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December 2013

Not Too Sweet

A decadent indulgence.

A bittersweet meeting.

A savory melding.

The marking of a moment, the end of a day, the memory of a loved one ~ and each made slightly sweeter with a treat. Sometimes even the strongest among us need a little chocolate to get through the darker seasons.

This box of Poco Dolce’s Bittersweet Chocolate Tiles is the perfect way to self-splurge, and to honor the little joys in life. They’re there for the taking if we just learn to open our hands.

Tonight I feast on a few before dinner (yes, before) ~ the subtle blossoms of grey sea salt, the only-slightly-savory sesame toffee, and the balance of bittersweet chocolate combine to create an altogether different entity. When two become one, wondrous things can happen.

The whole world opens up.

Everything is new again.

Love is on the tip of my tongue.

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Empty as a Drum

Enveloped by ice, and stranded at a grand hotel, I haunt empty hallways with an extra day in Dallas, somewhere in the middle of a sprawling country. In a dim corner, I sit and write letters as dusk approaches. Now and then one of the hotel staff ambles idly by with a nod or a polite Hello. Over the speakers, this song comes on:

When I saw the break of day

I wished that I could fly away
Instead of kneeling in the sand
Catching teardrops in my hand
My heart is drenched in wine
But you’ll be on my mind
Forever

While happiness will always be a hotel for me, there’s a bit of melancholy that seeps into such a transient world. As I sat alone on a couch, looking out onto the gray world, I thought of the people who traveled through the space. Some were stuck an extra day, like me, biding time until the way back home was clear. Some were at the height of their weekend getaways, giddily coasting on the freedom that vacation affords. Some were merely working, trudging through their work day while mustering the courtesy to say Hello to a lonely guy writing letters above the lobby.

 

Out across the endless sea
I would die in ecstasy
But I’ll be a bag of bones
Driving down the road alone
My heart is drenched in wine
But you’ll be on my mind
Forever

So far from home, so far from my heart, yet somehow so safe in my solitude. How strange the way time alone can change things, and heal things. Sometimes we all need that.

 

Something has to make you run
I don’t know why I didn’t come
I feel as empty as a drum

And sometimes we need a little bit more.

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Madcap Monday Recap

My adventures in Dallas will be touched upon in a later post. I’m writing this on a plane I barely boarded on time (after running – nay, sprinting – through the Atlanta airport, which is no tiny airport). After my asthma attack I settled in for a ride home I never thought I’d make. So I’m going to quickly recap the previous light week of posts, and then delve into how I survived a Dallas ice storm and the temptations of the original Neiman Marcus store.

First up was the tremendous news (at least for these parts) that Tom Daley was dating a man. I say good for him. God knows I’ve done my share of dating men – why should he be denied?

Next was my annual Holiday Stroll with Kira, Part 1 and Part 2. Tis the season.

The Hunks for holiday season were Josh Hutcherson, Jesse Metcalfe, Adam Levine, Joel Edgerton, Stuart Reardon, and these sexy Santas.

Speaking of holidays, check out the storefront of Tiffany’s at Copley Place.

Finally, even more naked male celebrities.

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The Gratuitous Nude Shots of Stuart Reardon

The aptly-monikered Stuart Reardon rears his sumptuously nude butt in his 2014 calendar (from which not all of these photos were culled). Shot by the amazing Rick Day the calendar certainly plays up Mr. Reardon’s best assets. He’s been naked here before (on Louis Vuitton no less) but there is always room for more nude male athletes/models. While I haven’t been the most fervent admirer of body ink, there are several notable exceptions and Reardon falls into that rarified group. Now if we can only get Ben Cohen to follow suit and remove his.

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Dallas, Delayed

My surprise trip to Dallas, TX has been involuntarily extended thanks to a debilitating ice storm that shut this Southern city down. As such, posts may be erratic, insane, offensive, and downright loony until I can get my bearings (and back to civilization). That, however, may make for some interesting reading/ranting, so stay tuned. If I end up on an airport cot, well… There will be stories to tell.

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Are We All Lit?

