Here’s a little something I thought I would share…
I recently stumbled across a TruTV show called Rachel Dratch’s Late Night Snack. This ran from 2016-2018 – somehow I had never seen or heard of it. One segment in the “Ghost Story Club” episode had a character who was a roadie for a band playing at Fauxchella – a fictional Coachella-like music festival of cover bands. A list of the lineup flashed on the screen in one of those freeze-frame-or-you’ll-miss-it moments.
For your enjoyment, here is the Fauxchella lineup:
Fish With An “F”
The String Cheese Accident
Hall and Wheats
Mow
Dave Matthews Hand
The Whom
The Bortles
Piss Sextols
Puhink Fuhloyd
311 Was An Inside Job
Ungrateful Undead
Booty and the Hofish
Creamy
Steve Miller’s Dad’s Band
Lady Naked Bears
Faux Fighters
Minivan Halen
BOSTON… Massachusetts
What About Bob? Dylan!
Mother Of Pearl Jam
Nirvaner
Puns N’ Roses
Third Eye Legally Blind
Won’tco
Very Dizzy Gillespie
Three Cat Day
YY Bottom
Sneaky and the Family Rock
Kilometers Davis
Expensive Trick
The Lovin’ Sporkful
The Laming Flips
Will, Jada, and Aero Smith
Stevie 1der
Farther
Gerry Jarcia
Sham! (Like Wham!)
Barry Off-White
Fleetwood Mock
Disco English Muffins
Bela Fake and the Faketones
Shallow Purple
The Black Keyholes
Tim Peppy and the Heartdestroyers
Brunette
The Further Backstreet Boys
The Doors(tops)
Simon & Garfinkle
The Faux-lice
The Velour Underground
Billie Jewish Holiday
Rochester Springfield
I have visions of the writer’s room with a board full of post-its.
Got any to add?
UPDATE: KennethInThe212 blog did cover a couple of clips from the show, including this one:
“She was once like Whistler’s Mother – now they whistle when she passes.”
Ladies and Gentleman, it is time once again to revisit that late great dynamic lady of song, Madame Spivy LeVoe (1906-1971), also known simply as Spivy. A lesbian entertainer, nightclub owner and character actress, Spivy has been described as “The Female Noel Coward” – to which I add “…. if he was born Bertha Levine in Brooklyn.” You can see earlier posts about her here and here.
Since my last Spivy post, I was thrilled to see that she had been profiled on Dennis Dermody’s Cinemaniac website, and even happier to see that, after a little nudge, I was given some credit for all the “borrowed” photos, video and large portions of my previous posts. Bless his heart, I’m sure it was just an oversight.
Moving on… today we will be listening to “Auntie’s Face”, a song written by Broadway actor and fellow nightclub performer Guy Moneypenny (1906-1983).
Spivy’s recording was featured on her 1949 album An Evening With Spivy.
Spivy had something of a catchphrase that she would use to introduce a song: A solemn pronouncement that “This is VERY sad and we must be VERY quiet, please.” She would then launch into a number that was anything but either of those things. At least four of her recordings contain this introduction – one can imagine that it was a playful way to get the attention of a noisy nightclub audience.
Auntie’s Face
We all have strange relatives… but let me tell you about my Aunt Grace.
She’s a MAD thing. This is very sad and we must be very quiet, please.
This is the tragedy of poor Aunt Grace – how she became a complete disgrace
It all began when she lifted her face and decided to be young and gay.
Since she’s become a rejuvenated case, the whole house suffers from her madcap pace
There’s no longer any quiet in the whole damn place
So we lift our eyes to heaven and pray.
Please God make Auntie’s face fall. For we’ve all got our backs to the wall
Her reputation’s battered. Our principals are shattered. She hasn’t any moral code at all.
Her breath now reeks of bathtub gin. Goes out nights in search of sin.
We wake up in the morning to find her coming in… from an all night brawl.
We’re all in such a dither, for heaven knows she’s coarse.
When she brings the milkman with her – wait ‘til you hear this one – why must she bring his horse?
Please God make Auntie’s face fall. For nothing is sacred at all.
We caught her teaching Granny to manipulate her fanny in a rhumba with a cashmere shawl.
