Joey McIntyre, Horny Women, and Me

Posted by Prince Gomolvilas
ON Monday, April 02, 2007

I know why straight guys go to Joey McIntyre concerts. After Joey McIntyre (of New Kids on the Block and Dancing With the Stars fame) performs, the audience of mostly women are all sopping wet. No, they are not sopping wet from sweat. They are sopping wet because Joey, whom they can never hope to possess, has used his explosive sex appeal to make the aforementioned women excrete vaginal juices. Disappointed that Joey is unattainable, the women must settle for second best—any available men in the audience, be they husbands, boyfriends, acquaintances, or perfect strangers. There's sure to be a lot of sex going on after a Joe Mac concert. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

This morning, Aaron (my Pulitzer Prize-nominated photographer friend, who I always have to refer to as "my Pulitzer Prize-nominated photographer friend" because how many people actually get to say that—huh?! Huh?!) took me to the Life Cafe in the East Village. The Life Cafe was immortalized in Jonathan Larson's Broadway juggernaut, Rent, which happens to be my favorite musical. I know I lose a lot of street cred for saying that, but anybody who would dare turn up their nose at my love of Rent is just a whore. Plain and simple. I'm not talking artistic or ideological. I'm talking, they're an actual whore.

Aaron taking me to the Life Cafe came with one caveat. "You can't sing anything from Rent while you're in there," he said, which, as you know, makes him a whore. In order to mar my experience, he then promptly informed me that the Life Cafe in the movie version of Rent is not the actual Life Cafe. It's someplace (probably a soundstage) in Canada or something. Yeah, yeah, I could just look it up online, but I'm too fucking lazy. (That's my New Yorker speaking, not me.)

After Aaron, his wife Nicole, and I walked their dog Paco, I headed to Broadway to win $20 orchestra tickets to Rent through their elaborate lottery system. (You write your name on a pink index card, and then they draw the cards from a box until the front 34 seats are filled.) In order to double my chances, I teamed up with a high school girl. She would sell me her second ticket if she won, and vice versa. Unfortunately, neither of us won. Her bad teen energy ruined everything.

So then I decided to walk up and down Broadway until I found the offices of The People's Court to see if any employees of the show could get me tickets to be in the studio audience. No such luck because it was too late in the day, though I did see where Harvey Levin stands outside the Times Square Visitors Center to give legal commentary about the always fascinating cases.

So then I decided to go to the movies and headed to the AMC multiplex, which happens to be right across the street from B.B. King's Blues Club, where I saw the marquee for, yes, Joey McIntyre. If you know me, you will recall several things: I went to a Joe Mac concert several years ago, and the screaming girls nearly shattered my eardrums; I saw Joe Mac in Jonathan Larson's criminally dismissed small-scale musical, Tick, Tick...Boom; and after that performance, Joe Mac not only autographed a photo of himself with the sweet and tender "Prince, Keep Writing!" but also touched my shoulder, which I have not washed since.

At B.B. King's, I was seated next to two Hungarian guys who were hoping to be seated at a table full of "tall girls," they said, but instead they got stuck with me and some middle-aged guy who ate a mud pie dessert.

Joey sang a bunch of old standards, which is the concept of his new album, Talk to Me, but he did manage to throw in one NKOTB song—"Please Don't Go Girl," even though the Hungarians not-so-quietly taunted him with a "whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh," a la "Hangin' Tough."

I did not stick around to speak to Joey again because the line was too long, and the scent of vaginal juices chased me out of B.B. King's and onto the streets of New York.

Tomorrow, I hit The People's Court offices early in the day; then it's back for the Rent lottery. If both endeavors fail, I look forward to wherever I end up. A roomful of horny women notwithstanding.
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2 Comments

  1. Jack Said,

    i love your bloggings.

     

  2. i love your singings.

     



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