Approaching the shortest day of the year, it sometimes feels like the darkness is all-encompassing. Even at the height of noon, the sun often has trouble penetrating the cloud cover. At those times, the lights of Christmas are the saving grace of the season. At night, they lend a magic to the land, twinkling with charm as they wink at passers-by.

As a kid, one of my favorite things to do was ride around looking at all the holiday lights. I memorized many of them – the wreath at the bottom of Northhampton with the big traditional Christmas bulbs in it, unchanging from year to year. The impressive stand of twinkling stars at a local Congressman’s house. The simple homestead, cloaked all in red spotlights, glowing at the top of Coolidge Road. These were my memory markers, the totems of Christmas as it crept in through the darkest of nights. They were beacons of color, mileposts of wonder, respites of warmth no matter how cold the world grew.

Our own lights changed from year to year, depending on what inspired me, or what I felt like putting up. Somehow, as it always ended up doing, charge of decorating fell to me. At first I insisted upon it, then it became expected. With Andy, it was always up to me. This year, I’m taking a break from it all. It’s time for someone else to light the way.

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Sexy Shirtless Santas

Everyone loves a sexy Santa, especially when the red fur reveals a finely-honed torso, as in the case of these holiday hunks. The first to make most of us turn all Ho-Ho-Ho is Olympic diver Tom Daley. You may be more accustomed to him in far less (the Speedo being his usual uniform), but he cuts a fine Santa figure too.

Stuart Pilkington is another across-the-pond celebration of Santa, and he does it with guy-liner to boot. I guess it makes sense – Santa surely has some kohl/coal for those who have been naughty.

Ryan Phillippe may seem like a strange bird to don a bowl-ful of jelly, but for his Studio 54 movie he did just that for a cheesy photo shoot. (And there’s nothing I like better than a cheesy photo shoot.)

Here’s a sexy Santa who takes his shirt off AND sings, Mr. Darren Criss. He brings a gleeful lilt to the holiday proceedings.

Finally, Austin Drage offers his take on a far racier Santa – and he does it completely starkers.

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Nude Male Celebrities: A Collection

For a Friday, some man candy. The nude male celebrities always get proper notice, as most naked males do here, so let’s take it easy and let the guys take it off. In the following links, you can have a look-see at some of the men who have disrobed on this site, whether in their movies, or racy photo shoots, or in the assumed privacy of their hotel balconies.

First up is the sometimes-frightening intensity of Christian Bale, in his wickedly wonderful turn as Patrick Bateman in ‘American Psycho’. That’s one high maintenance male, and one equally high butt.

Second is Mr. Ryan Reynolds. Enough said.

Royalty, okay? In the fine ginger form of one Prince Harry.

A couple of Olympic athletes went starkers, and there’s something pretty Greek-God-like about Danell Leyva, Epke Zonderland, Evan Lysacek, and Chris Mears.

Athletes were represented in the altogether, and understandably so, as it’s their job to keep physically fit. The impossibly-perfect physiques of Rob Gronkowski, Gareth Thomas, Stuart Reardon, and Matt Harvey.

Currently winning raves for his performance in the ‘Dallas Buyers Club’, Matthew McConaughey looks way better here.

 

Male models win their place here mostly by default (as posing nude is part of their job), but that doesn’t mean they don’t work for it. Well, whatever, as long as they keep taking their clothes off, like David Gandy, Benjamin Godfre, Alex Minsky, Nick Beyeler, and Garrett Neff. 

The amazing Ronnie Kroell actually made Playgirl artistic with shots like these.

I wonder if Jamie Dornan will get this naked in his part in ’50 Shades of Grey’.

And… Chris Evans.

The End.

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Friday Night Dancing

On Friday nights when my brother and I were growing up, we got to stay up an hour or two later since there was no school the next day. We’d watch ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’, ‘Webster’ and ‘Mr. Belvedere’ along with, oddly enough, ‘Dallas’. The latter had the best opening theme song – all brassy trumpets and driving bass – and I’d concoct choreographed dance routines in front of the television set. My parents and brother occasionally lifted their gaze to watch.

I’m sure they didn’t know what to make of me.

No one ever knew what to make of me.

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Adam Levine Waking Up in his Underwear

Unfortunately it’s for the Adam Levine Collection for Kmart.

