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December 2013

The third and final installment of the Year in Review finishes with the fall and the start of winter. There are riches in the last months of a calendar year, buried treasures in the final stretches of the holiday season. And this last look back, much as I abhor looking back, is the best way to prepare the way ahead.

September 2013 ~

Music led the month, with such memorable songs as ‘Alone‘, ‘The Sunset Room‘, ‘When I Fall‘, and ‘Autumn Leaves‘.

London is the new black, and it will happen if I have to go on my honeymoon alone (which would make it the anti-honeymoon, as some things are non-negotiable).

Flapjacking off, poaching down, driving home, taking it all off, drinking it all down, and doing it in bed.

This was plum crazy, by way of Tom Ford.

Nine out of thirteen, and how it all began.

Down to my chakras.

Doing it doggy style, trying to recreate North End magic, and a decent cock.

There was nothing miserable about this production. And I have high hopes for this one as well.

One of my favorite posts of all-time.

October 2013 ~

Yes, I’m addicted. There, I said it. I’m a sinner, too. Dream on.

Put it in my mouth, fill me up, then piss on this.

Put some bass into it. Like David Beckham’s ass.

Just for the smell of it.

A rainbow world.

Ten.

October usually means a last stop in Ogunquit, before the season turns, and a first climb up the mountain.

A Madonna milestone, almost – and everything that came before ~ Part 1 and Part 2.

One of my favorite straight guys in the world.

For baseball season, I squeezed myself into a jockstrap again. And again… And one last time. And the ones that were too hot for FaceBook and Instagram.

A plan set into motion, and a bit of caffeine forgiveness.

A naked Zac Efron, for real.

November 2013 ~

Mounting it ~ Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 ~ because sometimes it takes three times.

It’s all about popular, in the cold November Rain.

Eleven.

One hundred.

The Madonna Complex.

Home has always been a hotel, preferably in a city distant and exciting. Like Washington.

Keeping my pants on when friends are near.

And taking my pants off when alone.

Dress you up… Red, gold, and green.

December 2013 ~

Was this the most important announcement of the year? Maybe…

Holiday Strolling, with a very dear friend.

The best kind of blue is Tiffany blue.

I don’t know why, but music will always move me, in giddy ways too.

A surprise trip to Dallas, to get away from everything, came just in time ~ in time for an ice storm.

A dozen. A preview. And a song for winter.

Holidays cards past and present, naked and clothed. Memories unmasked.

Simply put, a masterpiece.

May 2013 ~

One of my favorite months of the year, May is always glorious in New England. The spring is ripe and full, and the first tantalizingly sun-drenched hints of the summer to come sparkle on the petals of flowering trees.

That time of year is burned even deeper into memory by a love song. Or a pair of songs. Or a memory that has yet to be made.

May also brings me back to our wedding in Boston – here, here, here, here, and here.

This woman never fails to thrill. Especially when telling Papa not to preach.

Thank God FaceBook was not around in the 90′s.

Not just good, great. But even then there is room for reinterpretation.

Growing up, and moving on.

Hung.

#5 is alive.

Heaven in a little orange shopping bag, courtesy of Hermes.

Of art and friendship, and interior design.

A country waltz.

Up in the cherry tree, on a warm spring night.

It’s not easy being green, take it from the frog.

To the lighthouse.

Here comes the rain again.

June 2013 ~

A secret path to start the first month of summer, where songs in the night whisper of hope and longing, or tell tales of early-morning madness.

A great party for a great cause (and a great boater hat).

Junes means roses and dogwoods and peonies – bucketfuls of peonies, spilling over and scenting the air around all. The climbers are up and about now too, as evidenced by this clematis. But the most fragrant of them all is the magnificent mockorange.

It also means fresh vegetables and herbs, some garden-grown, some market-purchased – all delicious. The grill was in effect too, allowing for wonderful yet simple meals like this.

The mantle of a lady. The poppy of celadon.

Don’t abort!

Six of one, half a dozen of another.

