I take no responsibility for how you interpret that headline. Hot gay sports bar Boxers is considering keeping the doors on its new Hell’s Kitchen spot closed until 4:00 pm, ’cause the temptation might be too great for the kiddies at Sacred Heart . . .
From DNAinfo.com: HELL’S KITCHEN — Boxers may only ope n after the school bell rings. At a tense meeting with the local block association, the owners of a proposed Hell’s Kitchen gay sports bar said they are considering keeping the bar closed when a nearby school is open.
The owners of Boxers NYC in Chelsea agreed to open the main floor of their proposed Hell’s Kitchen outpost at 1 p.m. at a meeting with the Community Board 4 Business Licenses and Permits Committee earlier this month. The bar’s rooftop patio would open later on school days, at 4 p.m.
Many angry and vocal residents voiced their concerns about the controversial bar, repeating that they don’t want it near two schools in the area. The building used by the bar would be across from Sacred Heart of Jesus School, and abut the PS 111′s playground.
Last night we went to see Dina Martina at the Laurie Beechman Theater, our second time this year. I’d happened upon her by accident and she looked interesting, so off we went back in the spring (or maybe last fall, I seem to remember her talking about having just finished her summer run in Provincetown then, too; time is so elusive). This is a wonderfully weird performer, not to be categorized with drag at all, in my opinion. Dina Martina is something altogether different, and belongs in a category of her own. And so connected is the performer (Grady West) with the creation that I can’t think of her as him or of Dina as someone who made her up.
Alan Cumming was sitting at the next table, just throwing that out. He had a baseball cap on at first and I said to Frank, “I think that’s Alan Cumming.” The cap came off and I was right. He was at a table with three other men and from what I could tell he enjoyed the show.
Dina was as strange as ever. She likes to wear dresses that can’t be zipped in the back, so you see this bizarre female character with a hairy back. Nothing else fits, including the smear of lipstick. This show was more songs than the last, and I think I liked the first show better . Not sure why. She came down into the audience a lot last night, and sang one song to the back of my head. She seems to specialize in singing familiar songs with completely made-up lyrics. Very funny indeed, and I love the Laurie Beechman, a great space for this sort of thing. If you get a chance to see Dina Martina, put her on your list. She’s not something you’ll find yourself describing easily.
This story was all over the news a couple weeks ago, complete with video of a black being beaten and run over by a truck. What many people may not know is that he was also gay, and the mistreatment of his partner is yet another horrific reminder of our inequality in the eyes of the law.
When a pack of white teenagers beat 48-year-old James Craig Anderson within an inch of his life and then finished the job by running him over with a truck in June, they did so because Anderson was black. What the Jackson, Mississippi auto plant worker’s attackers didn’t know is that he was also gay, and that when he died that night he left behind a 4-year-old daughter and a partner of nearly 20 years, James Bradfield.
With the help of attorney Morris Dees, founder of the Southern Poverty Law Center, Anderson’s family has filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against the teenagers who brutalized him that night. A glaring omission from the plaintiff list in that case is Bradfield. Despite the fact that Anderson spent more than half his adult life with Bradfield by his side, under Mississippi law, same-sex partners have no claim in civil actions.
I signed up for a standup comedy class because I thought it would be fun and something to write about. After two classes I discovered another important lesson (besides going for the things we want to do in life): it’s okay to quit.
I’m not a performer. Or, rather, I perform in isolation, at a keyboard. I’ve been a writer since childhood and continue to experience writing as a passion. But to get up and “do what I do” in front of people has always been a bit paralyzing. And while I was having a lot of fun coming up with a standup comedy routine, I was finding my Wednesdays filled with dread instead of pleasure at the thought of class that night.
It also gave me the opportunity to look at how much I operate based on what I assume to be other people’s expectations of me. I was about to keep going because I thought the friends I’d invited to the graduation show would be disappointed if I told them I’d dropped out of class. It dredged up a lot of very old, very deep issues about being a disappointment, or assuming I was viewed that way, or, worst of all, viewing myself that way.
There is nothing whatsoever wrong with trying something, realizing it’s not right for you, and walking cleanly away. I took this class, as mentioned, in large part so I could write about it for this site and encourage others to go out and do things they wanted to try. And now, with this particular stress out of my life, I can say it’s fine to taste-test and, if the taste it not so sweet, move on. Yes, I’m a standup comedy class dropout. But I did it, I tried it, and now it’s on to something else.
This prick doesn’t give up, does he? I have to chuckle at the assertion that same-sex marriage is a grave threat to the species. Apparently a relative handful of gay marriages might put an end to the relentless procreation of seven billion people.
Frank and I just had one of our regular “surprise weekends,” when one of us lines up a weekend of events (dinner, massage, theater) and the other doesn’t know what they are until we get there. It’s a great way to keep things interesting. We take turns, and this past weekend was Franks’ turn to surprise me. It stared with dinner Friday at one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants, Bistro Lamazou (3rd Avenue and 26th), followed by a show at the New York Comedy Club. That was completely unexpected but appropriate, given that I’m taking a standup comedy class!
Saturday was a massage at a day spa and dinner at yet another favorite, Parea Bistro. And then, the topping on the sundae – a total surprise visit to South Street Seaport. The Seaport is one of those “tourist destinations” I never get to but always have on my list. That happens when you live in a city: you probably don’t get out to see the highlights until someone visits and you’re showing them around. I’m like a kid in a candy store at the South Street Seaport. Water, ships, shops and lots of people.