Ring-mistress

So Britney's back in the ring, and HOW! Circus has pretty much shattered all the records, following closely on the heels of her other hit single Womanizer. This is the part where I blush, shuffle my feet and admit that I'm one of the old-time Spears fans. I liked the masochistic school-girl with pigtails who liked being hit... one more time, and I loved her in Crazy, and I even liked her in that ridiculous poor-little-rich-girl Lucky song... And then I watched horrified as she spiraled down a horrible rollercoaster, amply helped in her smouldering descent by the media.

Let's not blame the paparazzi alone here. As someone pointed out on her Wikipedia page, Britney's a great example of how people become simultaneously valued/devalued as commodities rather than human beings. Suddenly, every little thing Britney did was news, every tantrum, every angry outburst was screaming at you from the front page - and yes, you were lapping it up! As Britney croons, all eyes on me in the center of the ring, just like a circus...!



Was she partly responsible for all that attention? Perhaps - but definitely not to the gruesome extent that it turned out to be. The Spears Phenomenon pretty much became a case study in media ethics on reporting privacy in my classroom - in fact, I encouraged my students to think about the media attention and whether it was merited even in the case of the most publicity-greedy celebs.

But this post is not about debating the pros and cons of media commoditification (yea, you probably won't find that word in Webster!). It's about how she actually came back from over the hill where she'd practically been hurled over and buried six feet under. It took more than one lunge from her, and several attempts to come back, fight for custody of her kids (an ongoing battle), fight to get back into shape, fight to get the right songs, and struggle to grow as a person. And I like to think she has. Circus is definitely a newer Britney: I see shades of her journey as a person through the awesome challenges thrown at her. And I like how she uses humor to channel her anger into some great ditties in the new album. Case in point: Womanizer.



K-Fed, duck for cover - she's opened the closet now, bitch! :-)

Sex in Another City

Alright, so it wasn't exactly New York, New York, but it was the SATC movie nevertheless, right here in my Midwest town. (At least there's the pic of the NYC bus stop poster I clicked in the big city, so that's a littel something...!) Had an early shower, dragged Irish Coffee, and there the two of us were at the Director's Hall section of the theater. Was a tad disappointed to notice the poor turn-out in the hall (six fags and twelve-or-so-gals), but I can't say I hadn't expected that really, where I am. And besides, once the absolutely kooky-crazy-sexy brand new theme song by Fergie started, I frankly couldn't care less - I wanted MORE!!!



Too bad, the official video of the new theme song isn't out yet, but let me list out Top 10 Takeaways from the movie... and I'll try to not disclose any spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet:

1. LOOOVE Carrie's Vivienne Westwood wedding dress - it is to DIE for!
2. Would have loved to see a bit more (if you get my drift) of Smith Jared.
3. Steve's fabulous ass is still in fagulous shape - but again, a la Smith, some more exposure would have been much appreciated.
4. Carrie's corsage dress is simply stunning!
5. Mr. Big aka John James Preston is looking a bit... ummm.... tubby. But is still the Mr. Big! The one we love to hate!
6. Monogamy doesn't suit Samantha. *sigh* And no, this doesn't mean I'm making a statement about myself here, even though I have said on previous occasions that she's my favorite lady (but of course!).
7. I'm glad they showed as little of Harry's naked body as they did.
8. Sam's sexy next-door-neighbor in LA is to DIE for - comes only marginally behind the Vivienne Westwood dress in terms of dying criteria. And yes, it's a full frontal frame.
   
9. Charlotte is adorably prudish. About everything. Thank gawd they kept her the same. :)
10. Carrie actually looks fabulous as a brunette.

So... what happens in the end? As can be expected, it's a happy ending for all the gals. (But did you really expect anything else?) And in case you still haven't seen the official trailer on your TV network (wherever you are), enjoy...

Here comes... the SATC Movie

*drumrolls* Here comes... the SATC Movie

So I was all set to write a post on a somewhat 'serious' topic here, and then I discovered.....

...the all-new Sex and the City MOVIE trailer... yeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaa! :)





And that's when you think about the great stuff they ended with:

Carrie: Later that day, I got to thinking about relationships... there are those that open you up to something new and exotic... those that are old and familiar... those that bring up lots of questions... those that bring you somewhere unexpected... those that bring you far from where you started... but the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself... and if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous!



O, and I just realized, they show Mr. Big's name on Carrie's phone in the last scene there: John!

Desi Dinner Time

Desi Dinner Time!

So I'm going to pop the corn quotient to 100% and say a silly like like: you can take CT out of Bombay, but you can't take Bombay out of CT! Sitting here in the middle of the sleepy Midwest, Closetalk calls on the all-powerful Youtube.com to take him to the bright gay disco lights of Bollywood to spy on the two brand new releases all of his facebook pals have been chattering about, and he is not disappointed. Nopes. Astounded, maybe, by how wonderfully gay friendly Bollywood heroes have turned out to be, but never disappointed. :)

It seems such a long time ago that Vivian and I were squealing our appreciation of yummy King Khan in his dapper Don look, but nothing could really have prepared me for the sight of SRK's 8-pack abs in his latest release Om Shanti Om. woof! No, no, I mean, nothing at all. There I sat in one of the computer labs on campus, innocently in front of youtube, and when SRK starts throwing his shirt away, gets his brand-new pecs and abs wet in true Mandakini style, you really can't blame CT for getting a woody. Suddenly, all those Irish boys can go hang - give me desi beef any day, baby! :)



And if you think that's yummy, go check out the actual video - Dard-e-Disco - on down here. The drool is inevitable. Quite a different type of drool, though drool nonetheless, for that hot new fireball called Ranbir Kapoor, in his debut Sawariya. O, ok , fine, his heroine is kinda pretty too, but when that hot studmuffin is in the frame, you don't really have eyes for anyone else. Imagine my glee (girlish giggles and all) when I discovered what I think to be the most delicious, gay-est pic of him ever on the net.



