Our local newspaper, the Times Union, recently posted the following headline on its FaceBook feed:
“Albany officer Christofer M. Kitto, 34, was charged with patronizing a prostitute, but police say the shooting was justified.â€
It would be genius if I could be entirely sure that they were in on the joke. Sadly, I’m not entirely sure, given some of their typographical errors of late.
Luxury is assembling a fruit salad in the middle of winter, and I’ve never not appreciated such charming circumstances. The idea of having a selection of various citrus – grapefruit, oranges, tangerines – and apples and berries and kiwi and pineapple – in the midst of frigid weather is a lovely thing. I complain a lot, but it’s all for show. My heart is filled with gratitude as much as my stomach is filled with the apples seen here. Most of us are luckier than we realize. A visit or glimpse into the rest of the world is proof of that.
Not that we need to dwell there, not in this corner of the internet anyway. There is enough ugliness to be found in other places. Here, we shall have beauty. Here, we shall have art. Here, we shall have only the prettiest, most enchanting and magical moments we can conjure.
For today, we shall have an orange and some apples. In the middle of a raging winter. Through the eyes of a website.
Try some… eat one.
The other night I had a dream about Ladurée macarons, which I’ve never actually had the pleasure or privilege of tasting. Definitely a sign for someone to send me some. They do ship. Let me know if you need an address…
There was no Monday recap last week because it was New Year’s Eve, and this blog was pre-occupied with all the hunks that had paraded for your viewing pleasure the year before. Then came the ‘Year in Review – Part One and Part Two’ which seemed like more than enough recaps for the week. So this post will do double duty and recall posts from the last two weeks, just so nothing, and no one, gets left out. People, and Hunks, can be so sensitive sometimes. On with the show…
It began with the official end of fall.
A secret Russian Christmas tea.
I was surrounded by nine children, and I lived to tell the tale.
The first set of Hunks of the Day included Sam Salter, Daniel Cifonelli, David Muir, Glenn McCuen, Matt Turner, Max Evans and Thom Evans.
Leather & blush: when Tom Ford intertwines.
Christmas dinner: a seven-dish Filipino feast.
Top Nine of 2018: the bare butt edition.
The New Year began with a bang by Britney.
A birthday, a pencil, a childhood memory.
Picture me in a leopard-print onesie, or just click here.
This blog is bringing sexy back, starting with this salacious post, and continuing with this one filled with gratuitous male nudity.
The second set of Hunks of the Day featured David Copperfield, Noah Centineo, Sam Asghari, Cauã Reymond, Mina Gerges, Prince Fielder, Jake Mace, Seth Rogen and Alessandro Florenzi.
Watching the red carpet for the Golden Globes tonight, I saw a vision that fortifies me to make such a bold proclamation: Billy Porter and his cape won the Golden Globes, the Oscars, and every award show that was or ever will be. This outfit wins it all. We can stop watching now.
The second part of our returning sexiness (see the skin-heavy glory of Part 1 here) is a continuation of a promise to bring back the men. This site was built on the broad and shirtless shoulders of the male form, preferably in various states of undress. Celebrating the beauty of the naked human body has long been a province of serious art, but somewhere along the line it became dirty and salacious. Pfft to all that – we celebrate our nakedness as God intended us to be. Fuck the prudes.
Heading up this sexy line-up is film star Idris Elba. Not sure what the latest is on his popular bid to be the next James Bond (last I heard the director was off the latest iteration of the franchise, and Mr. Elba was not officially attached to it). I hope he is the next martini sipper, and check out his Hunk of the Day crowning to see how well he could fill out those fancy shoes.
Next up is the delectable Ronnie Woo, the chef in California who cooked up some hot dishes in his Hunk of the Day post.
Looking toward the future of Hunks here, I offer this sneak-peek of a man who will likely join that vaunted collection of hunkdom: Jermaine Jones, coming or going from an airborne ball in this stunning ESPN Body Issue shot.
A favorite of this site (he has his own category), Ben Cohen continues to be a vocal ally of the LGBTQ community, and a fighter against bullying in all forms. When sexy meets noble, the results are glorious.
Another glimpse of future hotness is seen below. Introducing Andee Chua. More to come from this model-in-the-making.
It’s almost that time of the year: Super Bowl time. I haven’t been following very closely (ever since Madonna left the football field after her halftime show, I’ve lost interest). Here are two gents who have been naked here before: Julian Edelman and Tom Brady. They’ve been here in more clothing too, but rather than look that up for you, I invite you to type their names in the Search box at the bottom and see what comes up.
Leaving political commentary aside, one gentleman who is not on the football field these days is Colin Kaepernick, who has already been crowned a Hunk of the Day. Courage can be sexy; here’s the proof.
Charlie King earned his Hunk of the Day crown here, and seeing him in motion is all one needs to see why. See if you can pick him out among these nude dudes.
Two up-and-coming Hunks will be primed for their future appearances next: Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Matthew Hanham.
Bringing up the rear, quite literally, is Jamie Dornan. Mr. Fifty Shades closes out this collection of hotties with his buxom behind exiting the shower. He’s doffed his shirt here before, now he’s lost his pants. Welcome back to sexy, everybody. More to come in the next year, whether you like it or not.
