At first I thought it had to be a spoof, but nope. Twelve Mormon Missionaries walk into a bar...oops, I mean twelve Mormon Missionaries returned from saving souls and then stripped off their shirts for the new Mormon Men On A Mission calendar. Sporting plucked eyebrows, seriously coiffed hair, strategically placed make-up and trimmed treasure trails, Mitt's storm troopers are hoping that perfect abs, meaty pecs, lightly fluffed armpits and perky Salt Lake City nipples will have us all rushing to embrace the Church of Latter Day Saints--and, I suppose, voting for Mitt. Works for the MSNBC reporter and works for me as well.

These missionaries have assumed the calendar position in the hopes that it will dispel stereotypes about Mormons. Having watched the videos and listened to the interviews, all I can say is that my belief in the stereotype that many Mormon men are hunky, hot closet queens has totally been put to bed.

You can purchase the calendar at mormonsexposed.com. Do visit the website whether or not you intend to purchase 12 semi-nude Mormon Missionaries for your on-your-knees praying to God pleasure. It's chock full of great info on each model's missionary position and includes an interactive photo gallery where you can slide your mouse across a Mormon man's white-shirted body and strip him bare for your viewing pleasure. Oh, and don't forget to pick up a few items of hot Mormon man apparel! I can't imagine wearing anything else to the clubs and bars--at least until the Rabbi's of the Yeshiva release their calendars and T-shirts.

Oh Mitt, let me lick your Great Salt Lake!

Sometimes these posts just write themselves, if you know what I mean.

On August 19,1990, Leonard Bernstein conducted his last performance. I was there. I had to be; my first full-blown gay crush was nearing the end of his career (more quickly than anyone realized on that day). Just two months later he would be buried in Brooklyn at the age of 72. Bernstein was also my first big gay role model: gay, Jewish, a New Yorker, enormously successful, famously influential and a passionate hunk.

I had fallen for Lenny a quarter century earlier.

n 1965, Lincoln Center recognized 100 New York City high school students for excellence in the performing arts. I was among the 100. You had to be nominated by the faculty of your school and then judged by Lincoln Center's Board of Directors. Honorees had to demonstrate excellence in two or more areas; in my case it was drama, set design and writing. I was also named "Most Sophisticated" by my senior class. And then there was the summer of 1962 when I studied Shakespearean acting at the McCarter Theatre in Princeton, New Jersey. I was the best 14-year-old Prospero my grandmother had ever seen.

All of that and no one thought I was gay-- except for Leonard Bernstein. Some 40 years later, as an openly gay man, I would return to Lincoln Center to pay tribute to the maestro with some help from my friend Gabe.

More Lincoln Center, more Lenny and much more of Gabe after the break...

Having lived for almost half a century with one of the urban world's most neglected and mostly abandoned river banks, the notion of a livable or even safely walkable Hudson River shoreline always seemed to be absolutely ridiculous. Even when the excavated land from the construction of the Twin Towers created hundreds of acres of new Manhattan real estate it was challenging to imagine anything other than shattered timbers and scurrying rodents.

But that's the miracle of New York City. Never has no real meaning. And belief, expectation and complacency are just a bloody waste of time. Quietly, persistently and dramatically the Hudson River waterfront has transformed from violence, squalor, vermin, urban decay, tumbling piers, disease ridden twenty dollar hookers of every gender configuration imaginable--and some not so imaginable--into a 5 mile stretch of neatly landscaped, verdant and welcoming parkland lined with an increasing number of luxury apartments, art galleries, fountains, spectacular views, delightful sunbathing eye candy and one of the world's largest sports clubs--covering 30 acres and 4 historic piers all on its own.

I live on 42nd Street, the world's most famous street and I love it. Even as a native Manhattanite, I still find it thrilling to walk along the street that intersects with Broadway in Times Square and holds the extraordinary distinction of being one half of the crossroads of the universe. Out-of-towners find it difficult to imagine that anyone actually lives on 42nd Street--dances maybe--but not lives. In fact, like any street or avenue in Manhattan, 42nd Street delivers a unique and intense diversity of life. And, in fact, the reason 42nd Street is the astonishing place that it is has to do with the astonishing range of activities on this one relatively short street--1.75 miles from end to end. Cutting across the entire width of the island of Manhattan, 42nd Street runs from the East River and the FDR Drive to the Hudson River and the West Side Highway.