Mmmm... just what they needed on that ole Moulin Rouge: sexy Ranbir smouldering the stage in his sailor outfit. yummy! Simply love his dance number in the movie with his o-so false shy act with the looooong towel/sheet/dunno-what-it-is, but despite the thing's ambiguity, you have to love the part where the hottie falls onto the floor and single, slender, o-so-well-waxed leg peeks out. O shucks, now I'm in the mood for some tandoori chicken here...

PInk Panther/ Adam

Pink Panther/ Adam

The video up there was shown to me by a friend here in the ole midwest, and I just fell off my chair laughing. O, and of course it brought back memories. I used to have this massive crush on He-Man in the good ole days and despite my yearning for that tanned hottie, I also nurtured this li'l hope that Teela and He-Man would finally get together. O, and the gay fantasies had tonnes of scope for Prince Adam, of course. :)

I mean, look at Adam - he's blond, he's wearing a wide-neck skin-tight white shirt which is sooo gay, with a dark pink velvet jacket, pink undies, pink stockings, and pink boots lined with fur. Hell, you don't need Youtube to scream out that it's all fabulously homosexual. Of course, when I was ten, I didn't really get all the subtext, but I still had all the usual moony thoughts about Adam finally being brave, and sweeping Teela off her feet and the two of them fcuking like rabbits in the palace. (Castle Grayskull is too sombre a place for humping!)

And now that I'm a seasoned ole slut, I can imagine Skeletor with his mad ole grin pumping poor li'l Adam against the walls of Snake Mountain. *cue for evil laugh*

What prompted this little trip down Nasty Nostalgia, was bumping into this guy (not the one who showed me the Youtube clip and loaned me DVDs of Best of He-Man) who has a fetish for cartoon sex. I think it's called hentai, actually. So there we were, he and I, and he confesses that he's got a thing for watching cute furry cartoon characters sport huge dicks and start going at it with each other. I'm intrigued, because at one level this is something new, and at another, I'm thinking of my own childhood fantasies involving He-Man (and also the GI Joes, hehehe!), and so he starts showing me some of his collection. It's pretty impressive, really, some of it has great artwork. It's like imagining Superman fuck Spiderman - it's got all the improbable positions - but with maybe a Kryptonian Dog and a Tarrantula head affixed.

The thing is, despite my childish trepidation, hentai gay porn is a big business. I remember, while going through one of my favourite gay websites, how many of the galleries featured cartoon wolves copulating with cartoon foxes. And no, that can't be part of a Gay Parent Education Programme, right?

CT, stunned: "Wow, you're telling me there are loads of people out there who go for cartoon porn?"

CartoonKid: "O yea. Feel me - I'm hard."

O, he was. :)

The Object of My Eternal Affection

The Object of My Eternal Affection

Last night, I dropped SnowWhite's Stepmother to the airport, for his month-long Europe trip. Since I'll have left Bombay by the time he comes back, it was the last time we'd see each other for a long time. So, yes, it was hard. SS had refused to let me accompany him, because he was afraid the two of us would end up bawling at the airport, but we didn't. We went through the whole thing in a very non-bawling fashion, but on my way back home I did feel terribly alone and empty, knowing we wouldn't be having one of our loooong late-night phone chats for quite some time.



I first met SS almost two and a half years ago... at a GB party. A common friend introduced us, but I was too hung up on Natureboy whom I was seeing at the time, and even though he wasn't in town at the time, I wasn't really interested in meeting strange new gay guys. Then, a couple of weeks later or so, I met him again - for coffee - this time, through a blog buddy of mine, who turned out to be his best friend (small world!). We sipped coffee, decided there were no mutual sparks of attraction at all, and parted ways on amicable terms. I don't remember our second meeting though, or how we kept on meeting regularly... such that we quickly became good friends.

It was strange, that our friendship really started blooming after Natureboy and I broke up. That was a hard time for me, and somehow SS was there at the right time. It was also such a weird coincidence, that SS was dating a college friend of Natureboy at the time. It seemed so funny to both of us, that his relationship with the college friend took a progressively downhill path, just as my thing with Natureboy had. We joked, it must be the fault of that particular college they attended, that breeds these strange gay boys, and I laughed that his love life seemed to be following mine exactly, albeit with a one-month lapse.

There were other men here and there, in between. We grew closer, and also realized how different we were, chalk and cheese. I was the guy who had sex with multiple guys, he was the one who believed in the "once a month is good enough" rule. He was the one with an exceptionally great eye and appreciation for style and beauty and elegance, whereas I was less inclined to the arts. I was the jabbermouth, while he valued softspoken people so highly. And yet, despite all that, we became the best of friends. We realized, despite all the differences, we were both silly gay men who longed for love and companionship. We each wanted that Mr. Right, and we joked that we managed to jeopardize our relationships faster than we could build them. And we each spouted such great relationship advice to the other, which was never followed - by either of us. :)



O, we had our bad moments too. Somewhere along the way, we drifted into a horrible impasse where he thought I never listened to anything he said, and I thought he never gave me enough credit for what I did say. So there was this decision to part ways. We stayed apart for almost three months... and then, I decided to write him an email saying why I felt so hurt the way I had. He answered back immediately, saying he was sorry, and then I made my apologies in turn. We'd missed each other so terribly that we knew we wanted to resolve our differences, and I'm glad that we did. I told him, I'd try to be a bit less of the rattletrap egoistic prick that I am, and he promised to take me a bit more seriously. O yes, I cried on the phone when we made up. :)