Summer fun with the twins.

Hitting Broadway with my mother, and my best friend, for ‘Kinky Boots‘ and ‘Pippin‘.

Nobody rocks a top hat harder than Madonna in Dietrich mode.

The pool. And accompanying cocktail. And requisite Speedo shots. Plus, skinny-dipping!

Enchanted by the sun… and even though it’s not needed, some things are still very much wanted.

I finally met my favorite stalker, and it was well-worth the wait.

July 2013 ~

High summer was crowned by a Super Moon, and I don’t mean my ass, or these butts either.

Eating well continued, with offerings from the grill and summer cocktails in full effect. There was a lychee drink, there were beets, things got Bloody, and things got sweet. Sometimes we got muddled, sometimes we got tart, and sometimes we kept it simple.

More summer fun in the pool with the kids and the family, along with some naked alone time. (Because some people can’t wrap their heads around that juxtaposition.)

This is my kind of weed. This one is pretty weedy too.

Lucky #7.

I was finally getting the hang of Instagram.

Smell on this.

July marked a milestone for this site (which would be surpassed in later months). It also marked the time I was unceremoniously booted out of Starbucks!

Obsessed.

August 2013 ~

A rare, but welcome, trip to Maine for the wedding of our pals Eric and Lonnie ended as it traditionally does. Before that, however, was this amazing stop in Portland, where Andy wore yellow pants. Ogunquit was in full, high-summer bloom, but I was too consumed with consuming. The beach was blooming too, but the moon was manifesting its tricky emotional machinations.

Stepping out on Tom Ford, but only if it’s with Hermes.

My 20th high school reunion was proof that I graduated from high school at age 5.

Boston is magical and mysterious in August. But so is our backyard when the right people populate it. Still, Boston beckoned with its charm and beauty, so did what came after the bridge – and high into the sky. Even when you have to say good-bye.

Summer: Season of the Speedo. And mooning the camera. And poolside cocktails.

Poach me, tie me, bitch-slap me, sniff me, disrobe me, and make it hard.

Eight is enough.

Wait, not Bill Murray, Chevy Chase, right?

An introduction to Mary Oliver, and the wonder of poetry. And figs, because God loves figs.

Summer music, makes me feel so happy-sad, even when it makes one Misty. Time to talk about such things that go on in the life of a day.

My birthday celebration was a quiet one, and by request we went to The Mount, Edith Wharton’s home, which was just a brief drive from Albany.

Outwardly, it doesn’t feel like 2013 was very eventful. Inwardly, though, there were some major cosmic shifts, some seen only in the rippling echo of a few subtle posts. This was the year that you had to read between the lines if you wanted the full picture, as I tend to not talk about family issues or relationships issues or any of the issues that most people want to hear me talk about. That’s the gloriously infuriating fun of this site – at least for me. Still, revelations were there for the finding, if one bothered to read closely enough and wade through the smut. Here, then, is 2013, in a nutshell:

January 2013 ~

The year kicked off with the tenth anniversary of this very website. Since 2003, I’ve been bringing this site into your homes and lap-tops, through your iPhones and Galaxies, and, for the more progressive locations, into your work places. Ten years is an eternity in the blogging world, and I’m a dinosaur in this game, but I like it that way. This tortoise is in it for the long haul.

A childhood memory, conjured by a sofa-sharing moment with my brother on New Year’s Day, was brought to life by the Gummi Bears. His kids also greeted the New Year with these precious smiles.

The Boston condo was the best place to ride out a winter storm, and it’s been keeping me safe and warm since 1995. It’s hard to beat Boston for a momentary Winter Wonderland.

One of Madonna’s greatest songs was selected for the Madonna Timeline ~ ‘Live to Tell‘. Yet it was newer fare like ‘Falling Free‘ that proved she still held sway over my musical affections.

A fun hotel romp, literary-style.

This dressing gown, a wedding gift, inspired more memories than I initially thought.