And just last night they phoned from the jail – it seems they’re holding Auntie ‘til we fork up the bail
They found her on Broadway singing “Love For Sale”. Yes they did! And the price was small.
She steals cigars from brother. She’s thrown away her glasses. She was once like Whistler’s Mother – now they whistle when she passes. She thinks she’s the belle of the ball. We’re afraid that she’s going on call
Dear God we beg your pardon but to hell with Lizzie Arden
If you’ve any mercy left at all… please God make Auntie’s face fall!
Some of Spivy’s other recordings contain obscure references that require a little research and explanation. Not so with “Auntie’s Face”: Cole Porter’s standard “Love For Sale” is still well-known. The line “To Hell with Lizzie Arden” is a reference to cosmetics queen Elizabeth Arden, whose beauty product empire still stands. And who isn’t familiar with Whistler’s Mother?
Furthermore… a song about plastic surgery certainly rings truer today than it did 70 years ago. It may come as a shock to fans of the Real Housewives that the first facelift procedures took place in the early 1900’s.
For 10 years (1997-2007) I produced and hosted a late night public access program on the air here in New York City called Bri-Guy’s Media Surf.
This 1998 flyer features the stop-action roiling sea of celebrities used in the opening credits to the show. Amongst the beefcake models and my first grade class photo, we also have: Bette Midler (3x), Goldie Hawn (2x), Diane Keaton (First Wives Club), Erasure (2x), Dusty Springfield, James Dean, Madonna, Lisa Loeb, Mark Wahlberg, Rupaul, Paula Cole, Keith Haring, Greg Louganis, Michael Stipe, kd lang, Julia Fordham and James Dean.
The quote at the bottom is a nod to legendary NYC late night hostess Robin Byrd.
One of my faithful viewers (Tammy) Remington Write recently reached out about doing an interview and has written a wonderful piece for Medium. Thank you so much for remembering, Tammy!
In the article she recounts when we first met on the street back in 2005. Viewers did not approach me often enough that I ever got used to it. I was always thrilled to be reminded that this thing I was creating alone in my apartment was being broadcast and people were watching.
I was going to just post the link to the Medium article here and leave it at that, but while looking for something unrelated on a backup computer disc, I came across this piece I wrote in 2006 for a MySpace blog that I had completely forgotten about:
Every once in a while I’ll hear from a viewer of my NYC public access program, Bri-Guy’s Media Surf. It’s still running, mostly in repeats, on MNN in Manhattan.
Media Surf promo shot (1997)
I got an IM yesterday from a viewer that I have conversed with from time to time over the years. He’s a nice guy – perhaps a little off, but aren’t we all in one way or another? He still hasn’t gotten over the fact that sapphic little Dana Owens who worked in his record store in the late 80’s morphed into Queen Latifah. He brings it up in every conversation. That, and his obsession with Sylvia Miles. I’m not kidding. He scared her and now she won’t talk to him.
He lives in New Jersey but a friend would tape my show and pass him VHS copies. That ended at some point a few years ago and I wasn’t sure if he was still watching it. I don’t hear from him for long stretches of time and then he will suddenly IM me out of the blue.
This was today’s exchange in its entirety:
(curtain up)
Him: I used to trick with a fuckbuddy in Harlem so I could see your show
Me: You what?
Him: I would time it just right
Me: How funny.
Him: Sex after your show – I am not kidding
Me: That’s so sweet!
(curtain down)
Now… who could ask for a better compliment than that?
Media Surf promo shot (2003)
This is actually the second person to extol this type of adulation. Last summer a guy came running up to me on the street to let me know how much he loved Media Surf, and that he had a regular Friday night tryst with his “one night a week boyfriend.” This had gone on for years: they would get together to watch the show and then have sex. Or vice versa. In their case, I’m not sure if the show was an appetizer or dessert. The point is, it was on the menu.
This is my fan base, if you will. For a while, it seemed like viewers who recognized me would only come up and talk to me when I was trying to pee in public. Apparently I am most approachable in public bathrooms. Not that I make a habit of hanging out there. Shut up.