Oh Adam, what happened? Kohl’s was too exclusive?

No matter, the commercial is mostly about how sexy he is, not the (rather wretched) clothing on his back.

Oh, and that lady in a man’s dress shirt. In case anyone doubted how straight he is.

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The Potted Palm in the Hands of Gays

One of the Beekman Boys recently remarked that a potted palm makes any space instantly elegant, or something to that effect. As seen in this photo taken at the Hamilton in Washington, DC, I think he’s onto something. I would qualify that by saying a potted living palm adds class and elegance. A fake one negates all of it.

Nate Berkus agrees. He claims there is no place at all for artificial flowers, and I tend to follow that lead. There are moments when they work, but for the most part avoid them, especially if done poorly. He advises using dried flowers, or other natural items like driftwood or moss to create an environment. Nothing cheapens a space faster than a fake houseplant, its plastic joints unobscured by its scant false leaves, sadly collecting dust and offering no healthy bit of gas exchange.

Keep it real. And if you can’t keep it alive, keep it dried. Just don’t fake it.

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A Fantasy

It’s always been a fantasy of mine to disappear for a while.

To go somewhere unknown and unexpected.

To leave everything and everyone behind.

To find a place of perpetual spring.

To get away from all the demons – because sometimes the demons are not in my head.

To start completely over.

And like most fantasies, there’s an element of fear in it.

And then there’s the moment of reality.

And then I make it happen.

Every time.

 

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Christmas at Tiffany’s

Only one person ever got me a present at Tiffany’s – a very sweet ex-boyfriend who bought me a beautiful silver pen. I still have it, and it writes better than any other pen I’ve ever used. I shopped here briefly for wedding rings, but it was a bit too stuffy and pretentious for me to feel comfortable. The one thing I do, and I’ve done it since I was a little kid staying next door at the Copley Marriott, was to inspect their display windows. They captivate with wit and whimsy, and it’s never a hard-sell of merchandise. In fact, most of the time one needs to specifically seek out what item of jewelry or expensive accessory they are featuring.

As an adult, I ventured into the Copley store to deliver a bracelet in need of repair for a friend. At that time, the staff was helpful and courteous, if a little wary of my under-dressed visage. I’ve been around the retail block (both ends) to know when I’m being watched. Not that it’s ever bothered be beyond a slight annoyance with the principle of the thing. (I’ve never been one to judge anything based on appearance. That was for you Santa – wink-wink!)

This year they incorporated the stone facade for perhaps the first time in their decorating scheme, and I love the way it completely transforms a retail landmark that most Boston dwellers have seen for three decades into something totally new and different. Thinking outside of that Tiffany blue box paid off handsomely here. Not enough to allow me to make any purchases, but a price can never be put on beauty and magic.

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Grass

Those who disappointed, betrayed, scarified! Those who would still put their hands upon me! Those who belong to the past!

How many of us have weighted the years with groaning and weeping? How many years have I done it how many nights spent panting hating grieving, oh, merciless, pitiless remembrances!

I walk over the green hillsides, I lie down on the harsh, sun-flavored blades and bundles of grass; the grass cares nothing about me, it doesn’t want anything from me, it rises to its own purpose, and sweetly, following the single holy dictum: to be itself, to let the sky be the sky, to let a young girl be a young girl freely – to let a middle-aged woman be, comfortably, a middle-aged woman.

Those bloody sharps and flats – those endless calamities of the personal past. Bah! I disown them from the rest of my life, in which I mean to rest.

~ Mary Oliver
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The Holiday Stroll 2013: Part 2

The day dawned bright and sunny. Kira and I slept in no later than usual, padding out to the kitchen by nine o’clock, and sipping on some Spicy Ginger tea. Only a bit of shortbread made up the rest of our morning meal, so full were we from the night before. Groggily, we recounted the previous evening’s chow-down, and vowed to order less the next time around. But it was worth it, we agreed. It’s always worth it with a friend.