A new project received the quietest release I’ve ever done. Without the hype and hoopla, ’13’ began with a whisper.

My naked romp on a couch got more notice. So did this naked romp on a bed. And this naked moment in the shower.

Shooting the football shit with my brother.

Sometimes the only thing you can do is run.

I love a surprise, especially when it involves traveling. Several notable surprise trips were made this year, starting with this one to Washington, DC, which included a stop at one of my favorite fancy watering holes. And some hotel sauciness. But skip all of that and go to the condensed versions: Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4. Or just go here to see the underwear pics. (And the naked ones.)

It was a family affair honoring my Dad’s lifetime of work, and an overdue acknowledgement of all that he’s done.

A new series (which has fallen by the wayside of later, until I hear back from Taylor Hudson and Ben Cohen) premiered in January ~ The Straight Ally Profile. The very first installment – and the one that remains my personal favorite – was this profile on my friend Skip Montross.

February 2013 ~

Music continued to provide one of the main touchstones of inspiration for many of my posts, including this musing on a classic standard, along with this Sam Cooke treasure (that also includes an ‘Adventures in Babysitting’ anecdote) and a weekend with the twins – in a robe, no less. Peter, Paul and Mary provided another blast from the childhood past with ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane‘. 

I love posting photos of naked men (myself included) that also feature favorite quotes from books I want people to read. One of the hallmarks of this site is hopefully the spoonful of sugar (nude males) that helps the medicine (writing) go down.

Try one, eat some.

New bedding.

Another new semi-regular feature of this site was established in February, with The Couple Profile. The first one is a favorite because it features these two amazing gentlemen.

Second verse, not quite the same as the first.

Tom Ford is my naked obsession.

Waiting for a new bed in Boston was surprisingly peaceful. As was lounging around in my underwear, and even unpacking and undressing. I blame James Baldwin for making me take my clothes off.

Rehash.

February was not too early for picking up a bouquet of daffodils and praying for the speedy arrival of spring.

March 2013 ~

It supposedly comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, but in between could mean all sort of craziness. Especially when one is felled by a nasty stomach virus. And you thought I was a brat before…

Fittingly, March marked the Madonna Timeline with this ‘Ray of Light’ entry. That epic album (to date, Madonna’s best) enjoyed its fifteenth anniversary.

Another one of my favorite albums of all time was by James, Laid. I love every single song in that collection. Music still has the power to make me cry.

Boston is often more enjoyable when shared with a dear friend. Or when it gets christened by brand new bedding.

Eat some more.

Third time around.

Let us pray. 

As a child, I was severely traumatized by a certain frightening Easter Bunny. This past year, I overcame that fear with this unexpected Easter Brunch catharsis.

April 2013 ~

April flowers brought Boston back to bloom, and Boston Chops proved it was the meat and not the motion. Yet it was the Boston Marathon bombing that moved and united us the most.

When spring is carried in on the night wind, songs like this bring back adolescent memories. And sometimes songs like this one by Bon Jovi go back even further.

Does this inspire you?

April is usually the month that the gardens come fully back to life, but that doesn’t mean the battle is over. All the lessons of life can be found there. Weep not for the Lenten rose. Everything can be accomplished as long as there is a proper plan. And event if there isn’t, there can be peace in that too.

Four score.

After hemming and hawing about starting an Intagram account, I finally did it. And soon enough naked-ass pics like this were being banned.

There once was a time when Madonna scared me.

But it was nowhere near as frightening as my pornstache. Or the wall-paper that goes with it.

This sort of thing only happens once a century. Not super-thrilled that this was that once-a-century moment.

Windmill and bridge, on the edge of a Cape.

Going mad.

Albany disappoints on a number of cocktail levels. Except in cases of statuary.

Though it may not feel like it yet, the daylight is slowly starting to grow longer. Winter has just begun, but a beginning is the only way to get to an ending. In these photos the battle between day and night creates this wondrous effect, aided by the snow and cloud cover. Even in the darkest time of the year, beauty can be found if you wait and watch for it.

