~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
Outside the squirrels are playing, romping about on the grass and running from tree to tree. It is winter still, no? My brother and I accompany our Uncle Roberto while he has a cigarette away from the family. He watches the squirrels then asks if we want him to catch one for us. I look at his face for a laugh or a smile, but he’s not joking.
“You can’t catch a squirrel!” I tell him.
He looks intently at the creatures and for a moment I believe he can.
~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
In the harsh fluorescence of the office, Dee has tears in her eyes as she recounts the scene: driving towards the toll booth, she saw a goose and a line of goslings walking and stopping the traffic. All the cars were driving around the birds, swerving in large and small arcs to avoid the family. Some laughed and pointed, others looked up, annoyed, but all respected the creatures.
A truck driver barged through, beeping his horn and running over the mother goose and babies, wheel after wheel after wheel.
“I wanted to fucking kill him. He sped up and ran right over her. All the other cars were turning to get around her, and he just drove right over them.”
I don’t know which is more moving – the story of the murdered goose family or Dee’s heartbreak at telling it. Mother to mother, she shared a heartache and pain unites motherhood, something that I will never fully understand.
“He did it on purpose,” she said.
Neither of us knows why. We cannot access that kind of evil. It is a small comfort.
~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
Drink the sweet elixir,
Swallow it all down.
Welcome numbness.
Alice was conjured by a pedophile.
Pain, pain,
Go away
Come again
Another day.
Mother Goose laid a rotten egg and the Brothers Grimm fuck each other at night.
~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
The first time I met my Uncle Roberto was at the Albany Airport, in December of 1986. He struck me at once as foreign and exotic, and extremely short. His resemblance to my father was striking, and this was startling. I didn’t know anyone who looked like my father. Having been raised in a sea of white faces, it was difficult to fathom that I was anything but like everyone else. I had always assumed my Dad was one-of-a-kind – an anomaly – yet here in the airport was a man remarkably similar in appearance and bearing. Unassuming, quiet, with a twinkle in his eyes and an occasional broad smile – kindness and menace in one impossible-to-fully-gauge expression.
As we climbed into the car, my Uncle looked around him with an odd, wide-eyed face of wonder. My Aunt explained that it was the first time he had seen snow in his life. I fell in love with him right there. He sat in the middle eat of the station wagon; my brother and I scrambled into the back, and Mom and Aunt Luz sat in the front. I watched my Uncle as he watched the snow fall outside.
~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
You darted out onto the Thruway. You should have known better than that. Andy couldn’t stop fast enough so now you are dead. Foolish thing. The thud you made, thrown up by the tire, was sickening. Andy looked like he was about to cry. See what you did.
What did it get you? Where are you now? Silly wreck of roadkill. My heart does not bleed for you. That would be a luxury. You have already wasted enough of my time and started the evening on a sour note. Andy doesn’t like blood on the car either.
~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
Nathan passed away over the weekend. He was a co-worker in my former office. A quiet, soft-spoken man, he chose his words carefully, too carefully if you wanted a quick simple answer. He was deliberate with his speech, reserved and thoughtful with his reply, but if you showed an interest he had no trouble pontificating for as long as you could stand it.
Nathan looked like Frederick Douglass. A thick mane of hair in various hues of gray and white topped his head, and his beard we much the same, going in the opposite direction. He lived alone in a dilapidated building in Schenectady. It was a place he was trying to renovate, and we heard daily stories of crumbling walls, exposed plumbing, and leaky ceilings.
A scrappy squirrel once found its way into the house and Nathan managed to trap it. He brought it into work, cage and all, before releasing it into the wild. He had no heat for over a year, and, finally, in the middle of a bitterly cold winter he relented and moved out for a time to stay with a friend.
He spoke often of Southern soul food, and he especially loved all of the vegetables – okra collard greens, yams, and the like. I brought in greens one day for him and he was impressed. We walked of the various preparation methods for greens and yams.
This is what people do, I think. They talk about their lives, their homes, their family, their food. It feels so alien sometimes for me. I had heard that Nathan had a daughter from whom he was estranged. I never asked why.
Making the Sexiest Man Alive keep all his clothes on for People’s annual award seems a bit of a bait-and-switch, but what can one expect from People magazine? They have chosen John Krasinski as Sexiest Man Alive, and while I don’t disagree with the selection, they should back it up with something more substantial. (For those in search of John Krasinski naked, look no further than this post.) Today Mr. Krasinski also earns this Dazzler of the Day crowning, long promised and fittingly delivered on a special week.
~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
It is the first time I see so much blood up close. My brother is throwing a temper tantrum, crying and shrieking for something long forgotten, throwing himself off the couch and hitting his head on the corner of a table. Blood is suddenly everywhere and the screaming escalates. It is unbearable for me to hear, and, unless I have a child of my own one day, I will never know how much worse it is for my mother. She scoops him up and examines him before whisking us both to the hospital.
I wait outside of the emergency room door and catch a few glimpses of Dr. Miller, my father’s friend who eats all of his dinner and proves and eternal example whenever my brother and I don’t feel like eating. After a number of stitches later, the memory dissolves.
A happier recollection takes place in the same room. We are in the toy box together. When we play I sometimes stop to fix his hair. There is a certain way it lies that I like better, and a certain way when we aren’t getting along that makes it easier to hate him. He gets a kick out of this, out of when I stop to move a strand or lock. Sometimes he brushes it back, sometimes he smiles and allows it to remain.
Mentally preparing for the holidays is a marathon of sorts for anyone with social anxiety. I’m much better at defining boundaries, opting out when necessary, and maintaining a calm composure when faced with people at their worst and best. This year especially, I’m good with simply saying no and spending a quiet evening with Andy.
