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December 2014

Barbra Streisand Goes Back to Brooklyn…

… and I just couldn’t be bothered. Just kidding. I have friends who adore Ms. Streisand, and I’ve always admired her work and her legacy. I just haven’t been a fan. However, when her last concert – ‘Back to Brooklyn’ – aired on Great Performances, I took a moment to watch this icon in all her adulation.

She wore some kooky outfits (as much as I love sequins, they can be trite on, say… Barbra Streisand), and she did some kooky dancing (does she know any other kind?) Yet unlike other icons (ahem), Ms. Streisand’s enduring appeal is due to her most valuable asset – that voice. Like buttah indeed. Studied, nuanced, pure and powerful, it has lasted all these decades, and remains one of the world’s most astounding natural gifts. Youngsters may want to note the complete lack of auto-tune madness, and take a lesson from the sheer presence this woman commands with a few delicate notes held in just the right manner.

Yet for all the perfection and passion, part of me simply doesn’t connect with her, and that’s all right. Different strokes for different folks, and in the way that not everyone has to love Madonna, I don’t quite love Barbra. I do, however, have the utmost respect for her, and she’s a powerhouse and institution worthy of honor and accolades.

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My Name is Not David

It was bound to happen sooner or later, and I suppose I should be glad it’s nothing worse. A FaceBook friend alerted me to the fact that someone was using my likeness on a Scruff account (similar to Grindr, but for hairy guys?) and sent me the photo below to verify whether I had posted it or not. “David” is going around Scruff pretending this photo of myself is actually him. The silly, vain, and really only side of me is nothing but flattered, though I do feel bad for whomever has resorted to using my face to get whatever they’re hoping to get. It hasn’t worked with the Tom Ford shoes I’ve had my eyes on, so best of luck.

Personally, I’ve never understood impersonating someone else, or using someone else’s picture on the internet. What’s the point? I mean, what real, truthful thing will ever come of it? If you’re looking to meet someone (the whole point of Grindr and Scruff, I assumed) how will that work when the real “David” shows up? Or is it just a silly game to pass the time, some poor-man’s version of Candy Crush? Whatever the case, it’s sad all around.

On the plus side, this person did use a photo with a nice kimono in it when they could have chosen something far more salacious. Even better is that they have me pegged at 127 pounds. (Not since 1993, buddy, but I’ll take that delusion as an early Merry Christmas to me!)

UPDATE: Apparently it’s also happened on Twitter. Hide yo kids, hide yo wife, indeed.

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Steep It & Suck It

A wicked cough has been nagging me for the past few days – I’ve been fighting off a full-fledged cold or flu, but it feels like I may be losing the battle. When I feel something like this coming on, I put a pot of water on the stove and slice up some fresh ginger, dropping it into the water and letting it steep for ten to fifteen minutes. The stringent ginger water is then strained into a cup with a bag of green tea in it. I swallow it all and pray for a speedy avoidance of illness. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t – either way it’s a boon to my system, and a warm way to greet the night.

Along those lines, a poem by Wallace Stevens:

Tea at the Palaz of Hoon

Not less because in purple I descended
The western day through what you called
The loneliest air, not less was I myself.

What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard?
What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears?
What was the sea whose tide swept through me there?

Out of my mind the golden ointment rained,
And my ears made the blowing hymns they heard.
I was myself the compass of that sea:

I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw
Or heard or felt came not but from myself;
And there I found myself more truly and more strange.

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Words from a Favorite

The Poet Compares Human Nature to the Ocean from Which We Came
By Mary Oliver

 

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth,

it can lie down like silk breathing

or toss havoc shoreward; it can give

 

gifts or withhold all, it can rise, ebb, froth

like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can

sweet-talk entirely. As I can too,

 

and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

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The Debut December Recap

The first week of December has come and gone, which means we’re hurtling toward Christmas and New Year’s at an alarming rate. Slow this sleigh down, I say! In an effort to do that, let’s look back. It seems that dwelling in the past is the only way to slow the future, or something like that. Whatever, it’s Monday, and time for a recap.

A couple of Hunks were requested this week (something that is always welcomed and more often than not honored) starting with Oraine Barrett.

The closest I’ve been to a naked breast since college.

And speaking of naked breasts, I give you Madonna.

I finished decorating the house for the holidays! Just one room, but still…

The beautiful Ben Cohen shows off in a new calendar.

Remembering December once

Twice

Three times a lady.

More hunky goodness, in the forms of Patrick Mitchell & Bryce Thompson.

More bush.

And even more hunks than you can a bat an eye at.

Care to share a Christmas Waltz? 1-2-3…

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A Christmas Waltz

Fulfilling a promise made in this Christmas kick-off post, here is ‘The Christmas Waltz’ as interpreted by Doris Day herself. A fitting performance from a woman who epitomized the sugar-coating in which we’d all like to believe. With a voice soft as warm butter, an earnest wish for a happy holiday season, and a wholesome throwback to an era that exists only in pictures and dreams, it’s a saccharine treat with an underlying bit of wistfulness that cuts it just enough to be deadly.