This is a bit of a holding post to tide us over until early next week brings the 2013 Year in Review (in three parts no less). For the rest of today, and tonight, I’d like to direct your attention to last’s year’s review. It should come as no surprise that I’m not a fan of looking back that extensively. As a pretty perceptive and analytical person on a day-to-day basis, I find the added burden of going back over an entire year rather onerous and unnecessary. If you do it right the first time around, why go through it again? But as I get older, I find these recaps are a good way of remembering things that would otherwise be forgotten in an instant.

Last year was actually a lot of fun – more-so than this year in a lot of ways – so it might be worth the look back. Here’s what was going on then ~ Part 1 and Part 2. Get ready for this year’s synopsis, which won’t be nearly as enjoyable… (which means you won’t want to miss it).

Two decades ago I sent out a project entitled ‘Apology’. Back then, my audience consisted of about five close friends who received my work through the postal service, as this was right before we all had e-mail. It was more fun that way: I could send out offensive things and have a few days to regret it before the damage was delivered. Which is basically what happened with that project. After a few months of getting battered by friends and family alike, I decided to go the usual passive-aggressive route (with a decided emphasis on the second half of the hyphenate) and address it in my writing. And theirs.

For ‘Apology’, I used Plato’s definition of the word. Unlike what most of us think of an apology, my version was a throwback to its original meaning – a defense. Over the years I’d amassed a decent collection of condemnations against me. Most were from people I’d never even met. The ones that mattered – and the ones that hurt the most – were those that came from the people whom I thought knew and understood me. Many of these were letters of blame bandied about in anger, but at the core of them was a simple critique of me and my lifestyle. Not so much my gay lifestyle, but a lifestyle of honesty and bluntness, and perhaps not-always-popular-opinion made unabashedly known. I was hated, and criticized, for being myself. Not always without reason, but often. And so my ‘Apology’ was born. Birthed from an exasperation of being attacked (you should see what people write to me on FaceBook and Twitter – I may be a bitch, but I rarely do it on someone else’s wall), it came from a dark place, an angry and defensive place, and as such it alienated just about everyone. (When you only have five viewers, it’s probably not the wisest move to make them all mad.) But I knew I needed to be alone then, so I did it.

On each page of the Project, I copied and printed out the worst letters that people had written to me (including all my friends who were about to receive it). On the back of each page I wrote a response to each of the accusations, outwardly apologizing for whatever bad things I had supposedly done, while rather transparently mocking such attacks. It was petty and childish – and it got the point across. But being right is a lonely place to be.

Twenty years later, I’m still fending off unfair characterizations, unprovoked attacks, and misplaced blame. I think I’m a little better at dealing with them now. Yet every once in a while I feel it may be time for a New Apology. (And before the next volley of criticism comes this way, please remember that no matter how cruel you think I sometimes am to others, no matter how cutting and critical, it is nothing compared to the atrocities I inflict upon myself. You don’t need to believe it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.)

Last Sunday, when returning from Boston, I drove through the thickest fog I’ve ever seen in my life. The foot of snow from the storm a few days prior was turning directly into fog as temperatures soared into the 60’s. It made for a few wondrous, and dangerous, patches of greatly-reduced visibility. Fog has always proved dangerously questionable for me, both in real life and in fiction, but this one was affecting everyone. Cars would disappear suddenly, enveloped by the water vapor, then the road would go, and with it the guidelines – and to be plunged into blindness so quickly is a terror you don’t want to know.

It wasn’t so much the disconcerting lack of guideposts and signs – it was the rush into the unknown. It felt like no matter how much I slowed it was still coming too quickly, like I might crash into some roadblock or stranded vehicle without warning or notice. Eventually I caught up to another car with its hazards on, going about my speed but even more cautiously. I stayed close until the fog dispersed. It was a relief to see that someone else was out there, that someone else was scared. We parted when we could see again, and when another patch came along I was already well-past my foul-weather friend.