Attn all New Yorkers! This just in from our friends at hottie underwear line 2(x)ist for tomorrow morning:

2(x)ist PRESENTS WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE

MEN IN UNDERWEAR TO SERVE FREE JAVA TO NEW YORKERS!

What: Models dressed in 2(x)ist underwear will serve FREE cups of Joe to wake up New Yorkers who pass each of the 2(x)ist coffee kiosks.

When: Tuesday, June 19, 2007 - 7 a.m. - 1 p.m.

Where: 39th Street and 7th Ave, and a number of possible surprise locations

Hot times, summer in the city!

Last week, we threw our big LA Pride kick-off bash at The Factory in West Hollywood, sponsored by Diet Pepsi and Absolut. The Factory is a big space, but it was packed to the walls with cute partygoers. Momma and Survivor's JP Calderon (who came out in Instinct a few months back) raffled off a ton of prizes, and the night was topped off with an Andrew Christian underwear/sportswear fashion show with some of the hunkiest models anywhere... take a look for yourself!

New York Times food critic Frank Bruni has an interesting observation in today's paper: lean California cuisine is out. New Yorkers are finding themselves in the middle of a globby, goopy fatty food explosion at high-end restaurants:

The menu at Momofuku, which also opened last year and seems to capture the culinary zeitgeist as well as any restaurant, has not only sweetbreads — the gateway offal — but also a veal head terrine that resembles a gelatinous amalgam of everything your mother ever told you to trim from a chop and shove to the side of your plate. That same description applies to a terrine of oxtail and pig’s foot at Trestle on Tenth.

Trestle and Momofuku would be high on the health commissioner’s list, but probably no higher than the new restaurant Resto, where some genius — and I am most certainly not being facetious — decided that deviled eggs aren’t sufficiently rich on their own. No, they need amplification, and of course they need meat, so they’re placed on rectangles of pork jowl. One more thing: these rectangles are deep-fried. At a certain point, I suppose, there’s no turning back.

We wonder how many Chelsea queens or Hell's Kitchen homos are part of this fatty new wave?