November 2016
The Ben Cohen calendar is now available for ordering online, just in time for your holiday gift giving. Mr. Cohen returns to the calendar front in fine form, so hopefully we’ll be seeing more photo shoots like this one, by the great Leo Holden. No matter how many calendars Ben does, he always brings something new and exciting to every one, and 2017 already looks to be better than what’s come before.
Even with the last-ditch stomach-filling experience of Thanksgiving, November is largely a dismal month. The days do nothing but get shorter, daylight wants only to disappear, and the weather turns like a caged monkey. It’s unpredictable and volatile, but the general trajectory always ends in the death of fall. Heading down that path is tricky at best, and for some reason November tends to depress me more than any other month.
To combat those doldrums, a look back at some cozy, or at least superficially entertaining, November posts.
Back in 2010, before this blog had its last major revamping, the only posts that survive are a few Madonna Timelines and some shirtless Hunks. Oh wait… those are the only posts that I do. Never mind.
November 2011 was slightly more eclectic, with some Gregory Maguire, a reunion with Kira, and ever more Madonna.
In 2012, the holiday spirit took over this blog, with some Holiday Card exposition, some nude dudes, and a major Revelation.
The tail-end of November 2013 found posts on the holiday stroll, Hunks of the Day, a poem, and Auntie Mame.
Two years ago we returned to traditional form with some family fun, a little Madonna, an orchid, and a multitude of hunky men.
And last year, we had Peanuts, risotto, red wings, and my ass in a bear suit.
I immediately followed him back and sent a few quick messages: “Hey… Sorry if I’m a bit sensitive about certain comments. I’ve been trolled and attacked and I’m decent at dealing with them, usually in an offensive manner… That said, I’m sorry for your circumstances, and I wish you good health no matter what.â€
He replied: “No worries. I’m a jerk. I was just speaking to and apologizing to someone today for making social media comments without regard for the fact the people on the other end are actually real. I don’t know why that’s such a struggle for people to realize but it is. Especially probably with more well known people such as yourself. People say really rude things but don’t actually see there’s a real person on the receiving end, so I’m sorry.â€
I was touched by the response, and replied as much: “That’s a very cool thing to say, and it has been taken to heart. I’ve been trying to be less defensive as well, because you’re right, I put myself out there on other public pages, and the whole point of social media is to engage and interact. I’m trying to be better, and sometimes the most unlikely people bring that out…Anyway, thanks for engaging and helping to turn this around… My name is Alan. I’m pleased to meet you. Have a good night.â€
His response: “I’m really sorry man. I’m Kenny. I’m really glad we turned this around. Proud actually. Thanks and nice to meet you Alan.â€
That’s what this world needs, and that’s what we each need to work on: being patient with each other, learning to listen, being careful not to lash out, and being willing to disagree but not take it all so personally. There is still grace to be found here, there are still people whose commonality supersedes their differences. Most of us, in fact.
It started in the way that so many troll-attacks have started on my Twitter-feed of late: a comment that my profile picture was “ridiculousâ€. Being that the commenter’s profile pic was a doleful-looking canine, my knee-jerk response was: “Said the dog.â€
What followed was the usual sussing-out of whether this attacker was one of the usual Trump-trolls, just having a bad day, or making a joke that I was taking way too seriously. We bantered a bit, sparring over why he had come to my Twitter feed to make a disparaging comment when I hadn’t even been aware of his, and seemed to be on the verge of blocking each other or engaging in full-out war.
My pet-peeve is when someone sees a post I made on someone else’s FaceBook or Twitter feed, then proceeds to criticize or insult me. That’s what raises my ire, because I have not tagged them or gone on their respective page to do such a thing. I’m trying to be more understanding about that, as more often than not it’s just done to get a rise out of me or gain some notice that their limited number of followers could never provide.
This time around, the gentleman in question was responding in an occasionally-challenging but generally respectful manner, and I held my typical tendency to go on the offensive more or less in check. I’d been called worse than ‘ridiculous’ in the past, so when he said it seemed to have struck a chord with me, I realized he was right. For some reason it had. Maybe it was because he wasn’t just another hateful troll who was only out to hurt someone to make his own life feel less miserable. Those are easy to dismiss. This was someone who seemed to have a head on his shoulders, and based on a quick perusal of his photography, an appreciation for beauty, or at the very least a desire to capture something honest and truthful in this world. He was also battling some health issues, and seemed to be having a tough time because of that. We each have our demons, and even when being called names, I always remember this. A favorite line from ‘The Great Gatsby’ came suddenly to mind: “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone… just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
We paused in our exchange. Somehow, and maybe by a little miracle, we each seemed to have a moment of grace, timed fortuitously and at the perfect junction where we both let our guards down a bit. That rarely happens on social media, where arch-enemies are conjured as quickly and ferociously as friends, and none of it translates into the real world. Here was a time fraught with the possibility of breaking through that bullshit. I wanted to write a little apology to him for taking it so personally, but he wasn’t following me so I couldn’t direct message him, and I didn’t want to make it all so public.