Once after I disembarked from a flight at La Guardia Airport, I entered the restroom with some urgency and a member of the janitorial staff greeted me with a hearty “Hey Bri-Guy!”
On the set: Media Surf(2005)
It wasn’t a terrible welcome back to New York City – the one place where I have just a smidge of recognition.
A guy reached over the toilet stall to shake my hand as I stood at the urinal one drunken evening in Dick’s Bar. I guess I’m less intimidating with my fly open. Or more vulnerable, at the very least.
In the realm of things, hearing that someone would choose their rendezvous to accommodate Media Surf’s broadcast schedule is high praise, considering that after 9 years on the air, I rarely bother to stay up late enough to watch it myself.
It means enough to these people to approach me and let me know that they like the show that I put together. To be a part of their philanderings – in some tangential way, without ever taking my clothes off or having to shower afterwards – is kinda cool.
I recently posted two San Francisco-based articles from the September 1980 issue of Blueboy magazine – one by Armistead Maupin and another by Randy Shilts. I was ready to move back to the east coast when I came across a third article – written by Dan Turner for the Nov/Dec 1979 issue of In Touch Magazine. It seemed to work as a literary triptych with the other two articles. Also… it looked somewhat familiar….
The flipped version of the shot below accompanied the Armistead Maupin piece in Blueboy. And no, those are not nude sunbathers on the roof – it’s an overlapping photo.
The shot below was from the Nov/Dec In Touch Magazine article. Same guys, same clothes or lack thereof. Some people have shifted around a bit, so it was taken at a different time on the same day.
Through internet magic, I did a little “Google map virtual walk” down Castro Street, which led me to the corner of 18th st. And there it is: the boys’ perch, 40 years later. The pharmacy is now a Walgreens:
I felt like I was slipping down the rabbit hole. Next stop: YouTube with a search of 1979 Castro Street Fair videos! Sure enough, there they were – captured in grainy home movie footage.
Theses guys were photographed more than the soldiers at Iwo Jima. Call it Gay-wo Jima.
Before I started to save videos and crop and edit and convert to gifs and blah blah blah, I took a step back from the edge. I felt that I had lost the plot at this point. Where were we? Oh yes.
That last paragraph just hurts. How could anyone have known what the future held? In 1981, the author of this piece, Dan Turner was one of the first people diagnosed with AIDS. This was before it even had a name. He helped found the AIDS Foundation, People with AIDS and the AIDS Switchboard. He was the longest surviving person with AIDS when he passed in 1990 at age 42.
“…they are not just pretending to be the heroes they admired. They are becoming the heroes themselves.”
A recent post – the one featuring an essay written by Armistead Maupin for the September 1980 issue of Blueboy Magazine – was my most-viewed ever. This was thanks in part to links from Queerclick and KennethInThe212. I threatened to upload another article from the San Francisco-themed issue written by Randy Shilts: “What If They Gave A Backlash And Nobody Came?” Several people requested it, so here it is.
But first… a couple of other items of interest from this same issue:
There used to be a whole lot of Uncle Charlies in New York City! None of those advertised above is the one that lasted longest: The Uncle Charlies bar on Greenwich Ave. in the West Village, which closed in 1997. And then there’s the one that has been on E. 45th st for 10 years now.
And Look! It’s an advertisement for Grace Jones’ fourth LP… her first good album!
Record review: San Francisco’s very own Two Tons O’Fun. Izora Armstead and Martha Wash had been Sylvester’s backup singers. They soon changed their name to The Weather Girls when it started raining men… and the rest is history. Hallelujah!
10 time capsules from PM Productions. Check ’em out! They’re a hoot. And Christopher Street Blues has a zippy little theme song.
And now for our feature presentation. This article recounts several significant incidents where backlash against the San Francisco gay community was anticipated, but did not happen. It’s interesting to read Shilts’ account of what had been accomplished up to this point in time – with no idea that they were standing on the precipice of a health crisis that would decimate the community and undo so much of the work towards assimilation that he was highlighting.
Randy Shilts Interviews Harvey Milk (1977/78)
Randy Shilts on The Charlie Rose Show (1993)
Randy Shilts with Lily Tomlin (1993)
Shilts would go on to write three books, all important documents of gay history: The Mayor of Castro Street – a Harvey Milk bio, And The Band Played On, which chronicled the early days of the AIDS epidemic and Conduct Unbecoming: Gays and Lesbians In The Military. He died of AIDS complications in 1994.