Frosted window-panes, candles gleaming inside, painted candy canes on the tree
Santa’s on his way, he’s filled his sleigh with things, things for you and for me.
It’s the time of year when the world falls in love,
Every song you hear seems to say, ‘Merry Christmas, may your New Year dreams come true.’
And this song of mine, in three-quarter time wishes you and yours the same thing too.

It’s the perfect song to go with a Christmas cocktail. Not with a loud and boisterous crew, not with a gaggle of gregarious friends, but alone, on your own, surrounded by the dull drone of strangers, the few friendly words of a bartender, the solitude and sadness of Christmas, no matter how loved you are by the masses. Because if you’re not loved by the one person you want to love you back, the rest of it doesn’t seem to matter.

I’ve often wondered at the happiness that everyone else seems to feel at Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I feel it too, in my niece and nephew, in my friends and family, in my husband and parents – but there’s always been something intrinsically sad to this time of the year. Maybe because it’s so close to the end of it, so near the darkest and shortest days of the season. No one wants to talk about that. It’s easier to turn your face to the sparkling lights, the bombast, the glitter and the drums. Better to hear the dulcet tones of Doris Day than the throbbing ticking of the time clock, running out for another year, reminding you of everything you never got to do.

And so we waltz along on a holiday breeze, we raise a glass and a toast to the season. The violins swell, the chimes charm, and it’s simple to get swept away with the voice of Miss Day. How can you resist? Why would you try?

It’s that time of year when the world falls in love,
Every song you hear seems to say, ‘Merry Christmas, may your New Year dreams come true.’
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December Recollections ~ Part 3

Lest we forget, December does not end with Christmas Day. In fact, its reach extends until the very last day of the year. That tends to get lost in the importance we place on that one special day. Yet as you can see, the days following the big one can be just as beautiful, and just as important. In a single day, a whole life can change.

Sometimes the moments following Christmas ring more festively, especially if there’s been a snowfall.

It starts quietly, in the amber light on the cherry bark, the same light caught in the Northern oats.

The dusk of Boston nestles before the New Year.

It’s the time of the year when snow is still new, and still somewhat welcome.

Sparkle and shine.

Before it begins again

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December Recollections ~ Part 2

Memories of Decembers past continue to occupy today’s posts, continuing with this choice bit of family jeweldom. They weren’t the only red objects on holiday display, however, as evidenced by these bulbous bobs of spicy earth-bound sustenance.

The jewels beneath the ground weren’t limited to those in the red, but those in the gold as well.

I’ve got the second part down pat. The first too, actually.

Bang my wall, Harvey.

The woman needs no defense, but here one is anyway.

I love pink pants.

We were all kids, once…

And some of us were luckier than others.

Coda.

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December Recollections ~ Part 1

Newly into the month, let’s look back a year or two ago and recall where we were way back when… starting with this Christmas rose memory. This, for me at least, the best part of the season – when all is hope and possibility, all is yet to come. The rush is not quite there, the worry not yet a true presence. Wait for it, just wait.

Three photos that tell three thousand stories.

It seems unlikely that we will get to make a third Holiday stroll this year, but the first was such a joy that I’ll be damned if I don’t try. I mean, come on!

Like a virgin… strolling for the very first time.

This is still funny. A mother-fucking quiche.

December brings out the ego and insecurity in some of us….

And the family fun in others.

Amid the fog

A cock.

The ultimate office holiday bash.

A little bit of the devil keeps the angels at bay.

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A Brief Ben Cohen Encapsulation

He’s probably overtaken David Beckham as the favorite son of this blog, in no small part thanks to photos like these, which manage to capture huskiness and sexiness and manliness in one fell swoop. Not that Mr. Beckham doesn’t still do so, but not in quite the same straight-ally form. For that, we are forever grateful and appreciative.

Ben Cohen has been a stalwart presence here, and he’s got a new calendar about to be released, one which contains his first-ever centerfold. How we ever survived without a centerfold before this blows my mind, but that’s the effect Mr. Cohen has had on most of us over the years. Let’s just be thankful that it’s here now.

As for his previous appearances here on this site, allow me to direct you to the only ones you need to view: this definitive pictorial, and this more resonant straight ally piece. Between the two you’ll find more than enough fodder for whatever you had in mind.

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Deco World

Some years I can’t be bothered with Christmas decorations. Like last year, for example, when we were in the midst of a kitchen renovation. The house was falling apart around us, and the last thing I wanted was holly and tinsel to provide the intricate bed for dust and debris. Other years I’ve gone all out, decorating every room in every conceivable theme. This time, I’m somewhere in-between, erring on the side of less-is-more. Only the living room has gotten a holiday treatment, as the kitchen is still too pristine to muck up with fake evergreen paraphernalia and musty bows.

I think it’s enough. Even better, it’s done. That’s all that matters right now. Welcome to the holidays.