Just then a notification popped up. He had just followed me.
{To be continued…}
‘I don’t know if I continue, even today, always liking myself. But what I learned to do many years ago was to forgive myself. It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes– it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, ‘Well, if I’d known better I’d have done better,’ that’s all. So you say to people who you think you may have injured, ‘I’m sorry,’ and then you say to yourself, ‘I’m sorry.’ If we all hold on to the mistake, we can’t see our own glory in the mirror because we have the mistake between our faces and the mirror; we can’t see what we’re capable of being. You can ask forgiveness of others, but in the end the real forgiveness is in one’s own self. I think that young men and women are so caught by the way they see themselves. Now mind you. When a larger society sees them as unattractive, as threats, as too black or too white or too poor or too fat or too thin or too sexual or too asexual, that’s rough. But you can overcome that. The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. If we don’t have that we never grow, we never learn, and sure as hell we should never teach.”
~ Maya Angelou
Thanksgiving came and went with a quick whimper and groan, and as my pants are screaming for their lives, we recap the week where the buttons almost went bust, the kilts came off, and the Christmas decorations went up. But I’m getting ahead of myself. All good things to those who wait…
It all began with this shameless reminder that my ass is on Instagram and you should totally be following it.
A favorite on this blog is Ben Cohen, who gave the good word that his new calendar is available now.
My Christmas wish list 2016 is online with some vital requests and recommendations.
Matt McGorry shook his money-maker for his Hunk of the Day honor.
The moon is not super right now, but I prefer a slice of crescent anyway.
When Snoopy says dance, you dance.
A pair of porn stars made their Hunk of the Day debuts: Jordan Levine and Derek Atlas.
Jagged edges, pretty leaves.
Ryan Dungey gets naked to go motocrossing.
This is Christmas in a Glass.
Justin Hartley took his shirt off for his second Hunk of the Day crowning.
Some brooks are quiet, some whisper discreetly, and some babble incessantly.
As you can tell from the featured photos here, the week was mostly about the return of the Special Guest Blog, which found Nick Vannello writing about his work heading up Kilted Bros.
Dropping a bunch of beef bones into the pot of water begins my Sunday morning on a plaintive note. Before Andy puts on the classical music station, before I rev the exhaust fan, before the fish sauce mingles with the star anise to create the makings of a proper Phở broth, the simple sound of bones falling into water greets the day. For eight hours these bones will simmer, crafting one of the most delicious broths that has been used for years as an antidote to the winter doldrums.
It’s a long gestation period for a soup, I know, but it’s always been worth it. I sit back down at the dining room table and write these words, find these photographs of a little brook at a local cemetery. How fitting, to be talking about bones, and then to have these pictures showing the water that passes by hundreds of bones every day. The beautiful, sad cycle of life, going round and round, in water and steam and air and sustenance.
The babbling brook goes on and on, murmuring nothings and somethings and everythings to all who dare to listen.
It’s not always easy to listen, though. We would rather fill the incomprehensible with familiar noise, known words, recognized cadences. Strange languages, secret codes, other-worldly messages – we don’t want to hear them. We crave our known comforts. The rest is just background noise.
My broth is running over. It spills and hisses on the hot stove. Plumes of steam rise before me, as if I were making an offering to the gods. Maybe they will smile upon my soup. Maybe the ghost of some sacred cow sends a silent moo to bless this morning.
Any man who makes and markets kilts in this day and age is a fine and noble man for carrying out a beloved tradition. Put a racy yet artistic spin on things, add a celebration of all body types, and sprinkle in some fashion-inspired fairy dust, and you’ve got a gentleman hero who’s simply perfect as our next Special Guest Blog. My online pal Nick Vannello runs Kilted Bros., a delightful purveyor of the classic kilt. Far more than that, this Renaissance man has an artistic side that runs through his work, and an appreciation for other fashion icons that informs this amazing post.Â
THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF CODDINGTON: Special Guest Blog by Nick VannelloÂ
There is a serenity and satisfaction which comes from knowing one’s place.
