Kenneth Cole and I have a strange relationship. I love his designs, and I love that he interprets the voice of the modern urban gay man through Continue Reading »

It never fails. You can set your Swatch by it. At least twice every week my mad-stylish LA-based BFFL Nikki will IM me and ask, completely out of Continue Reading »

“And the song was written from a perspective of hope. And hope, at the end of the day, connects us all, no matter how different we are.” Continue Reading »

There’s gotta be something wrong with him.

There always is.

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Ask Queer questions, get Queer answers. Duh!

Coming in March!

“So it’s nothing like elephantitis?” “No, Adelle.”

“That’s good ’cause my Uncle Morey-he once got bit by a mosquito and his yahoos swelled up like melons.”

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Remember the ’80s public service announcement where the dad confronts his son about the marijuana he discovers in his offspring’s room, and where

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A continuing story of love and lust in Chicago, the city of big shoulders and abs of steel.

“Hope you don’t mind me barging in, but I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Adelle Frish from right next door,” says the smiling blonde after she releases her new neighbor from her tight embrace.

I’m Seth Robinson,” he replies.

And I’m Roger Hardy.”

Oh, you big silly, I know you-nothing but trouble he is-so you better watch your back with him,” she warns Seth while shaking a bright red fingernail at the other man, who nods his head in agreement and adds:
“And your front.”

This remark sends the woman into brief hysterics as she slaps Roger’s arm: “Stop it, you’re terrible. Oh, I like this lamp.”

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A continuing story of love and lust in Chicago, the city of big shoulders and abs of steel.

“Who the hell are you?”

That’s how the box of DVDs ends up in the snow on their new front lawn. He drops it when the old lady startles the bejesus out of him with a voice that could wake the dead. She just appears out of nowhere-like some sort of witch. And she does kind of remind him of Endora from Bewitched-except for the black jacket with an embroidered white “SOX” on the front, the hot pink Converse sneakers and the cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Actually it’s her face that conjures up images of Samantha’s marvelous mother-the false eyelashes, the ruby lipstick and the bright red hair styled in such a glamorous way that one can almost overlook the rest of her. Almost.

“I asked you a question, young man.”

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