Monthly Archives:

July 2015

This video always cracks me up, and on a day when it’s supposed to hit 96 degrees it’s a very fitting one. I want to hang out with this lady.

One question: Who the hell is paying for this damn meat??

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6tKJvWWDP4

The first time I went to a production at the Mac-Haydn Theatre in Chatham, NY was the day I told my parents that I was gay. Well, it was the day they read the first draft of a letter-to-the-editor in which I said I was gay. It was also the day they told me they wished I wouldn’t publish it. That night, my Mom had tickets to some musical revue at the Mac-Haydn, purchased and planned at a prior time, so we took the long awkward ride into the beautiful rolling hills of Chatham. It was a quiet drive, one in which I contemplated keeping silent to appease my parents, while struggling with the very real need to reveal who I really was.

We drove along the verdant roads, past tall fields of corn on the verge of being harvested, by ponds dotted with wild geese. Nodding umbrels of Queen Ann’s lace drooped after the hot sun of the day. Fuchsia-tinged thistles lifted their sharp leaves upward. The sky was a bright blue, holding a few puffy clouds, and the air was still. In the heat of high summer, it was better not to move too much. It was easier that way. More comfortable. The effort of sending out ripples sometimes feels more onerous than letting things lie.

I don’t remember much of the performance that evening. One thing that does stick out in my head was the oppressive heat, still lingering even after the sun went down. Sweat was pouring off the performers. One must have wiped it off between numbers a little too quickly and carelessly, as he returned to stage with a big piece of paper towel still stuck to his forehead. It was all I could focus on; my mind was entirely elsewhere. Bothered by the expected, but still unexpected, lack of support by my parents, bothered by the confines of upstate New York, which seemed to stretch out and sprawl forever, but held onto its small-minded lack of acceptance as if it was all that mattered, I couldn’t pretend to care about singing and dancing. I wasn’t that strong yet.

At intermission, I mulled around the little lobby area, lingering until the last possible moment. The lights went down and we were shrouded in darkness. The show began again, and for another hour we could pretend that nothing was wrong. And really, what was wrong? The simple fact that I was gay? Or the act of me wanting to tell the world? It was probably a little of both.

The ride home, in the kind of all-enveloping darkness that can only be found in the country, was equally quiet.

The next day I hand-delivered my letter to the local newspaper. I was directly defying my parents’ wishes. I was deliberately disobeying the two people who raised me. I felt guilty, and sad, and hurt – and like the biggest weight had just been lifted from my shoulders. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made in my life – and it saved me. When you can’t count on anyone else to do it, sometimes you have to save yourself.

The heat is on, and it’s not just on the street. It’s absolutely everywhere. Every-fucking-where. Like, there is no escape. It reminds me of a heatwave that swept through Chicago when I visited one summer. It was the kind of sticky heat that soaked you in sweat within minutes of walking outside. It literally took me hours to make it halfway through the Magnificent Mile, as I ducked into every store along the way for the sanctuary of air conditioning. I went into places I never wanted to see – Nine West, Escada, every single bank (because banks are the coolest places in the summer). Foot by foot I padded along in the oppressive Chicago heat, seeking relief wherever it could be found. (Notably in an extended stay within Crate & Barrel, where I think they began to fear I had moved in.) I’ve been in some hot places over the years – the Philippines, San Juan, Miami, and an overheated Volvo on a cross-country jaunt in August – but I’ve never been quite as hot as those few days in a Chicago heatwave.

This week looks to be a hot one here. My ties only last about half the day. My thoughts wander to water, to lapping waves, to a sparkling pool. Everything sweats in this heat. Windows, glasses, grocery bags. We seek out respites of coolness, shadowy spots of relief, and when we find them we pause. Summer has a way of stilling things like that. It’s one of its best secrets.

Though there are only four gifts I am really pining for the most this birthday season, I suppose I should put some filler gift ideas up here for more casual acquaintances and cheap-ass family members, or future friends I have yet to meet but would be glad to do so if they get me one of these beauties. THink of these as stocking-stuffers for the Big 4-0. As always, one can never go wrong with Tom Ford, and while most of his items are beyond the means of many, Gilt offers some of his items at a deep discount. A pair of sunglasses would be absolutely lovely. (And actually cost less than his Private Blend fragrances.)

There’s also my old standby Amazon Wish List, which has been updated and is once again current. Please make generous use of it. And, as I was once reminded of on a wedding invitation no less, money is always the right size and color. See, there’s always someone more crass and classless than me.

How in holy hell did we mange to reach the last week of July already? Karen Carpenter would roll over in her tiny grave if she knew we hadn’t just begun, yet here we are. This ends the leisurely summer weekend phase, since come August 1 I will be officially ‘on tour’ which fortunately is more a state of mind than anything else, but upcoming trips will lend it some credence. Before that, though, this look back at the height of summer.

British actor Danny Walters kept shirtless vigil by the pool.

My birthday wish list was revealed – though a more reasonable one for more casual acquaintances will be posted shortly. Hey, I want EVERYONE to be able to participate.

The soon-to-be classic beefcake pin-ups of tomorrow as seen today.

This pretty survivor is resplendent in pink.

A Dusty Hunk who is equal parts hairy and hot: Dusty St. Amand.

Our 15th anniversary arrived in lovely fashion.

The only kind of cars I can afford to give Andy at the moment are the blog-post kind.

More Tour Promos, as inspired by the great Diana Vreeland.

Currently playing at the Mac-Haydn Theatre: West Side Story.

The Boulevard of broken dreams.

Shirtless hunk Yadier Rodriguez.

Is Grindr cheating us of our destinies?

Big, bodacious & beautiful Ben Cohen.

The great Diana Vreeland plays a major inspirational role in the creation of the new Tour Book. Her love of a super-saturated red, for example, informs the color palette for the book. Sometimes I catch myself trying to tone things down for certain events (weddings and what-not) but Ms. Vreeland never did that. At work, I don’t do that either, hence this Cynthia Crowley folder design that decorates the office with a punch of color. (I have a matching pencil holder and clips to go with it.) There is something to be said for the softer, subtler entrance – but embarking upon one’s Final Tour is neither the time nor place for quietude and gentleness. Instead, I am hitting hard and bold, and living up to the dramatic name I’ve created. It may not be real, but it’s fitting for this last time.

To live as unapologetically and unabashedly as Ms. Vreeland and Ms. Crowley, embracing one’s love for powerful hues and anything-but-delicate color is a lesson in fortitude, strength, self-expression, and pride. It is the power to be so completely yourself that confidence comes as second nature. If you project something long enough, it eventually comes to be, whether you believe in it or not. The opposite proves true too, which means that habit can be dangerous, and stagnation may only breed further stagnation. Once a rut finds footing, it’s difficult to change the path. But not impossible.

I’ve done it.

And I’ll do it again. One final time.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

The curtain goes up August 1, 2015

Kindly take your seats…