SS saw me through my relationship with the Boy - both while it was waxing and while it was waning. He helped me through a very bad phase when I didn't know what was happening in the relationship, and helped me to not let myself completely break down. Finally, towards the end, he helped me realize that I was so desperate to hold onto a relationship - any relationship - that I was letting myself get flattened emotionally by someone who had obviously lost interest in me a long time ago. And he gave me the strength, however indirectly, to let go. A month after the break-up, SS sms-ed me, "I never thought he was right for you. You deserve much better." I sent him back a smiley, and a retort, saying that if people got wind of his being so nice to me, he'd lose his reputation. *grin*

And that's the great thing about my best friend, SnowWhite's Stepmother. Despite all the remarks about fat people and poor people and tacky people and his fickle fickle nature, he is so clearly the softy in the gang. I gave him his blog-name here, because, as I explained to him, "You have everything - you're young, successful, talented, good-looking - everything! And yet, you stand in front of your imaginary mirror and do the whole 'Mirror, Mirror, on the wall...' bit, imagining there's some wily Snow White afoot, who will ensnare what you want and deserve, and I don't understand at all why you do that...!" I don't think he does, either. We sit back and watch Sex and The City dvds together and sigh for Carrie, and he tells me how he hates Mr. Big, but I know he's in love with his own Mr. Big and is waiting for him to show up. Both of us believe in that "all-consuming, can't-live-without-you" love Carrie clings onto, despite our cynical protests to the contrary, and both of us wait, knowing it'll come by, albeit a bit later than the 'sooner' we'd expected at first...

Because we are, without doubt, the Finest and Nicest Young Men in the City!



(Take a bow, baccha - they're clapping for us.)

Harry Potter and the Treasure Trail

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Pre-Sunday Song: Surprisingly Good For You

Pre-Sunday Song: Surprisingly Good For You

Was watching Evita the other night, and the music refuses to leave me since then. Madonna is... ethereal.



And, somehow, this song speaks to me. So much of what I'd like to say to the right person, when he comes along. :)

It seems crazy, but you must believe
There's nothing calculated, nothing planned...
Please forgive me if I seem naive,
I would never want to force your hand...
But please understand, I'd be good for you...

I don't always rush in like this,
Twenty seconds after saying hello...
Telling strangers I'm too good to miss...
If I'm wrong I hope you'll tell me so.
But you really should know, I'd be good for you,
I'd be surprisingly good for you

I won't go on if I'm boring you,
But do you understand my point of view?
Do you like what you hear, what you see,
And would you be, good for me too?

I'm not talking of a hurried night,
A frantic tumble then a shy goodbye,
Creeping home before it gets too light...
That's not the reason that I caught your eye,
Which has to imply, I'd be good for you...
I'd be surprisingly good for you...

Jo Dikhta Hai, Wo Bikta Hai

Jo Dikhta Hai, Wo Bikta Hai

Ok, so this was originally supposed to be a post by SnowWhites's Stepmother, but he got stage fright at the last moment. Saturday night, and we're all mighty high, and that's when SS announces a select soiree at his place the next night, to watch Koffee with Karan and Rakhi Sawant.

Two petite birds (Ok, so Karan is more petite than Rakhi) with one limpwristed stone. Fabulous, dah-lings!

But K.Jo is, as usual, brilliant. The man is quite simply Bombay's favourite queen, ever since he (almost) came out in the first episiode of his second season: when interviewing SRK, Kajol and Rani Mukerji, and heading into a break, he grins saucily at the camera and says, "We'll be right back for more chitchat with the king and his queens... and I don't mean myself...!"



Ooo, and with all that weight lost in the last few weeks, I for one think he's looking quiite de-lish! :)

But this time around, I was taken more with Karan's guest than the man himself. Enter the Queen of Item Kitsch, in a coffee coloured silk Manish Malhotra sari, skillfully arranged so that her left boob practically hung out, her shoulders and neck gleaming in some artificial bronzing goop, and the Playboy-perfect pout. I am avowedly a Rakhi Sawant fan. I love her candour, the way she shoots from the hips, and her deliciously ghaati accent when she speaks in English. On the show, she happily chirps that she's going to speak in Hindi because no one can understand what she says in the Queen's Language - though of course, K.Jo did quite a great job of that! :) But even he was at a loss for words when Rakhi gushed in her Marathi accent how honoured she was, over and over again, to be at Karan's show. Until, of course, K.Jo had to go over and hug her... and pray she left him after that. :)



Because, quite frankly, Rakhi has what it takes. When she goes and says lines like "Jo dikhta hai, wo bikta hai" (Whoever exposes the most, sells the most) that get the moral brigade all into a tizzy, she's doing nothing but telling it like it is. That's why she's unarguably the most-talked about Item Girl. Call her publicity-hungry or whatever, she knows what she's got to do to make it to the top, and she's completely unapologetic about doing it - both her, and her self-confessed idol, Mallika Sherawat, another gal whom I can completely gush over. They're the women in the Big Bad Man's world, and the best part is: they don't complain about it... or if they do, like Rakhi and her 'kiss' controversy, they scream from the rooftops and all hell breaks loose! :)

When Karan grins mischievously and asks her whether she thinks she can ever become a mainstream Hindi film herone, Rakhi looks flummoxed and asks why not, since she's already got the "main lead" in a movie titled (hold your breath) "Buddha Mar Gaya" (The Old Geezer Died). She hastens to add, it's a comedy. :)



SS and I, rolling in laughter on the couch, already know it is. *grin*

The Fox and the Material Girl

The Fox and the Material Girl

Hopped over to the Sports Bar this evening on a date with a cute guy whom I shall call NextDoorBoy, and they were playing amazing songs from the Retro Age. :) And that's when I thought about Samantha Fox.

NextDoorBoy: "I am so completely blown away by the fact that you remember Samantha Fox! I mean, my brother had a huge poster of her in his bedroom!"