That said, I know there are a lot of people encounters ahead, and I’m girding the loins for barreling through the next two months. Practicing patience and compassion is but a branch off of mindfulness, and though it’s not my comfort zone, it will be good to embrace a challenge. I won’t wholly isolate; I will work to share moments with loved ones. Joining in humanity for all of its workings is part of the ‘shades of gray’ project from twenty years ago (and currently being posted in bits and pieces) – it’s filled with observations of others rather than an interior introspection that often characterizes my writing.
I still feel a love for people, even when they make it especially difficult.
I heard her long before I saw her.
A litany of loud, expressive ‘fuck’s sounded on a windy afternoon in downtown Albany. As I approached, I could make out the names of the intended recipients:
“Fuck Stella!”
“Fuck the trooper!!”
“Fuck Johnson!!!”
“Fuck the cunt!!!!”
She was screaming at another woman who tried to be keeping some semblance of peace around the shopping cart filled with worn bags, and not having much success of it. I walked quickly by, keeping my head down; Andy says they all talk to me because I make eye contact. I passed unnoticed and crossed the bottom of State Street, when the shouting reared up again.
“FUCK THEM ALL!! FUCK THEM ALL!!! FUCK THEM ALL!! FUCK THEM ALL!!! FUCK THEM ALL!!!”
By now the entire block was turned in her direction, which is where I was coming from, and I caught the eye of gentlemen who seemed as amused as me. He turned to a server who had just come out of a restaurant and asked if he knew her.
“Oh yeah, that’s Irene. They call her ‘Irate Irene’ because of… that. But other times she’s just a sweet and normal person.”
Same, Irene.
Same.
On my way back I had to pass her again. She was quiet and the other woman was gone. Unable to control myself, I caught her eye.
“I like your shirt,” she said, as if the previous storm had never happened.
“Thanks!” I said with a smile of relief.
My naked ass was definitely going to cause a commotion if I posted it on Facebook, so I preemptively censored it as seen below. A big ‘Bleeped’ sticker hides my bare butt in practically its entirety, so I thought it would be ok as there are much more revealing items on social media, especially Facebook. I’ve been down this road before, and while it’s always fun to get a few more clicks (that’s what censorship does for nude posts) it’s still a pain in the, well, you know.
So I censored it with the sticker as seen below:
A minute after it went up, the FB bots took it down, putting restrictions on my account in some form (I don’t make any money from this site through FB, or any other way for that matter) – and it just annoyed me, so I submitted an appeal for review. Usually those appeals result in no change, and in this case I assumed they would stick to their original judgment that this sticker-clad shot violated the ‘no nudity or sexual activity‘ provision. I carried on with the morning, turning it into some clickbait for people to visit the original post to see what was censored again (thanks for the bump in traffic, FB!) About twenty minutes later, they changed their mind.
Meanwhile, people can threaten my life, call me ‘faggot’, and tell me my time is limited here on earth. Now that the election has emboldened and empowered the hateful people again, this is just the beginning. There’s a difference the time around, though: the last time this goon got into office, I toned down my posts out of concern for the attacks. This time, I’m going in the opposite direction.
As Gregory Maguire so presciently wrote: “When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis… those who are most themselves are the victims.”
I’ve never been a victim, and I’m not about to begin. I’m going to be more myself than ever, and put it all up here on the daily. So when you see Facebook shut me down for good, and Instagram soon follows, you know where I’ll be – right here. The same place I was when Facebook and social media as we knew it were born.
Do not be afraid.
Be yourself.
Be yourself more than you have ever been before.
Remember when this blog was mostly shirtless and half-naked men? When a Speedo was overdressed and full-frontal male nudity was but a bit of wet fabric away? Here’s a reminder of those heady days, and a promise to get back to that sort of important programming. We’re all going to need a bit of escapism in the years to come – ride it out here if you need some eye-candy/guy-candy. We’ll begin with Shawn Mendes, who has been doing a little gay-winking himself, testing out and teasing the waters of that grand pool called sexuality. Do your thing, man.
Another man of music and entertainment, John Duff, was a big part of our coquette summer, and is coming out with a new song and video to whet the appetite again.
A classic gay icon, Ricky Martin, is back sizzling on screens, with a new season of ‘Palm Royale’ coming up.
Another icon, from the sports world, is Ben Cohen, who has been here so often that he has his own category. Click here to see for yourself.
Finally, shifting into our ongoing shades of gray season, Dylan Efron (Zac Efron’s brother) returns us to the land of black and white, and is our sole nude dude.
Following a stretch of black and white entries, and all sorts of ‘shades of gray’, this post feels like Dorothy entering Oz from the sepia-toned doldrums of Kansas. Even if it’s less gloriously-shaded than late spring or early summer posts, it manages its own magnificence. Fall thrills differently than spring and summer. It’s strange to see the blue of the pool echo the blue of the sky at such a late date, but our world is sick, and this is one symptom of its slow-burning-up. We’ll get there soon enough, and for those too young to realize it yet, hope you can stay cool.
Since we’re revisiting ‘shades of gray’ and all things written long ago, here’s a featured pic to remind everybody that I’m out of fucks to give, and if they have a problem with it they can kiss my ass. My attitude seemed largely the same way back in 2004 as I re-read some of my thoughts then – sometimes shadows transcend time. Now on with our tranquil recap of the previous week…
A prescient respite from the world before we realized it was ending.
A late recompense of floral color.
Spoiler alert: America is racist, sexist, homophobic and filled with dumb fucks. See any comments section for ample evidence.
The real final swim, maybe.
Gray Ghost 2. (Which is neither a movie nor a sequel.)
Gray Ghost 3. (And still not a trilogy.)
Idle.
When distance lends enchantment.
There were no dazzlers because no one is dazzling these days. Prove me wrong. I want names. And pics at least 760 pixels wide.