Over the past few months, I've been exploring the manly side of Manhattan, sweetly talking lovely young men out of their shirts and posing them among the architectural and historical gems of Gotham City. We've been on Christoper Street, around Greenwich Village, in Hell's Kitchen, in Central Park's Ramble and on the Subway. Next week we enlist an ex-Marine from the Jersey Shore for a sunrise stroll along 42nd Street.

Not that I'm running out of ideas--between hormones and Manhattan that's not likely to ever happen as long as I can walk and shoot--but I would love to make this experience more interactive. So I'm officially welcoming reader's requests. Let me know what kind of guy you'd like me to do and where you would like me to do him. The only restrictions are that your suggestions must be legal and I limit my photo safaris to the island of Manhattan. Sorry Brooklyn. Sorry Bronx. Maybe next year. So send in your ideas and I'll do my best to eventually submit to your demands.

Hugs and kisses on this sunny summer Saturday morning.

QueerSighted Showcases the 'Men of Laguna Beach' Calendar


What do Brad Pitt, George Clooney and 20 hot, shirtless guys have in common? They're all part of an inventive campaign by a committed group of volunteers known as "Save the Boom" who want to preempt Laguna Beach's historic gay bar, the Boom Boom Room, from being leveled to make room for new development.

In its latest effort to save the Boom, the group launched a calendar contest chock full of Laguna's hottest eye candy. From auditions of the beach community's sexiest guys, 20 men (including a few straight men) were selected by a panel of judges as finalists. Next, judges will narrow that down to 12 for a 2008 calendar the group plans to sell this fall. Proceeds will benefit Save the Boom and local charities in Laguna Beach.

QueerSighted is the exclusive host of the online Men of Laguna photo gallery where you can get a peek at the Laguna Beach beach boys. We also have a poll where you can vote on which 12 guys YOU think should grace the pages of January to December. A panel of judges will decide the final results, but I'm sure they want to know what you guys think, so cast a vote for your favorite. The photos were all gorgeously shot, by the way, by celebrity photographer Cristopher Lapp who donated his time and services.

Since the property on which the Boom Boom Room (and the adjoining Coast Inn) sits was sold a year and a half ago, Save the Boom has been able to keep the bar on life support by helping to get its leased extended. The group has pulled out all manner of imaginative stops to persuade the new owner to keep this important bit of Laguna gay life (and history) intact, not torn down to make way for something high-end and glamorous -- which is what's happened to most all of Laguna Beach already. The future is very much in jeopardy now as the current lease will expire again in about three weeks. Save the Boom is hoping for a buyer to step in who will want to preserve the bar.

Save the Boom is the brainchild of Laguna resident Fred Karger, a retired marketing/PR guru who has used his expertise to get attention for the cause. This spring, Save the Boom took out a full page ad in Variety asking George Clooney and Brad Pitt to "Save the Boom!" -- an attempt to leverage rumors that the Hollywood hunks had bought the property. Although the rumors were false, the ad did what is was meant to do: get people talking about the Boom Boom Room, including TMZ who led with the headline 'Pitt & Clooney Mixed Up in Gay Bar Fight.'

(more, plus photos, after the jump)

If a New Yorker lacks an important Subway story, he or she is not a New Yorker, not by a long shot. The Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) is not just an integral part of New York City, it is one of the core defining factors of who we are. And while the MTA includes buses and trains, it is the trains that constitute the cardiovascular system of this strange and unique metropolis. And like the human cardiovascular system it is vital to the city's survival, causes us tremendous grief when occluded and gives us the energy and strength to do what we do to make New York what it is.

Even Sigmund Freud would admit that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and sometimes a train is just a train, but sometimes a train is the New York City Subway.

And when it's August, hotter than hell and the men are dripping in sweat, cotton clinging to muscle, a train is clearly something else.

The New York City Subway system is likely one of the most under-rated or at least rarely discussed cruising areas in the urban world. Consider the scenario: close quarters, powerful human scent, "accidental" bumping and rubbing and depending on the time of day, at least one player in this hormonal waltz is on his way to a convenient place of assignation.

The notorious and dreaded Gay Agenda Guerillas (GAG) launched a full frontal assault on heterosexuals today, targeting the crossroads of the universe during peak tourist season. With the cunning of Al Qaeda, GAG's lavender troops began their recruitment drive early this morning in the heart of New York's Times Square.

Once a beach head was established behind the United States Armed Forces Recruiting Station, the rest of the square fell like a Dick Cheney shooting victim.

