyway, the reception will follow and it'll be a lot of family and friends… Listen, Beyonce's going to perform, then Jennifer Hudson, then I was thinking about having Elton John play a white piano while members of Cirque de Soleil dance around him. I gotta flesh that idea out. I of course am going to sing "The Way You Look Tonight" and "The Very Thought of You" and "True" by Spandau Ballet and… okay, maybe I'm gonna do a set.


We'll have food by Wolfgang Puck of course, but he can't be given a microphone because he's distracting. And that'll pretty much be it. Except for the strippers. But that's a surprise!

We'll just dance the night away until Coop and I have to catch a plane for our honeymoon to Paris and Switzerland. And this all has to happen before his show starts!


So thank you New York State lawmakers for giving Coop and I the opportunity to legally in the eyes of the state and our god (Oprah) to unite in our love! It truly is a very beautiful thing.

Now, can I get an early show of hands as to who thinks they might be coming to the wedding? And the doves, little tiny bells won't hurt them that much, right? And who is your secret celebrity fiancé or fianceé, and when are you two getting gay married? Am I invited to the wedding?

Just kidding, I know I am.

For me, the summer of 2001 was all about using Nelly Furtado to help me get over having a nervous breakdown an acute depressive episode while at college, interning at a place I had no business interning, and figuring out how to juggle burgeoning social obligations. See, Furtado's first album, "Whoa, Nelly!," came out toward the end of 2000, and I just bought it in the summer when I was 18 years old. While this summer will always be remembered as the summer before 9/11 (which I will not describe because it has been described by others), it will always be remembered to me as the summer when I blared Furtado from my iPod while taking the Metro North train into Manhattan--choosing to sit next to the most attractive businessman I could find, then pretend what our lives would be like if we were a real couple and not just sitting next to each other--to go to the internship I had no business having.

I had no business having this internship because, while I appreciated it and benefitted from it and liked some of it, I really did not have any interest in doing what I was doing there. But the office was on Wall Street (did I mention the business man fetish?) and I had to get out of my parents' house because of the aforementioned acute depressive episode. So I took it, and proceeded to do nothing all day except call my friend, Derick, and look up the names of boys we liked in Lexis Nexis. As horrible as this all makes me sound, you have to remember that I was 18 years old.

The summer of 2001 was extremely hot. The heat flared from the asphalt on the streets in horizontal waves. If you had to wear clothes for work and stuff, they would stick to your sweaty body. If you didn't wear clothes, you were more comfortable but probably either homeless or a runner/gym buff who wanted to show off (and I thank you). I had made a bunch of new friends at a bookstore I was moonlighting at so I was often running around to see this new group of people excited by me. It was interesting because I wasn't sure if I was excited by me. The past winter, I locked myself in my dorm room (of which I had a roommate so you see how this is a problem) and proceeded to tell whomever was listening that I wanted it over. You know, the whole thing.

Now it was the blazing hot summer and I was jetting to Madison Square Park to meet a new friend, whom was also interning at a place she didn't really want to be interning, for coffee looking around like "Was this my life?" People actually like me? Crazy, never believed it before.

Occasionally, I would misjudge the 1 train and end up at the World Trade Center stop instead of the Church Street stop, which was actually closer to where I was interning than Wall Street, which I hated and this is said with no hindsight involved given the circumstances. I hated the World Trade Center subway stop because it was always so packed and you had to walk like a mile of WTC before you got to the outdoors. You had gaggles of people, shops, tourists, it was a Manhattanites nightmare. Then you got outside and looked up and saw these monstrous buildings staring down at you. I still have never looked at anything that gargantuan in my entire life.

So I avoided the area, and then in August, I went back upstate for school.

My iPod--not the same one from back then but still pretty old regardless--tripped me up today by cycling to some old Nelly Furtado today and I got to pondering. Not about people or going back in time. God no. While I wouldn't mind having my 18 year old abs back, I'm glad I'm not that age anymore. It just got me thinking about time and stuff.

And do you know what I realized? 10 years later, I'm living at home (temporarily), working in Manhattan during the blazing hot summer sticky clothes and all, and facing a new set of social obligations with a new set of friends I met while working in a bookstore.

As much as things change...

Any whooo, enjoy some Nelly...

Now where were you 10 years ago?