When I was much younger it was important for me to be front and center. As a performer and presenter, my role was to be the center of attention and to lead with force. At that time I was trying to establish my place among the other 20-somethings. Forward and fiery, I could be found performing on stage, in print ads, and presenting workshops from coast-to-coast, Â It was a rush knowing that I was headlining a tour and that people were coming specifically to see me and to hear what I had to say.
When I approached my mid-30’s my pace and position started to waver like a top running out of steam. Unsure of my footing and now being passed over for jobs by younger performers, it was harder to present myself with the same confidence that I did a decade earlier. Time and gravity were proving to be two foes with whom I would battle almost daily. I started finding employment behind the scenes. I choreographed for younger, more nimble dancers. Neophyte presenters would ask me to write their speeches because they did not have the experience I had. I became a copywriter instead of appearing in the local ads.
All of this work was semi-satisfying, but I felt like I was disappointing…..I don’t know….someone. I had trouble justifying working behind the scenes instead of being the style-maker.
—
When “The September Issue” was released in 2009, I was introduced to Grace Coddington, Vogue Magazine’s Creative Director. Like going to an optometrist who puts your world into focus with the flip of a lens, I realized that there were not only people behind the scenes like me, but they were often the more colorful and influential characters.
Grace was a model in the 1960’s. Her firery red hair and unusual look made her stand apart from other models. Due to facial reconstruction after a car accident, her career in fashion detoured. She allied with Anna Wintour and the two drove American Vogue to what has become the pinnacle of fashion magazines.
When you watch “The September Issue” you can not take your eyes off Coddington. She brought her years of experience and her passion for art with her to her job. She didn’t need to be a model; she was much more. The models weren’t moving fashion forward, Coddington was the catalyst and her models and photographers were her tools to change the fashion world.
There have always been style-makers behind the scenes. Coddington is in good company. Edith Head. Agnes DeMille. Bob Fosse. Edna Mode.
And that’s where I am. That’s who I am.
—
I own a men’s kilt company and our audience is largely gay. Photos of our kilts and models showing off those kilts are a big part of our image and our marketing.
You will rarely find me in front of the camera, even when we live broadcast our fashion shoots on Periscope. My body has gone soft, my teeth are not bright, and I am awkward in front of the lens. But despite those things, I know what people find attractive.
We pride ourselves that our models range in age, color, and body size. Real men wear kilts; real men should model our kilts. I won’t hire models to showcase my kilts; I employ my friends, local guys, and customers. Men in whom I see something special. I pay them in pizza and beer.
Using lights, simple direction, experience, laughter, and the camera lens, I transform a man you would pass on the street into an object of desire. I can not seem to apply that same magic to myself, but I can transform another man into an Apollo or Hercules.
That is how I find satisfaction in my art. I don’t have to be a god myself. I create gods.
{Check out Kilted Bros. online and at their Cleveland shop.}
In a season of love and friendship, I’m sharing a recipe that was shared by my friend Joann, who got it from friends across-the-pond. Sharing is what this season is all about, and nothing is better to share than a good cocktail recipe. It’s the perfect cup of holiday cheer, and was even monikered ‘Christmas In a Glass’ which is about as festive as one can get. This is a simple, but potent, recipe for Mulled Wine. I made it for New Year’s Eve last year and, truth be told, drank most of it myself since Andy and Suzie weren’t as tickled by it. (There’s no accounting for taste.)
It comes from another across-the-pond gent, Jamie Oliver (better known in these parts as The Naked Chef). While not the biggest fan of hot cocktails (if you’ve ever tried to finish a mug of hot buttered rum you know what I’m talking about) once or twice a season I can get into the spirit. In this case, there’s such a glorious alchemy of citrus and spices that it absolutely transforms a simple Italian red wine into something magical. The key ingredients on which you cannot skimp are the freshly grated nutmeg and vanilla bean – both are integral to the pungent wonder of this holiday affair.
Jamie’s Mulled Wine ~‘Christmas in a Glass’
Ingredients
Method
Peel large sections of peel from your clementines, lemon and lime. Put the sugar in a large saucepan over a medium heat, add the pieces of peel and clementine juice. Add the cloves, cinnamon stick, bay leaves and about 10 to 12 gratings of nutmeg. Throw in the halved vanilla pod and stir in just enough red wine to cover the sugar.
Let this simmer until the sugar has completely dissolved into the red wine and then bring to a boil. Keep on a rolling boil for about 4 to 5 minutes, or until you’ve got a beautiful thick syrup. It’s important to make a syrup base first because it needs to be quite hot, and if you do this with both bottles of wine in there you’ll burn off the alcohol.
When your syrup is ready, turn the heat down to low and add your star anise and the rest of the wine. Gently heat the wine and after around 5 minutes, when it’s warm and delicious, ladle it into glasses and serve.