Closetalk, grinning happily (this is beer no.2 and I get drunk fast, rememember?): "What's so strange about that now? I loooooooooooooved her Touch me song!"

NextDoorBoy patting CT's legs (was he hitting on me?): "Just that I haven't even met too many straight men who remember her - even though they may find her name familiar!"



Whereupon, I got up and proceeded to do a very ditsy Samantha Fox version in his ear, while he couldn't stop chuckling -

Somewhere in the city, and the night is young,
I was hungry for love, I was hungry for you...
... take my body like you wanted to....
This is tonight - touch me - touch me
I wanna feel your body - your body on me toniiiiiiggght!

But while NextDoorBoy thinks it's all pretty amazing that I remember Sam Fox, she was pretty much a life-sized idol for me, during my pre-teen years - kinda like Madonna. I remember that video of Sam's, where she wore this tight black swimming costume kinda thing, with black stockings and a jewelled belt and a black jacket, and did all these outrageous pelvic thrusts! Not even the fact that she did that gross Chicken Fry song with Bappi Lahiri for Bollywood could dim the awe in which I held her in. She was just - ethereally hot in those big, 36 D (ugh) boobs. :)



CT, in beer-induced academic frame of mind: "Sam was soooooooo much hotter than Madonna from the very beginning. I mean, don't get me wrong - I loooooove Madge. But whereas Sam pushed her sexy image from the very start with those nude photos and all, Madge came off as the rebellious gal in her early years!"

NextDoorBoy: "The Papa Don't Preach Gal, you mean."



CT nods, triumphant: "Exactly! And even later, when she got all glamorous and sexy, it was always like this good ole romantic sexy - not the trashy slutty thing that made Sam such a rage among all the straight guys!"

And, actually, that's why I think why soooo many women and gay men love Madge even now - perhaps more than straight men do. Madge appealed to the romantic or the breakaway, and only rarely did she try to be outright sexy. When she did, in Erotica and all, she always came a controversial cropper, not a runaway success. It was always Material Girl and Like a Virgin and Frozen and Hung Up where she hit paydirt. And she's not really a slut in those - just the hot gal in yards and yards of fabric loosely wound around her, which threatens to unravel. :) Madonna is the gal in the Venetian gondola dancing with the guy in the lion-mask - something which all fags and hags sigh over. Madonna is the gorgeous gal in red, choosing among chocolates and diamonds, a la Marylin - and no, straight men aren't likely to find the prospect of a lighter wallet very sexual.

Back to Basics

Back to Basics

Samantha Jones: I'm a trisexual. I'll try anything once.

That's more or less the way I feel. When I get down to gay.com and the stupid asses online ask me that same clinical question: what do you like sexually, I'm really not sure how to react. A part of me would have slapped the ass if he was in front of me, the other part is chewing my lip, trying to come up with an answer that is not too insulting, exhibits my witty side, discourages him from asking too many dumb questions, and tells him that I'm the best lay he's ever going to get. Samantha has just provided me with the best quote of all for these occassions.



:)

The other night, I met up with the Penguin and Vivian for some SATC Season One viewing, and we ordered in pizza and went out to grab gelato after a couple of episodes. While chatting about stuff, I made a comment to something Vivian said, and Penguin responded with "Of all of us, I'd thought you'd be the last guy to get shocked by that!" I don't really recall now what comment I'd made, but later on, it struck me that I have this funny reputation of a Jack-of-all-trades. With good reason, perhaps. SnowWhite's Stepmother, for instance, says I routinely shock him when I tell him about my exploits - and then I wonder whether I really am that sensational. A part of me is thrilled at the thought, mind you.

Sex in the shower? Love it.
Sex in an elevator? Done it.
Sex in a park? Ho hum.
Sex with a hooker? Tick.
Getting paid for sex? I call it a 'learning experience'.
Sex in the office complex? Exciting.
Sex on the dance floor? Watch me at a GB party.
Sex with an underage kid? Yep.
Sex with a married guy with/without kids? Yes.
Sex with an old guy? Don't get shocked, but yes.
Sex with poppers? I used to live in Delhi, you know!
Sex for seven hours? *beams*
S&M sex? On both sides of the great divide.
Group sex/threesomes? That's not even considered 'kinky' these days.
Sex with foreigners? Only not with an African.

Hell, I'm even having a Long Distance Relationship, for crying out loud - and according to me, that's probably the most outrageous of everything I've done! But even as I model myself on gorgeous gorgeous Samantha Jones, I'm also aware that I'm pretty Carriesque at times. And that's scary. I whine and obsess too much about my relationships - ultra-cool Samantha never does that! And I have this blog, which is as newspaper-columny as you can get. And while I don't have frizzy unmanageable hair like Carrie Bradshaw, I'm smart enough to notice I have enough of her to make my life complicated. I have enough of her for Penguin to make that observation of me, the other day. That was one of the virtues of being Samantha - no hang-ups.



Right now, however, I have a mission: back to basics. The idea is to go back to being as much of Samantha as I used to be. No hang-ups. No obsessing. And no regrets. I'm trisexual. I'll try anything once.

Her Majesty's Service

Her Majesty's Service

Well, after all the brickbats have been fired and everything, Daniel Craig is supposed to be one of the best James Bonds ever. Personally, while I think he looks more CIA than MI5, with that compact muscular body and blond tufts of hair, I don't really care about all the 'Is he the right Bond?' arguments. Honestly speaking, I thought Connery was over-rated, and Brosnan defines sexy for me, but Craig is not too bad really on the ooomph quotient. One thing I'm definitely glad of, is the fact that finally after all the Ursula Andresses and whoever they get a hunky man out of the water, dripping wet. Excuse me while I lick my lips. :)

And then, of course, there's the fact that our man is supposed to have loads of gay fans worldwide because in his latest film Infamous, he's done a man-to-man kiss, while playing Truman Capote's gay lover (rather, one of his gay lovers). Add the fact that he apparently broke his teeth in his first Bond fight sequence, and the pansy tag gets attached to him. Of course, judging from the pic down there, not much about Daniel looks pansy to me... (amen)



Then there are the amusing little online tidbits where you hear that the next Bond movie is going to keep in mind Craig's huge homosexual fan following, and include a 'homo-erotic' angle between Super Spy and Arch Villain. Wonder if our hero will then give up the tux for... tights?