Just imagine what he would have to say about the current administration. Or Mayor Pete. Picture him as a frequent guest on Rachel Maddow. His voice is sorely missed.
Terry DeCarlo was only 57 years old when he passed away earlier this week, yet he seemed to have lived multiple lives. His partner of 23 years, Bill Huelsman announced on Facebook that Terry had lost his battle with cancer on January 27th.
Terry DeCarlo with Pete Buttigieg in June, 2019
DeCarlo held many jobs over the years – his Instagram account lists Communications Manager of Broward County, Co-Hosting Out & About America and USAF Intelligence Officer in addition to his most prominent position as Executive Director of The LGBT+ Center in Orlando. DeCarlo became a national figure when the Pulse massacre occurred and led a grieving community through a tumultuous time.
He is seen here in an appearance on Rachel Maddow’s show:
All of his obits and online tributes – including this New York Times piece – have rightfully focused on his 20+ years of activist work in Florida, so it’s easy to forget that he first came to prominence as a porn star.
In the early 90’s DeCarlo was a fixture on the New York City gay nightlife scene, appearing regularly on The Robin Byrd Show to promote his adult films and ongoing residency at Show World strip club. One particularly memorable performance featured a giant live snake. (Insert python joke here)
Terry DeCarlo (center) with Dave Logan and Mark West on the box cover for Lunch Hour 2 (1992)
Lunch Hour 2 (1992)
He appeared in films alongside (although not necessarily in scenes with) porn legends Jon King, Joey Stefano, Karl Thomas and Mark West.
DeCarlo in Solid Intake (1993)
19 Good Men (1993)
DeCarlo (right) with Storm, Giovanni and Jason Lamont in 19 Good Men (1993)
DeCarlo on the old Christopher Street Pier in Put It Where It Counts (1993)
A partial filmography: Lunch Hour 2 (Catalina video 1992) 19 Good Men (Robert Prion, Bijou 1993) Put It Where It Counts (Robert Prion, Bijou 1993) What Men Do (Tenderloin, 1993) Solid Intake (Robert Prion, Bijou 1993) Leather 2 (Catalina video, 1994) Forever Hold Your Piece (Catalina video, 1994)
Forever Hold Your Piece (1994) Box cover with Jon King and Devyn Foster
After he retired from performing, DeCarlo moved to Florida and focused on his activist work. Besides those previously mentioned, he also worked at other organizations such are Care Resource and the Broward House, helping to ensure that health care, medication, shelter and basic needs were available for all. He was an integral part of the White Party, AIDS Walk Miami, Dining Out for Life, the Smart Ride and countless other fundraising events.
He dedicated his life to helping others and will not be forgotten. My heart goes out to his partner Bill and their Wilton Manors community.
Back in the early aughts, an older friend of mine was preparing to move out of his NYC apartment and gifted me with a gay time capsule: a closet full of porn magazines dating back to the mid-1970’s. He had moved into this rent stabilized 5th floor walk-up in college and stayed there for 30 years. Roommates and boyfriends came and went – leaving a trail of old magazines in their wake. But my friend stayed in this spacious top floor railroad apartment in the last remaining tenement building on a stretch of East 59th street, with a living room facing the Queensboro Bridge. Why move? The landlord finally offered him a sizable cash settlement to leave, unaware that he was ready to depart NYC anyway. But it was a nice parting gift.
I, in turn was given a King’s Chamber of gay erotica: 7 file boxes full of near-pristine old smut.
Shocker: porn is lucrative. For a few years I supplemented my income by selling them singly on eBay. The shrinking collection has now moved through 4 different apartments in the last dozen years. Unfortunately I did not have my friend’s tenacity (or luck) when it came to NYC real estate.
Recently I cracked the boxes open again and came across an article I thought was worth sharing. Yes, an article. As the old joke goes – I like these old porn mags for the articles. Well… the photo layouts are nice too, but… the articles do give a window into what gay life was like before the plague.