GAG propagandists lulled the city police department and Homeland Security officials into a false sense of status quo with claims that it was nothing more than National Underwear Day and nothing more than innocent models peddling the latest fashions in male and female unmentionables. So sweet, so harmless, so cunning. As the world's most famous crossroads swelled with lavender troops, the assault was soon unstoppable. New York officials had been fabulously duped.

A mere two square miles of New York City blocks, Greenwich Village may be the most important and influential hothouse of queer culture and talent in world history. The why and how of this fact would easily keep an army of academics busy for generations.

Most of us know "the Village" for it's bars, clubs, historic cruising areas and, of course, the Stonewall Riots. But all of that, including Stonewall, are simply manifestations of an underlying cultural, spiritual and intellectual tradition that goes back more than a century.

Generally, one tours the Village for its architectural landmarks and extraordinary mixture of 18th and 19th Century charm--but on this occasion--festooned with ample eye candy thanks to my friends Sasha and Giovanni--I pay tribute to a small sampling of the gay fruits of this fertile former marshland. I think you'll agree that the concentrated queerness of Greenwich Village is almost supernatural. Everyone mentioned either lived or launched their careers in this quickly little corner of Manhattan Island and are important players in the neighborhood's very queer tapestry.

All you need to do is click here. Yes, it's another history lesson, but with more than a spoonful of sugar.

Greenwich Village: Queer Culture Hothouse

A fantasy involving Charlize Theron vs. Angelina Jolie, Clea Duvall vs. Missy Pergrym, Alicia Keys vs. Norah Jones, Keira Knightley vs. Sarah Silverman, Cat Deeley vs. Rachel Shelley, Leisha Hailey vs. Laura Prepon, Katharine Mcphee vs. Persia White, Liv Tyler vs. Aisha Tyler.

I'm Arlan, and though I have a dude's name, I'm certainly all woman. And even better, I'm an all woman-loving woman. That's right! An old fashioned, newfangled lesbian! I am a homosexual. If you're not following, what I'm trying to say is, I like to watch chicks make out with each other. But who doesn't??

Like any self-respecting lesbian, I often fantasize about various celebs duking it out in the ultimate pillow fight tournament. It's sort of like fantasy baseball, except with no icky balls within a 50 mile radius.

I figured that there's no better time than smack dab in the middle of summer to get this chick-on-chick pillow fight started, and I'm inviting YOU to decide the winners! Check out the super hot photo gallery and vote for who you think would win in these match-ups I've created. The winners of each match will battle it out in a second round with other winners...and so on, 'til we crown our ultimate Lesbian Fantasy Pillow Fight Champion!

It's silly, yes. But if being silly and super lesbian is wrong, well, I don't wanna be right!

Start here: Click, Drool, Vote on the Hot Chick Pillow Fight Tournament

Gay planets collided this morning when I opened photographer Dan Kaplan's email containing his photos from San Diego Pride: dozens of gym-perfect, nearly naked men prancing and strutting. "Go Pride!" proclaimed the email.

But the email arrived just as I was reading a very nasty little tidbit from Rockton, Illinois: The local school board held a meeting this past week to hear parents' perspectives on providing a Gay Straight Alliance that "would give gay and lesbian students a place where they feel comfortable and wouldn't be subject to harassment."

One parent showed up at the hearing to support the Gay Straight Alliance. Fifteen parents showed up to denounce it.

So much for Pride, Pride as ridiculously defined by partying muscle-bound boys in the streets of San Diego vs Pride in the real world.

Over a period of two hours, Rockford, Illinois Pride consisted of loving, compassionate American parents consigning gay boys and girls to some level of Hell.

The 15 adults who took the time and trouble to attend the meeting made arguments ranging from the group being part of a wider radical homosexual agenda and promoting a dangerous lifestyle to it being not necessary and possibly illegal.

The teacher who advocates the safe haven for Rockford's gay and lesbian kids pointed out that the hearing "shows why we need (the alliance) in the first place."

The school board will continue to deliberate because the passion of 15 superstition-blinded bigots is more important than the safety and education of the children under their charge.

If you haven't already, go read Part 5 of Suffer The Little Children

Straight men may have female mud wrestling, but gay men owe a debt of gratitude to the finest fighting force in the free world, the United States Marine Corps. I know we can only look and not touch, but in the case of the annual Camp Pendleton Mud Run, looking was pretty much all my little heart and circulatory system could handle.