Only upon closer examination might you become aware of the variety of serrated edges on leaves that otherwise appear so round and soft. It’s one of those quirks of nature that I find so amusing. Surely there is some useful scientific reason for such a design, but you can google that shit yourself. I’m merely here to raise the question and present photographic evidence.
Thus it begins: the holiday season.
Give in to love or live in fear.
If you’re with me, next year will be the perfect year.
And all that jazz.
I’m not going to set up an impossible goal of finding peace and happiness at this time of the year, particularly when Mercury is going retrograde from December 19 through the 31 (YAY!!!) because whenever I do that it all falls apart. Instead, I’m going to focus on making this place a little more festive and bright, a little more welcoming and warm, and whatever the hell else that happens I’ll just take as a bonus.
I will do my best to make each wretched obligation (shopping and wrapping gifts for people other than myself, for instance) into a moment of meditation. I will put on some Christmas music, make a festive cocktail, and turn gift-wrapping into an Event. I will indulge in a long holiday lunch by myself, watching the denizens of downtown Albany hustle and bustle about their business. I will finally make use of a birthday gift from my parents (a gift certificate at the Mandarin Oriental Spa) to pre-emptively stave off holiday stress and bask in the luxuriance of some always-welcome pampering. I will take in the holiday lights and music, the garlands and wreaths, the tinsel and the trees, and I will take my time appreciating them. At the darkest time of the year, when the days are shortest and the nights are long and cold, this is how we make it through with some semblance of sanity. We find the light around us, we step into its glow, we feel its warmth – and if we’re lucky we share it with the friends and family who mean the most to us.
Sometimes, we share it with people we’ve never even met, people who find their way into our lives through words and pictures and the sharing of a site like this. I’m going to do my best to welcome you here, with the hope that you’ll stay for a bit, and maybe even come back for more.
The wind, so brutal of late, has ripped most of these pretty leaves from their tenuous attachments, but the beauty has been preserved, as best as we can muster, in these photographs. We captured a bit of the sun too, which is soon to be so short of supply.
On this day of thanks, let us contemplate the beauty all around us.
There is always something to be seen.
It’s Oscar season for the common man/woman, the day when we give our acceptance speeches and show how grateful we are for all the little people and little things in our little lives. Break out the holiday thankfulness hashtags – #trulyblessed – and strike up the exit music because I’m so ready to start shouting over an orchestra.
Just kidding, I’m not going to bloviate about all the wonderful things for which I have to be thankful, mainly because they’re the simple and obvious ones: family, friends, health, home, food, warmth in the winter and AC in the summer. Creature comforts, perhaps, but most of us survive on them. I’m very much aware that I’m one of the lucky ones in this world, and I’ll never have a day when I’m not grateful for that. If I don’t say it or express that on a daily basis, that doesn’t mean it isn’t so, and those who need to know it already do.
Happy Thanksgiving, Turkeys!
It used to be that there was a definitive line drawn in the holiday celebration sand: only after Thanksgiving did we sanction holiday shopping and decorating. I enjoyed that, and it gave over a month of full-on Christmas joy – more than enough to last throughout the year. These days, Christmas seems to start right after Halloween, and that’s just way too early for my taste. However, one can only fight the rising tide for so long before all gets washed away, and I’m now giving in to some early holiday prep work.
To ease into it somewhat slowly, and not over-saturate with The Christmas Song of All Christmas Songs, I like to indulge in a little Snoopy: the gorgeous jazz renderings of Vince Guaraldi and his Charlie Brown music. It’s a classic, and a classic never goes out of style. It’s also a reassuring dose of nostalgia, harkening to my childhood, when watching Snoopy and the Peanuts gang was a rite of holiday passage, and a very happy one at that.
Oh crescent moon – what secrets dangle their feet off your pointy ledge? What can you tell us to ease our journey when you’re not around? You contain the mysteries of the universe in everything we cannot see. The wink of your light is only marginally reassuring, but the rest of you will glow again when you’re free from our overbearing shadow. Sometimes we don’t know how to get out of our own way.
Sometimes we make our own darkness.
Oh crescent moon – so beloved, so often conjured in cheap poetry, cited in inspirational memes, coerced by the well-intentioned… surely there is more to you than a logo, than some mythical boy sky-fishing from your cradle, but what is it? What is your secret? What are you hiding?
How cold it must be where there are only shadows on your surface, how dim and dark and wild. That’s our fault. We did this to you. But one day, and you know this cycle well, you shall shine again.
One day, you shall be full.