 

 

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Greatest Hits of Hunkdom

There are certain men who come and go on this site awfully quickly, but there are others who come, and come back for more. This post is a brief collection of some of the greatest hunks that have graced the site over the years. Each is a classic in his own right – and a few even have their own sub-category here (an honor usually reserved for the likes of Madonna or Tom Ford).

We begin with Harry Judd, who’s taken off trou here even more than Nick Jonas. Mr. Judd has been in his underwear, and out of it, sharing his birthday cake, and his birthday suit with equal aplomb.

Next up is Darren Criss, of ‘Glee’ fame. My bad-gay confession is that I haven’t seen the show in years. Is it still on? Makes no matter. Mr. Criss is beautiful with or without a singing showcase on the boob tube.

Speaking of those with fantastic sub-categories, here is Ben Cohen. Click on this and keep scrolling down, down, and down.

Tom Daley has a pretty substantial sub-category too, but Jack Mackenroth has a more bountiful booty.

Last but not least is Dan Osborne. He’s been here more times than I can right off recall, but notable appearances include this naked one, this nude one, this totally starkers one, and this one of his ass.

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Bushens, Better-Known as The Magic Garden

When I was kid, I didn’t have quite the vocabulary that I have now. My ‘penis’ was my ‘thing’ and as Suzie recently brought to light, I had no word for ‘vagina’ (nor an occasion to use it.) So when I tried to convey to my parents, before I knew any words, that I wanted to watch ‘The Magic Garden’ all I could do was scream out ‘Bushens!’ Eventually, they landed on the channel where the “bushens” were, only it was more accurately known as ‘The Magic Garden.’

‘The Magic Garden’ combined my love for flowers with my love for music, and Carole and Paula would become prototypes for all the good girls I’d befriend over my life. A holiday episode of ‘The Magic Garden’ was recently unearthed, and it turns out these lovely ladies are still performing (and still alive) as seen in this promo for the show.

 

As a kid, I loved the show so much that one of the first records I got was the soundtrack to ‘The Magic Garden’ – on vinyl no less – and I wore it out singing and dancing in my childhood bedroom. Not unlike what goes in my adult bedroom. The lessons were ones for the ages – “You can even get mad at me, but don’t you push me down” – and the setting was the stuff of surreal fantasy. It paved the way for ‘Reading Rainbow‘ and all the other PBS shows I’d come to love.

This is such a strong memory, I can remember sitting in the family room surrounded by the wooden paneling and the plaid sofa. Dad would have been at work, or just coming home from work. Mom would have been in the kitchen or doing something with my brother. I watched Paula and Carole in their garden, singing and harmonizing, walking through the chuckle patch and listening to the flowers laugh. In the middle of a bleak winter, it was a comfort – and it was proof that I was a child once, that I had a childhood, and that it was, for the most part, pretty good.

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Waiting & Anticipating

Madonna has been on my mind of late, even more-so than usual. Further stoking those fires is this latest set of stills from Interview magazine. Colorful, engaging, and still somehow different from what she’s done before (a miraculous challenge in itself if you think about it), these are a bright harbinger of the return of the one woman who has never let me down.

With that in mind, here is a look at some of her highlights while we wait the long wait for the new album to drop sometime next year:

With her ‘Erotica’ album (still a fan favorite) Madonna took sexy anticipation to a whole new level – and she taught us how to f–k.

Back in 1990 she wasn’t the only one who was breathless, especially after this good spanking.

Speculation and adulation, two things she still conjures after all these years.

Like the seasons, Madonna is constant, and Madonna is change.

The lady knows how to rock a hat.

She is a Masterpiece.

She is a Mother.

She is a Sinner.

She is Crazy.

She is everything, and she is more.

Best of all, she’s coming back

 

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Sucking a Tit Two Feet From My Face

I always get in trouble when I decry breastfeeding in certain public places. Let me preface this by saying that I don’t mind when it’s necessary, and I have nothing against the practice at all. A three-hour plane or train ride? Give the kid a drink. A trip to the grocery store to get food for the family? Pop it out and go to town. But a stop at Starbucks? That’s not necessary. And breastfeeding your child in the seat next to me when every other table and chair was open and available? That’s just rude.

My issue is not with breastfeeding in public. There are times when a woman has no other choice. But at Starbucks? No. Starbucks is a choice. Coffee is not a necessity. You can do it in the car or at home before or after your trip to the cafe. Better yet, how about simply remembering, “Oh, I have a baby to breastfeed. I’ll get this coffee to go.” Instead, as I lift a cream-topped peppermint mocha to my lips I see a saggy tit getting suckled by a slobbering baby just two feet from my face. (Hey, if you’re going to do things in public, I’m going to write about it.)

I’ve heard people say that breastfeeding is a natural and beautiful part of life. Well, for some of us masturbating is natural and beautiful. How would you like it if I whipped out my dick and shot a load in my empty Starbucks cup? Eggnog Latte, straight up and coming your way. Some things just don’t belong in Starbucks.

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