And there are other strange bits of gay Bond trivia. Sample this: Pierce Brosnan thought he was gay when he was 16. Of course, good ole Pierce hurriedly adds that he didn't turn out to be actually faggoty, but there it is - the confession.

And while we've all heard about a certain flamboyant black star wanting to be the next black James Bond in Her Majesty's Service, there's also my favourite living gay personality, Rupert Everett, who says he wants to be the next gay 007.



Personally, I think he's much more MI-5 than Daniel!

Shopping List Item #24678

Shopping List Item #24678

Despite what men may say and what men may want to hear, the fact is that Size Does Matter. There's a reason why I'm so proud that my Boy is B-I-G. There's a reason why size S is preferred to size M. There's a reason why the Dud of the Day is the Dud of the Day. And there's a reason why Australia's latest invention has seen HUGE sales (no pun intended) since the seven days it was announced.



The Wonderjock is a hit.

This morning, I was leafing through my copy of BombayTimes, and there was an article there asking our homegrown 'celebs' what they think of men displaying their bulges for the rest of the world to see. While some made myopic har-de-har comments about it, and others gave the usual "men still don't know what we women really want!" quote (well, of course not, dimwit dah-ling, they know what other men want!), there were a couple who were brash enough to say it like it is: well, why the heck not?! If perverted straight men like seeing big boobs on a woman, what's wrong with perverted homo/straight men seeing a big bulge beneath a hot guy's pants? The battle of the sexes is finally getting interesting, methinks!

So, this evening, I amble over to the website for those responsible for giving us the wonderjock (beautifully titled Aussie-bum) to see what they have to offer. While I grinned at the silly name of the wonderjock - it's called PATRIOT, and comes in four editions of four countries: Property of Australia/ USA/ England/ France - it's also breathtaking to see just how far the damn thing makes your package stick out. I mean.... the makers say there's no padding or rings or strings or whatnot at work here - just a simple case of a 'cup' - and yet - the effect is startlingly mouthwatering. I would love to see a guy walking with that around at the beach.



Now I know what I need to buy, ahead of my Goa trip.

Some smokin' times

Some smokin' times

Chimneypot is the first friend I came out to. Ages back, over an impromptu cup of coffee at a Barista, there was an impromptu coming out, and the best part was, how well she understood me. There have been so many cups of coffee shared at that particular Barista with her, when I've accused her of flirting with the coffee-guy and she's accused me of the same, where I told her about Boy, and she told me about the love of her life.



So that, when she informed me today that she's leaving the city to be with her boyfriend by the end of this month, I was quite speechless. My first reaction: terrible! Of course, I couched that properly. I know this is what she's been looking forward to for so long now, and I know that this is probably the best thing for her. But I always kept on hoping that her boyfriend would come down here to Bombay, instead of taking her away like this from me. The thing is, in Long Distance Relationships, the rules rarely stay unbroken. And that's another reason why I hate LDRs, despite being in one myself: it forces you to choose between the love of your life and the friends who have meant so much to you for so long...

I probably shouldn't say 'choose' here. It's not that exactly - there's email, there's sms, there's the phone and all, I know, but it's not really the same, is it? Somehow, even though you tend to meet just once a week or so, knowing that the person is there, just a mere hour away, feels... reassuring. But I'll have to survive without knowing the Chimneypot is right there nearby... Hell if I can make the LDR work, I can make the Long Distance Friendship work!

In the meantime, I'm going to reproduce here, something that she wrote about me - about us - ages ago. She wanted to post it on her blog, but at that time, I asked her not to, and she gave me a copy instead. I'd given it to Boy to read while he was here, and he loved it. It's the kind of thing Chimneypot does.... the Nutcracker that she is...

An observation. I have been spending a lot of time with my gay friend. He is fun. He is perpetually happy, though certain speed breakers in his rampant sex marathon in the city finds him frowning a bit from time to time.

I walk with him, we hug each other a lot. We show affection physically. The relationship is as platonic as platonic gets. It is just good ole friendship, though we do end up talking about our sex lives a lot, my non existant one and his rampant one which is a novella-like experience each time. He gets lucky more than anyone I know. Which is good for him. Do you smell jealousy here?

So you watched 'Will and Grace', and you don't need another rext version of it. He is a friend with whom I share an increased level of comfort. (I think the fact that the 'sex' part is totally negated makes it more comfy.)

But thanks to him there have been so many firsts for me - in terms of how I have been perceived around people.

- I was the 'in-law' when I met his boyfriend.
- I am termed a fag hag by my absolute straight cousin.
- Talking about relationships, both of us bitching about guys in detail. We are on the same side of the discussion. Most people around us have their eyes knotted wondering how a man and a woman can have this sort of conversation while waiting for a play to start. (It is always too quiet before plays start. Everyone around is all ears.)
- When I am pissed of at him, I shout 'bitch', 'slut' and he does actually get offended sometimes. Flattered, most of the time.
- A cute guy walks in, and we both are looking at him. And my friend always has to smile at the guy first.

:)

Just observations.

He is my bestest friend.

And she is mine.

Closetalk and Don

Don: Jungli billiyan mujhe pasand hain (I like wild cats like you)
Closetalk: Mujhe bhee! (Me too!)