The September, 1980 issue of Blueboy Magazine was dedicated to the city of San Francisco – The Promised Land for gays. Presented below is an article titled “The City That Dare Not Speak Its Name” penned by Tales of the City author Armistead Maupin.
Author Armistead Maupin at the San Francisco Chronicle.
Although this was written just before the AIDS epidemic blew the gay community sky high, San Francisco had already been through some shit, as Maupin mentions in his opening paragraph. The Zodiac Killer, Jonestown Massacre, Patty Hearst kidnapping, the murders of Harvey Milk and Mayor Moscone… followed by Dan White’s acquittal…. I am unclear what “Decadence” he is referring to, but surely it was a bloodbath.
Maupin sensed that the press was sharpening its knives to criticize his beloved city. And he wasn’t wrong in his assessment. Like his Tales of the City series, the article is a love letter to San Francisco, capturing the time and place as nobody else could. It was the best of times… it was the worst of times….
A couple of notes: The mayor mentioned in the article is Dianne Feinstein, now the senior California senator. And the 30-inch girlfriend he refers to was Tamara De Treaux, basis for the main character in his novel Maybe The Moon.
Armistead Maupin photographed in 1978 as part of Don Herron’s Tub Shots photo series.
In the spirit of “everything old is new again,” Maupin observes “…. some local lavender ward healers (that) propagate the Cult of the Politically Correct can grow tedious beyond belief, and I wonder, in my heart of hearts, whether the immeasurable joys of cocksucking are worth the price of being either political or correct.” Yes, he ultimately concludes that nobody embraces eccentricity as unconditionally and as joyously as do San Franciscans.
40 years later, I think those who love the city would agree… even if they do complain about all the human feces in the streets.
The article concludes with a reference to a novel Maupin was working on: Jackie Old – a fictional piece about Jacqueline Onassis at age 70. Unfortunately she did not live to see 70 and this novella – initially published as a 5 part series in New West magazine – would not get an official release until a 2014 Kindle edition. Even so, it is not included in his bibliographies.
Also featured in this mag is an extensive piece by another prominent gay San Franciscan: the late great Randy Shilts, author of And The Band Played On. I will post this piece – “What If They Gave A Backlash And Nobody Came?” -if there is interest. Lemme know if you want it. (UPDATE: I posted it HERE)
The question, which I have been asked many times over the years, always comes from a fellow gay person who then proceeds to explain why this 1945 film is a Christmas classic. Inevitably the conversation includes a mention of The Delivery Woman. “Just wait for her;” they would say.
The Delivery Woman appears 11 minutes into the film – just after we meet leading lady Barbara Stanwyck. She enters carrying a large box tied with a bow – it’s a mink coat. She has two lines – six words: “Miss Lane?” and “Same to you, Miss.” She smiles throughout her performance – she is beautiful. Stylish. She wears a hat, cape and gloves. Tasteful earrings. And she has a musical cue – a slinky clarinet riff. She seems to know things.
One friend described her as “sassy” although I think that assessment is a modern projection. She is on screen for just over 10 seconds. And then she is gone. She has other places to go. Other minks to deliver.
“Wouldn’t it be great if postal workers dressed like that?” is another comment I have heard more than once. I think she is actually a department store delivery person and not a postal worker. In any case, yes, I agree – capes and hats and leather gloves would be a welcome addition to any FedEx, UPS or Amazon Prime uniform.
We do not know the actresses name the IMDB does not list her. One day I expect to receive a blog comment that says “You uneducated fool! Everybody KNOWS it’s a young Rudy Dee / Hazel Scott / Dorothy Dandridge.” Until that time… the mystery remains. At least in my house. (Scroll down for an update!)
In The Celluloid Closet, a 1995 documentary about the history of homosexuality in Hollywood, writer Susie Bright says something along the lines of “A gay audience is so accustomed to crumbs that you will watch a whole film just to see a hint of a gay subtext.”
In Christmas In Connecticut, it’s pretty clear that Barbara Stanwyck’s sham fiancee – a disinterested interior designer – would be a gay character if 1940’s society and the movie code allowed for it. But that’s beside the point. The “accustomed to crumbs” statement can be applied to any minority in a classic Hollywood studio film : you wait for someone to show up, cross your fingers for a positive depiction, and then hold onto it when you find it.