I presented my loose itinerary to her, with a few of the requisite stops to find some holiday gifts (I realized I still had some gift-buying to do for my family and friends). After walking through the Prudential Center and Copley Place, we turned up Boylston and found things for the twins and my boss, at Marshall’s and Nordstrom Rack. (Hey, if you can’t get economical with a three-year-old, how can you save anything at all?) After that, we walked through the Boston Public Garden, whereupon we met up with this fuzzy fellow and his compatriots, flirtatiously jumping about our legs hoping for a treat to drop from our hands. There were no treats to be had today, but he posed for this photo anyway.

Exiting the Garden, we walked along Charles Street, peering into the antique shops, and almost falling prey to a Christmas-tree-adorned pair of bright red corduroys, before I realized that I just couldn’t get my head around corduroy (or its accompanying $198 price tag ~ poor-man’s-velvet my ass). We were both getting a little peckish at this point, but before heading to a Thai place I had in mind, we made a slight across-the-street detour to The Liberty Hotel, and their whimsical upside-down Christmas tree presentation.

 

We’d first stopped here on an earlier Holiday Stroll – quite by accident, when our feet wouldn’t take us any further. The best place for a brief respite is a hotel lounge. When it happens to be a hotel as elegant and interesting as the Liberty (a former prison), that makes it all the more merry – as did their weekend Bloody Mary bar, which came with all the fixings and then some (I saw ingredients I’d never have thought to invest in a Bloody). Though it was after noon, I passed on a drink (despite those pesky rumors of alcoholism, and the wonderful set-up before our eyes).

Instead, we took off our coats, found a pair of winged arm-chairs, and settled in for a chat and some ogling of what looked to be several hockey players. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pick out a Boston Bruin from a ceiling fan, so I can’t verify who anyone was, and my text to my brother didn’t reach him in time.

After a few minutes of relaxing, and an indulgent bathroom stop to wash my hands with their Molton Brown Thai Vert soap, we headed back out, turning in the direction of Government Center. There used to be a Thai restaurant along the way near the foot of the street where I first kissed a man, but it was no longer around. Disappointed (I was fiending for some Pad Thai, and so was Kira) we changed tactics, hoping for some fish-and-chips or raw oysters at the Union Oyster House. As always, it was too crowded, so we fought the crowds at Faneuil Hall and made our way to the waterfront, where The Chart House stood, and which we figured would be decidedly less busy. The journey was riddled with holiday cheer, however, and it’s impossible to be too angry or annoyed with people when they seem so happy over the season, the holiday decorations, and the sunny day. I listened and smiled as strangers wondered at the enormous tree before us.

After lunch, we braved the more treacherous crowds of Downtown Crossing to find my Mom a gift at Macy’s, which we managed just as the crowds were surging. We found a cashier and finished up before the lines suddenly appeared. The day was dimming. I was undecided about taking the T back or walking, but Kira suggested the walk, so we went along Boston Common, and the beginning of the Freedom Trail, stopping to see the skaters on what I think is called Frog Pond.

While you’ll never get me on a pair of ice skates, I loved watching the people whiz by (or barely stumble by, depending on skill level). It was the perfect holiday postcard, a cross between Currier & Ives and Norman Rockwell, and as bitter as you all want to believe I am, I still get happy at the holidays because of scenes like this.

We did not stay long. The evening was approaching, and the temperatures were dropping. A rough wind picked up a bit before our final stages of this year’s stroll, and we meandered along a few Newbury Street shops as the sun went down behind the city. By the time we reached the condo, it was dark. We sat for a bit recounting the day’s events, considering it a tradition worth carrying on. I walked Kira to the T station and hugged her good-bye.

 

That night, I crawl into bed alone, thinking of what great, good fortune it is to have friends like Kira in my life. I’m far from a perfect son, I’m far from a perfect husband, I’m far from a perfect person, but I am a good friend. And my friends – the good ones – have become my family. Sometimes that’s what you need to do to survive, to stay warm in a world that can too often be cold and cutting. We can choose our family – they’re the people we decide to surround ourselves with, the ones who are there for everything and who love us unconditionally. That kind of love never wavers, never fades no matter what mistakes you make, never dims no matter who you become and no matter how less-than-perfect you are. Thank you, Kira, for a wonderful weekend. I’m already looking forward to next year – and maybe by that time our stroll will begin in my own backyard.

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