Sometime back, I'd blogged about how yummy and uber-cool SRK has been looking in the promos of Don. Well, I finally went to catch the movie tonight, with Viv (earlier, named Emily) and it was simply awesome! For those who came in late, it's a remake of a 1978 Hindi movie, complete with international gangsters across continents and all sorts of amazing Matrix moves and costumes. My stupid assistant at work commented, "It has everything but the blind mother", and though she didn't mean that kindly, I'll agree with her on the sheer versatlity of the film - the movie has everything you would ever dream of in cinema: humour, romance, action (tons of it!), mistaken identity, adopted children, gangsta rap, sexy molls, scintillating music, and a twist in the tale. The plot is way too complicated for a single blog post, so I'm not going to even attempt that here.



Viv and I had been dying to see the movie, ever since the promos with SRK first started airing. The man wears his coolest clothes ever here, and the new way to wear a tie nowadays is inside the shirt, not over it. His sunglasses are the hippest ever, and his shoes are divine. Memorable line any (and every) gay man will treasure: when Don tells his colleague, after killing his traitorous assisstant, "Always make sure you check the shoes before you hire anyone!" *in Hindi* Clappity-clap go all the Red Tapes and Manolos! ;-)

Aside from SRK, Viv and I were going gaga over most of the men onscreen. List of candidates include:
1. The cute police inspector who looked dapper in his suit while briefing the Malaysian cops, and showed off his sexy butt like anything in his tight khaki police uniform while chasing Don in the jungles - the camera for some reason kept on panning to his butt, not that we complained. Sadly, I just could not find out his name on imdb.com.

2. India's First Beauty King, Grasim Mr India 1998 Diwakar Pundir who plays a sidey role as the informant who Don bumps off. Viv says, Diwakar has appeared in TV serials in Speedos - that means, I must start seeing soaps now. *drool*

3. An ugly ape called Mac who plays Don's moll's pet poodle. Viv kept on gushing about his barrel chest. Loudly.

4. Arjun Rampal, who of course had Viv gasping every time he did a push-up. Beats me though, how the character is able to beat Don to a pulp if he's supposed to be limping throughout.

Viv also informed me that the two producers of the movie, Farhan Akhtar and Ritesh Sidhwani are rumoured to be gay lovers. When I pointed out that both were married and Farhan's wife is expecting their second child, Viv promptly pointed back that that was hardly an obstacle to be gay lovers, ala SRK and Karan Johar. So, then, Viv and I started fantasising about possible sexual roles (top/ bottom/ whatever) between SRK and Karan, SRK and Farhan, Farhan and Ritesh, and even maybe Farhan and Hrithik Roshan (Hrithik was the original choice for Don, but then SRK was roped in instead). And all this at voices loud enough for the entire theatre to hear whom we considered 'hotttt' and who was 'sexxxxyy' *please include giggly gay squeals*.



I'm hoping I won't be sued for this post.

But let it not be said that all our attention was focused on the men. When Guest Star Kareena did her Helen-number lying down on the rug, I nudged Viv in the ribs and coo-ed, "I looooove that rug!" and Viv agreed with me. Honestly, that golden dress they dressed Kareena in for thatnumber was garish like hell - and every time she did her jhatkas, you could see the cellulite dangling on her arms. Ew, ew and all that...!

Isha the Moll was perfect. She did absolutely nothing, had about three lines of dialogue to say in the movie, looked suitably devilish in her Item Number and the climax, suitably jealous in Title Song as Don flirted with the Heroine. She kept on changing her hairdos with such vigour that Viv and I were left gasping in admiration. First the bouffant, then the empire wig, then the plaits, then the.... most perfect moll ever!

Heroine Priyanka enters the scene with a very weird set of karate exercises and then proceeds to get all Power Puff Girl-meets-Mushy Thing for the rest of the movie. Her all-white outfit, teamed with the white bike, when she she 'rescues' Don was superb. And though she replied to Isha's jealous glares with great bugger-off-lassie looks of her own, she was looking a teeny weeny plump in that hideous pink gown she wore during Title Song.

Best songs from the album: Aaj ki raat is wonderfully pacy and retro - complete with shiny disco ball in the video, and has Hero, Heroine and Moll boogeying together in a line. Waiting for GB to play it at their next party - pretty please! Then there was the famous oldHelen-newKareena number, Ye Mere Dil, which was a great remix. Title Song, Main Hoon Don was so racy, it was simply great - old tune but wonderfully remixed to set the dance floor on fire. Perfect for egoistic divas like me on the GB dance floor to proclaim to the world. :)

O, and you must check out SRK's outfit in Title Song: dark purple silk shirt under dark purple velvet jacket having Chinese collar and huge lace-embroidered buttons, teamed with slim-fitted cord trousers, and sleeeeeeeeeeek Givenchy shades.



Instant hard-on.

A new story for the Penguin

A new story for the Penguin

Sometime back, I blogged about how most gay men in Bombay find Miranda Priestly uber-cool, hearkening back to a conversation with Emily - well, the other day, I discovered that another friend actually has very Miranda-esque traits while at work - and when I pointed this out, the said friend decided to hit blogging with a vengeance. So check out Miranda In Mumbai and you'll die laughing at the antics - and no, I'm not getting a commission for the plug.

***

From Miranda, to my friend, the Penguin. I gave him this name in a blog post that was vitriolic at being dumped by him, after a three-week dating stint, and since then, that name has stuck. Our relationship has, however, changed. By virtue of the fact that he is part and parcel of the Inner Circle, we have had to adjust, and move on from being awkward and gawky around each other, to friends. Of course, there have been moments here and there, silent moments when we've each prayed that the other coughs to break the pindrop quiet when we've been left alone together... but at the end of the day, we both realised that it was time for the moniker to change.