The Smart Bitches, Trashy Books website mentions The Delivery Woman in a 2016 post dissecting the film. “PERSON OF COLOR. PERSON OF COLOR;” they scream upon her entrance. “This movie is already more inclusive than several films released this year.”
And this is why, 75 years after it’s release, I am writing about 10 seconds of this film.
I tip my stylish cap to that nameless actress. We salute you!
UPDATE: Since this was first posted in 2019, there have been several suggestions in the comments section. I am inclined to agree that it is Daisy Bufford (1913-1987), an actress with over 30 movie credits, including Cabin In The Sky and Gone With The Wind. What do you think?
She can be seen here in Son Of Ingagi (1940), which has been called the first black Sci Fi/Horror movie:
I have written about late photographer Don Herron’s Tub Shots photo series here and here. Every once in a while I come across one that I’ve never seen. Here is Tales Of The City author Armistead Maupin in 1978:
There’s a show on after the 11pm local news here in NYC called NBC Sports Night. To be honest, I only watch for the snacks. This was last Sunday: 10/20/19 – A discussion about football or rugby or something…. over a radiant bowl of fresh Nacho Doritos.
The Empire State Building in a to go cup (10/18/19)
Neil Patrick Harris recently posted this photo of his injured hand. No word on whether that swelling has been attended to. 😮
You’ve probably seen Pulitzer Prize winning Ronan Farrow making the rounds to promote his new book, Catch And Kill. It’s a rare season that our handsome hero reporter doesn’t make headlines with yet another expose that rocks our world.
But when the dust clears after each bombshell revelation, one pesky rumor trails behind like exhaust fumes, winding its way through social media outlets: Speculation that Farrow is actually the son of Frank Sinatra. These posts are usually illustrated with side-by-side comparative pics of the two.
Here’s an idea: the next time you feel an urge to re-post or share a link perpetrating this improbable myth, consider looking at a photo of Farrow next to one of his own mother, actress Mia Farrow when she was young.
They look just alike.
I know. It’s shocking.
Ronan Farrow looks just like his mother.
Mia’s father, film director John Farrow (1904-1963)
Here’s another revelation: He strongly resembles her father, the dashing John Farrow.
Frank and Mia at their 1966 wedding
As for the Sinatra resemblance… have you seen pics of Sinatra with Mia when they married in 1966? He was 30 years older than his bride. SHE looks like his kid. She looks more like his kid than his OWN kids. Ol’ Blue Eyes married a young blue-eyed pixie. Good genes all around.
In a 2013 Vanity Fair interview, Mia made a joke that Frank “maybe” was Ronan’s father. This vague statement was designed as a dig at Woody Allen, Ronan’s alleged biological father. The reality is that when Ronan was conceived, Sinatra was 72, over a decade into his marriage to his last wife Barbara, and reportedly had undergone a vasectomy years prior.
Woody Allen with Ronan and Mia Farrow
Vasectomy aside, for Sinatra to be Ronan’s father, Mia Farrow would have to have been sleeping with her ex-husband nearly twenty years after their divorce – while they were both in relationships with other people. Does this make Mia look good? Not at all. Is it more important for her to continue to make Woody Allen’s twilight years miserable? Definitely.
I can’t be the only one that feels that this sort of thing undercuts Ronan’s credibility on some level.
Frank Sinatra with two of his children, Nancy and Frank Jr.
I’ll be honest – I lean toward Team Mia when it comes to most details involving Woody. But the whole “maybe” regarding Ronan’s paternity is unfair and disrespectful to Sinatra’s late wife and his biological children. And even though the Sinatra clan answered questions regarding this rumor years ago (respectfully and without mudslinging, I might add), those rebuttals don’t seem to accompany the re-posts that raise the question again and again… a rumor that will continue to resurface until Mia and her look-alike son stop playing coy and put the matter to rest.
In the article she recounts when we first met on the street back in 2005. Viewers did not approach me often enough that I ever got used to it. I was always thrilled to be reminded that this thing I was creating alone in my apartment was being broadcast and people were watching.
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