Katharine Mcphee and I have been married for a while now, and it's like we're still on our honeymoon. It's like Sade said in that one song, "Everyday is Christmas and every night is New Year's Eve." I mean sure, it's been tough keeping our love a top secret in Hollywood (and the rest of the world), but I totally get it. This is just not the time in her career for her to go all Melissa Etheridge on her 15-year-old fans. (Yes. Yes it is.) Plus, to be honest with you--and Kat's gonna KILL me when she reads this *giggle*--the sex is so much hotter because of all of the secrecy. We make fun of our little undercover affair. Like for instance, she'll dress up as a Bond Girl sometimes, and I'll dress up as The Luckiest B*tch In the WORLD. It's basically good times 24/7.

I had to take a train ride a few days ago, so I thought it would be the perfect time to catch up on my wife's latest magazine cover story. I grabbed a copy of the most recent issue of STUFF magazine at the train station, found a comfy seat on board, sniffed the cover and got ready for what was surely going to be the best train ride EVER.

Fast forward 2.34 minutes, and I was finished reading the interview.

Ten questions?? And the "Are you McNaughty or McNice" one doesn't even count in my book. I immediately called a couple of (straight) friends (who read) to figure out what was going on. In my research I found that apparently STUFF magazine is for dudes, and apparently they don't really care about what the chick on the cover has to say about...well, anything. "It's all about the pictures," I was told.

Alright then. Fair enough. I mean no one knows more than I do that Mcphee is smokin' hot. So I understand. You gotta sell 'papes. So I do recommend you guys go to the newsstand, flip through the mag and see all of the extremely, ridiculously hot photos of her. And if you want to read the "article," you can right now at www.StuffMagazine.com

But if you want to know what Katharine's wife prefers when it comes to Mcphee showin her *stuff* on magazine covers, check out this vid:


Aw. Once again, my wife's personality and true beauty shine through. That's my baby girl. It's OK to be jealous of us. Why wouldn't you be? If you want to see more footage of her--and you should want to--click here. And yes, she often sings "Strong Enough" to me while I'm falling asleep. It's what we do.

(Dis' claimer: For the people who are just joining my insanity (and cause AOL said I had to say this) Katharine Mcphee and I are not really married. That'd be crazy wouldn't it.....cause everyone knows that gay marriage isn't allowed in California yet. So we're just in a common-law arrangement until the courts recognize our love. P.S. I'm so getting fired. ;-) )

Summertime in Central Park is a queer boy's dream come true. Everyone knows the Ramble, that deep forested area that's been hosting naughty gay men for nearly a century, but when it comes to testosterone-coated eye candy almost any nook or cranny of Frederick Law Olmsted's landscaping masterpiece delivers tasty morsels that are usually at least half unwrapped and ready to be licked (like a lollipop, nothing dirty, I swear.)

On a recent spectacular summer Sunday, humming bits and pieces of Sondheim's brilliant musical Sunday in the Park With George, trusty camera clenched tightly in my eager fist, I set off for a stalking in Central Park. I do believe that Central Park in summer is to a gay stalker what an unlocked hen house is to the fox. (I could have said chicken hawk but then you'd get the right wrong idea.)

You can see it all on Fire Island or the beaches of Mykonos, but there's something about the accidental find of Central Park that is uniquely New York and deliciously forbidden. Surely, part of the thrill is all this shirtless wonderfulness smack dab in the center of America's largest and most sophisticated metropolis--that special pheromonic scent of combined concrete, taxi exhaust fumes, male flesh and giant flower pot.

Please join me in exploring the fruits of my stalking and other various and sundry pleasures of summer in Central Park. Of course, my model was a handsome blond jogger rather than Bernadette Peters and my medium is digital photographer rather than oil paints. Nonetheless, I think you'll enjoy the results.

Sunday In The Park With George: Photo Tour

Few people--straight or gay-- associate New York gay culture and history with neighborhoods other than Greenwich Village or Chelsea. The odd thing about this is that aside from the Stonewall Riots and the Christopher Street Pier, the East Village likely boasts more influential and relevant gay history packed into its narrow streets and avenues than the West Village and Chelsea combined.

Among other things, the East Village nurtured such gay artists as Jean-Michel Basquiat, Andy Warhol, Keith Haring and Robert Mapplethorpe. The urban gay party was born in the East Village in a little place called The Saint. New York's gay sexual revolution, a sexual revolution that changed gay culture forever spilled out of Tompkins Square Park and off Avenue A and Saint Marks Place long before Stonewall. And what was undeniably the most famous and influential drag club in American gay history was "hidden" in the basement of an old tenement at no. 82 East 4th Street, long before Lady Bunny was even a twinkle in her the eye of the sales clerk at the Lane Bryant Plus-Sized Lady's department.