"So what new name do you want me to assign you?" I asked him, and he shrugged on the other end of the phone - I could imagine his grin and shrug and all, and he replied, "I have no idea. You gave me Penguin, because you had a story to tell of me there. That was when I was being... flipfloppish. So I guess that's our story."

"Well, then it's time that we get a new story," I decided.

After that conversation, we met up on different occassions - party nights, birthday nights, movies, etc etc etc - and I kept on suggesting various names that i could use for him: Mad Ad Boy, LifeBoy... yadayadayada, but of course, he hated all those gruesome names, and I drew a blank.

And then, I told him the other day, when we went to see a movie, "Do you remember the penguins in Madagascar? The one movie we've seen before this, just the two of us?"

That elicited a chuckle from him, and I went on, "Actually, that's why I called you the Penguin. Because, watching that movie was such a strong association for whenever I thought about you - watching that and cracking jokes afterwards - cuz, we both loved the penguins there!"

And, now he crooked up his left eyebrow and said, "The plotters, eh?" Chuckle.

Going by movie memories, the only other option is calling him Circuit, and this sounds even worse than Penguin. So, I've decided to do away with my search for a new nickname for him. He remains as is. It's the association that changes, though: he's no longer the flipfloppy creature I railed against, who I thought incapable of having a relationship - he's now the fiercely protective friend (another character trait of penguins, in case you didn't know), the one with the evil grin, beautifully hectic boy, and undeniably as plotter-ly as a penguin can get.

Someone I'm glad to count as a friend. *cue for mushy awwwwwwwwwwwww sound*

Queer As Closetalk

Queer As Closetalk

I'm not exactly your usual nut for television serials - my last regular was Friends, and even Will and Grace was more like a 'Ho hum, o, look what I accidentally channel-surfed to!' - so that's why I make a big deal about the series I've watched with serious and real enthusiasm. That's what prompted that very lengthy post on Sex and the City sometime back, and since then I've been meaning to post something on Queer As Folk (American version) as well.

To be honest, I've only caught Season Six of SATC on DVD, and Season Two of QAF, but that's been enough to label SATC 'profound' and QAF as, well, getting to 'profound'.



The DVD of QAF had been doing the rounds for quite sometime, and when I finally borrowed it, my Flatmate wanted to see the episodes too. So there we were, staying up late nights, watching successive episodes on our individual laptops. And drooling at different men.

Flatmate has the hots for the very enigmatic Brian Kinney. He strikes me as a Samantha Jones-wannabe, to tell the truth, but of course the Flatmate will hear none of that! Brian is rude, obsessed with sex, a chhupa rustum softy, and usually the guy who bails everyone else out in the end. Wiki says, "Heterosexual women and lesbians have often embraced the character more than gay men", and I think they've got it right to some extent - Brian is sooooo the gay guy other gay guys hate, but who they would want to be like, or so says the Flatmate! I started out with the last coupla episodes of QAF - II first, where Justin chooses the violin prodigy guy (cuuuutttee!) over Ice Cold Daddy Brian, and I hated Brian for treating Justin so offhandedly, and was quite glad when he gets dumped. But then, I saw the other episodes in order, and then changed my mind about the whole Justin-Brian drama. Just when you start asking, who broke the rules first, you realise that the rules are soooo lacking in gay relationships.

*gulp*

Ted is whiny. And so is Michael, though he's much cuter than Ted. I identify the most with good ole Emmett. I love the fact that he's a complete slut and unaplogetic about it. I love the little nuggets of wisdom that Wise Em spouts now and then, a la Ms Jones of SATC. And the ending of Season Two, with Ted and Em ending up together is simply too cute for words. Wise Em saves the day again, ra ra!



;-)

Hottie of the series: Without a doubt, Robert Grant, who plays the HIV+ Professor Ben Bruckner lucky Michael is dating. I guess, being whiny has its share of unexpected benefits!

One-two, chachacha, three-four, lechlechlech

One-two, chachacha, three-four, lechlechlech

It's been two classes so far of my ballroom dance classes, and I'm really into the whole thing. I have this cute li'l ole Parsi lady teaching me, and she dutifully signs all her sms' with "ma'am" (spelt exactly like that with the apostrophe), and while some of my friends giggled and called it 'eccentric', Heaven knows, I've always found 'eccentric' cute.

Hell, seeing that Boy's still with me, so does he! *blush*
So, there I am at class every week, tap-tapping on the wooden floor, learning fancy names like the Suzy Q and the New Yorker, and the relatively fancy steps that have those names, and when I come back home, I practise a couple of those in front of my six-foot mirror. I love the way my Parsi 'ma'am' prances around in her twirling skirt and those gorgeous heels (red, she has red!) and whirls her butt here and there. From the way I look entranced at her swaying, some would think I'm turning into a hetero perv - but it's just so much... awe here on my side! I love the way she makes it seem all so simple - and her squeaky voice saying: "Don't worry about the hip movements - they'll come in time. Just do the steps. Soon you'll be shaking like a hula dancer!"

Felt like asking her to come watch my hula hips in action at the GB party this weekend.

*broader grin*

And then, apart from the dancing, I was leching at Shiney Ahuja this evening, on the telly. The man looks simply divine in both of his upcoming movies, Wo Lamhe and Zindagi Rocks. And, of course, I was bowled over earlier by his performance in both the looks and acting department in HKA.

Pure hunk of desire. Turned over to flatmate and said, "Would it be disloyal to Boy, if I said I wanted to run away with Shiney for a weekend?", and my guilt was assuaged when she patted my head and replied to the negative. ;-)

And surprise, surprise! another one who's looking abso-fuckin-lutely H-O-T in his new movie is SRK. OMG, I don't remember the last time I lusted after the man so much - I mean, even though, I've always been the great fan and all, the sexual attraction part really hasn't been there - except now! ;-) The Matrix look, or whatever his designers have fitted him up with, definitely works here!

