Need a friend who can sort out your life problems by tap-dancing in yellow body paint?
Need a shoulder to cry on while your daughter video blogs against you?
How about a high-voiced manimal that can knock over everything in your house in three seconds?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8fij0LIWgY&feature=related
Dear Sparkle Readers:
Another calendar has found itself out of pages, another decade is scratching its head wondering where all its thoughts are. Yes, the giant inflatable sex doll of 2010 has deflated. So, please, dearest readers, keep us in your thoughts and let us know what you would like from Sparkle Mag.
For instance, would you like more pictures of soccer teams in underwear? Would you like more recipes for flan? More coverage of the Vatican?
We drip in anticipation of your input.
Gracias,
Sparkle Mag
Ja, so you’ve heard. Brooklyn’s got some stuff — and I’m only talking about hip stuff. Not like stuff in, say, Brighton Beach. That’s just different.
The Civil War:
It may be 2011, but it’s still 1865 in Brooklyn. You want your your old jackets and epauletted shoulders? Check. You want your vintage nautical, railroad, hunting lodge, or Oregon Trail bars? Check. You want the British housing troops in your house? Nope — don’t got that — that was the Revolutionary War. Find a newsies hat. Find some knickers.
Blouses:
Ok, Brooklyn has blouses. Last week I went Christmas shopping for my mother. My mother was like, “I’d really like some fresh tops for ‘going out’ in.” I reassured my mom and told her not to worry. Brooklyn has some great blouses, tops, and tanks for ladies of all ages and sizes. I waltzed through Williamsburg and had every twenty year old SVA student shop girl helping me find the best tops for my mom. Big black and puffy, pirated runs, 60s prints, and criss-cross designs. It was all too much to handle. Too many blouses and tops. Merry Christmas.
Western Europeaners:
If you wanted to see a graphic design student from France wearing a blouse from 1865, come to Brooklyn. These ladies and gents are everywhere in North Brooklyn and some of the softer central neighborhoods of BK. And can you blame them? It’s like the Civil War is happening all over again and that’s rad. You can eat off a cannon ball or polish bayonets in your house and you can do it with your Spanish, French and British compatriots.
Happy New Year from Sparkle Mag.
XO,
SM
Dear Sparkle Mag,
Recently I had a discussion with a friend about whether or not meggings were acceptable — meggings — you know, man leggings. See below:
Of course, the world of meggings is far and wide. The above example is less offensive than what I am about to show you below:
Regardless your feelings on the matter, I think we can agree on two basic meggings principles:
1) Outline of male member should be obscured in meggings
2) The meggings wearer should avoid wearing tacky sweaters
3) You should avoid looking like a medieval cartoon while wearing meggings
I don’t think that body size even matters. Even if a guy is a little overweight, it is likely he still has good legs.
However, this doesn’t settle the question: is it ever appropriate to wear meggings, even if you look good in them?
Most would say no. Many people think that men should be modest and keep their packages hidden, as is the prevailing attitude in the United States with the Speedo. It is true: a male crotch is an elaborate thicket of sex, and when on display, it causes social dysfunction.
But is what is acceptable in the female world any better? Like… yoga pants?
Next week we’ll discuss manties. Good night.
Love,
Slutsky LaBeef
Our founder.
XXOO - Helen Lawson, NYC
Dear Sparkle Mag —
Somedays I can’t just shake the feeling: I am just your average, white male. A non-race, a race with no decorum.
Each day I wake up and join the 74% of Americans who are white (there are 169,000,000 of us). I like music that is loosely considered “indie rock” and I am health conscious (I eat avocados, mangoes, sprouts, and I avoid salt). Unsurprisingly, I am also a young, white, creative professional. I live in an urban neighborhood that is gentrifying through the processes of other like me. Most of my close friends are young, creative, white people, or white people nonetheless. I live in a city that is incredibly diverse. New York City is 25% black and 25% hispanic, and almost 12% Asian.
So why do I live in a tower of whiteys? Do I feel race shame? Aren’t we all post-race anyway?
Well, as a teacher at two colleges that are largely minority, I interact with others that are different than me all day long. Sometimes, ridiculously so, I feel like I am this bizarre teacher-puppet who is putting on some boring or bizarre dog-and-pony show to get students to read literature and write better. Sometimes I feel like students do not connect with me at all because I have enthusiasm for a subject they do not, and above all, I come from a completely different race and class background than most of my students, and research suggests that students learn best from teachers that are “similar” to them. Hmmm.
So, what can a white boy from the suburbs do to be successful teaching at a minority college in the city?
Well, just be a honky I suppose, because that is all you can do. I have to own the fact that most of my students think that I’m from the whitest parts of the Midwest, (last year: “You’re from Buffalo? I thought you were from, like, Nebraska (even whiter)). I can’t pretend to have seen every Dave Chappelle movie, so I’ll slowly begin Netflixing the ones that people talk about in class. Most of my students think that I live in lower Manhattan, a rich whiteboy area — ha, this is a trick: I live in an even whiter neighborhood: Greenpoint.
Well, beyond all this, at least I am not a white guy with a bad embroidered shirt:
Whitely,
The White Nose
Growing up in a small very closed minded town, I never ventured into showing off my homosexual tendencies until I reached college. It was during my first semester that I was introduced to the world of online chatting, connecting with individuals who are also gay, which my closeted mined was completely baffled over and very intrigued.
The first person I had sex with I had chatted with on an online chat site. We met at his place, hung out. He gave me alcohol (being under the legal age), we had sex. I fell for him, as people tend to do with the first person they have sex with. And, as many guys on the opposite side of the spectrum do, he shot me down and then some.
I found out he does porn, had a sugar daddy. He most likely was an escort. He did a porno with his roommate shortly after. Heart broken and a little annoyed that he had sex with his roommate, not understanding the life of a porn star I moved on and concentrated on academics not dating for a few years. Before we went our separate ways he told me this ”You know, you could do porn, but you need to cut your hair and lose 20lbs.” Maybe this is why I had an eating disorder for a good portion of my 20’s.
Flash forward a couple years… One Saturday evening in August, after severing a relationship with a guy who fell off the bandwagon for an alphabet of substances as well as alcohol, and realizing that my Balchor’s Degree served me no purpose whatsoever, I went to a popular homosexual night club in town. Depressed as all fuck and drinking Jack Daniels and Coke I went outside to have a smokey treat.
While outside of the club I was chatting with some people, out of the corner of my eye I saw this guy walk up to the club, it happened to be the guy who I gay my gay virginity to. He walked past me, turned around and said the following:
“I know you don’t I? You look very familiar.”
“Yeah you do. I used to hang out at your house a with your roommate Dwayne a few years back.”
“Ok. I live in Arizona now, just visiting friends here. I need a cocktail, gotta go.”
Even more depressed that I was prior to this conversational exchange and on the verge of tears, I stumbled home and went to bed.
Has this experience losing my gay virginity made me a stronger individual? Have I been able to scope out bullshit quicker than my friends? Has this made me a jaded gay at an earlier age than most? I am not sure about any of this questions, all I know is that it has made me who I am today for better or worse.
Respectfully,
the 20 something gay