Miranda and Gay? Yayyyyy!

Miranda and Gay? Yayyyyy!

The agenda for Saturday night was Anne Hatheway and Meryl Streep trying on Prada, Valentino, De La Renta, yadayadayada, and as Emily and I sat down for a cup of post-midnight coffee (ok, I cheated on my diet and ordered chocolate ice cream at the last moment *sigh*) at a Bandra hotel, we chatted about how Miranda Priestly is adored, worshipped, venerated and deitified by most gay men. SnowWhite's Stepmother may go blue in the face denying that, but I'm the one who sat next to him at the movie, and who heard his oohs and aahs each time Miranda dumped a spankin' new coat on Andy's desk.



;-)

CT: "I'm quite evil to my assistant at work, you know"

Emily, giggling: "Not as bad as I am, honey. I'm vicious with my trainers!"

CT, chortling: "They probably make fun of you in the canteen or something: Faggot! So what have you been doing to them?"

Emily, pouting: "Don't care if they do! Well, there was this time that one of the asses sped home early on a Friday night, even though he was supposed to do a training programme, so I called him up and asked him where he was. He hemmed and hawed and said he's just got on the bus - without missing a beat, I said: D, you promised the trainee a class, so I don't care wherever you are, get back here. And I hung up."

CT, goggling: "So, did he come?"

Emily: "Ew, ew and all that!"

CT grins happily: "You make me sound like a saint! My assistant is so dumb, the other day she comes up to me with a botched-up job, so I look at her dryly and say: A, correct me if I'm wrong, but if someone comes and does 'knock knock' to your head, the echo from within will probably sound all the way up to Nariman Point?"

Emily *cackles* as only Emily can.

CT: "And then, I tell her: Well, at least see the good side - I bet you've never had anyone insult you in such inventive terms before!"

Yes, yes, I know - deep down inside, we're really shallow. O, wait, actually, that's someone else's invention, but I pretty much swear by it (most days). Miranda Priestly as the new fasion icon - god help us all, if she were to be the all-new corporate icon. Imagine a bunch of queens breezing into office clackety-clack, in the soon-to-be-latest designer togs, snapping fingers for latte, steak and the latest Harry Potter manuscript, letting loose a volley of beautifully aimed invectives that would ensure a severe pinking of the cheeks.... *sigh*



Only bitches and gay men would survive the onsalught: straight men, run for cover!

Weight/Wait and Watch...

Weight/Wait and Watch...

Being gay means you're usually obsessed with your weight. Well, you don't actually have to be gay to obsess about your weight, but that's when you're (usually) glancing all the more at your reflection in the mirror, tucking in that tummy, wishing that ass was firmer than it looks in the cold plate of relflective material before you that seems to cluck its tongue cruelly in judgement. OK, OK, well, things are not quite that bad (or dramatic!), but you get the point.



But there are variations, of course. There's Gupshup who embarked on The Great Diet a coupla months back, but quit later. When it was my turn to lose weight and I asked him what his TGD had entailed, he laughed and replied: "Don't eat anything. That's simple enough to follow, isn't it?"

A bewildered Closetalk stammered and stuttered and said, "But.. but, it can't be that, na? I mean, you lost loads of weight? You looked so great? So what's the truth?"

To which, Gupshup gave another conspiratorial grin, and replied, "Why do you think I quit?"

And then there are others, like Emily, who cribs about his weight and watches it sporadically when he's sipping tea and munching on sandwiches at the Tea Centre (though, to be honest, those outings have dropped to the point of extinction these days), but is pretty much unrepentant about his weight, otherwise. There's Penguin, who's been gymming it regularly for the past couple of months, and for whom Gold's Gym has now achieved second home status. And then there's SnowWhite's Stepmother who really couldn't be bothered to work out in the gym, but who doesn't really need to, since he never gains weight (most unfair!) and stocks up on various low-fat, low-carb, low-everything-and-anything cans from the grocery suburb of Bombay that Andheri is.

;-)

And then there's Me.

A chance step onto a bathroom scale pushed me (rudely!) off cloud 9, as I realised I was a whole 5 kilos overweight! Many minor shrieks later, I call up SS, who grins evilly in the phone and says, "Now that you're fat you won't have any friends! MUHAHAHAHA!" I cursed him for his silly sense of humour and told him to get to the point: how on earth would I regain my svelte 62 kg frame?

And that has led to the chain of events at which my flatmate chortles every evening. That means, coming back from work, locking the door and exercising like a soon-to-be-maniac. That means asking Penguin at a bar recently, "So what's your workout regimen like? I do about 60 ab crunches a day", to which he looks shocked and remarks, "Sixty??? Wow, I only do about 45, and that too on alternate days!" His answer satisfied me: I think I'm on the right track.

The workout mode also involves an enforced dinner of wheat flakes with lite milk - and sugar-free. It involves buying atta Maggi noodles, instead of the regular variety. It involves no-no-ing paneer and potatoes for lunch, and bypassing mutton in favour of chicken. *sigh*

But it's not all been dreary, though. The best part about the new regimen is my regular bouts of dancing in the middle of my exercise count. I started that originally as a warm-up/ to jolt the cramped tummy muscles after a set of crunches, but Twinkle Toes that I am, that's easily become the best part of my exercise regimen. So last night, I boogied to Y-M-C-A, shouting at the top of my lungs, leaping about the room in my shorts, in front of the mirror, performing the latest GB party moves for the neighbours next door who might be peering towards my open window. Next came Gloria Gaynor with I Will Survive, and then I completely freaked out.



By the end of the allotted hour, I was limping and sweating, with a happy smile on my face. And when Boy rings up right then, I explain why I'm panting like a filly involved in a threesome. That's when he chuckles and whispers hoarsely, "God, I wish I could do you right now...!"

*blush and grin*