Animal prints never much interested me on underwear.
Until Tom Ford told me it was ok.
Not directly, but I understood.
It was so soft, and the leopard pattern was in gray, making it more subtle and refined, and I hadn’t been in a onesie in ages (well, almost ages), so this all happened on New Year’s Eve and it was a grand little party filled with cozy comfort and run-on sentences and all the glory and the like. If this is what my blog has come to, I’m not going to complain. The world wide web is in dire need of whimsy and wonder, and maybe a little light-hearted madness. That’s something I can supply.
As for this onesie, it’s reminiscent of the “sleepers†we used to wear as kids – the kind with feet. Those were the best way to survive a winter’s night. They had plastic soles that, when new, would enable you to slide across the carpet if you got enough of a running start. None of those ever came with hoods, but that didn’t matter. More problematic was the danger of zipping up your dick if you weren’t careful. (This happened to me once, and while it was not enough to draw any blood or do any damage, it emotionally scarred me for life. I have NEVER come close to zipping it up since.)
Zipper-risk aside, I loved the coziness of those sleepers. All winter long they kept us warm – our entire bodies encased in fabric – and we got accustomed to sleeping in them. That made for a happy change come summer, when those sleeper feet were gone and I could feel the cool soft sheets directly against my feet again. It was always such a relief, but I knew then that it was made more enjoyable from the months of confinement that had to come first.
This onesie doesn’t have feet, but it has a hood and two pom-poms. One can’t have it all in the winter.
Math-teacher-turned-model Pietro Boselli has already bared his booty in these pages. He’s also given some serious VPL (Visible Penis Line) and modeled an assortment of Speedos and underwear, such as here and here and here. Today, he gives us more of the same, as no one seems to mind when he doffs clothing and offers a glimpse of nakedness and nudity.
When I was a kid, I was very grateful that my birthday fell during summer vacation (August 24, in case anyone wants to start saving up, and you should). I couldn’t imagine having to spend your birthday in school, bringing in cupcakes for the other kids and having to share your special day with the masses. (I’ve also never been a fan of the big birthday party where all the kids are invited – I kept my gatherings to Suzie and one or two other people, quite happily.) What brings this to mind is the date: January 4. I suddenly and out of the blue recalled that this was the birthday of one of my childhood friends, Jill. I don’t remember how she celebrated or what sort of cupcakes she brought in to school, but I know she must have had a few birthdays at McNulty, as did most of the class. Summer babies were not as common as those populating the rest of the year given our two-month window.
Jill was one of the top students in the class, and she had a special pencil to which I attributed all her success. It was a simple #2 yellow pencil, the kind we all had, but it had been worn and whittled down to a manageable two-thirds of its original length – perfect for a kid’s smaller hands. It also had a worn and perfectly rounded eraser on its end – the whole thing achieving a darker patina and lived-in vibe that appealed to my search for comfort. A new pencil had to be broken in and used before it became comfortable, its sharper edges dulled to a softer feel. I coveted Jill’s because it glided with ease across the page, and she could make the neatest hand-writing with it. At least, that was the questionable reasoning I worked out in my head.
For months, I begged her for that pencil. Every time there was something I had that she wanted, I offered to trade it for the pencil. Snacks, markers, fancy erasers, a place in front of me in line – I tried all the tactics a school kid once used to get ahead in the classroom – all to no avail. Through my desperation she had seen the value of that magical pencil, and she held onto it all the tighter. I didn’t blame her. But I didn’t give up.
Eventually, I had something she wanted just as badly as I wanted the pencil. I don’t remember what it was – obviously it wasn’t anything that meant much to me – but she gave in and traded me for it. As with all similar stories, the magic left the pencil as soon as it was in my hands. My writing didn’t suddenly turn neater. My test scores didn’t suddenly change. Though I liked the way it felt in my hand, and the way it wrote across the page, it didn’t magically transform my life the way I thought, and expected, it would.
Still, it was a good trade, and Jill was a good friend. It’s a happy memory because it reminds me of how our school-day drama was once about a magical pencil and not a gun. It was about birthday cupcakes and bags filled with Valentine cards. It was, I fear to say it, a better time.
Here’s wishing a Happy Birthday to Jill, wherever she may be. (And thanks for the pencil.)
For far too many years I shunned charcuterie. It makes no sense – so much of it seemed to be about presentation and appearance – one would think it would be my cup of pekoe. Alas, I’m much more practical than most give me credit for being, and when it comes to food I’m not all that fancy. However, a few years ago Andy and I stopped at the Lucas Confectionery in Troy, and I ordered a charcuterie platter as a meal, and since then I’ve been a convert.
Lately, I’ve been working on eating a little healthier, and that means portion control. I found myself actually finishing one of the big dinner plates from Lanie’s (which normally last for two meals) and busting through waist sizes like every day was Thanksgiving. A simple collection of charcuterie, when chosen carefully and feasted upon in good time, is a good way to slow things down and remind oneself of the joys in eating. I’ve also come to embrace the precious nature of its display.
For New Year’s Eve, our extravagant plan was to stay home and do absolutely nothing. To add just the slightest bit of flair to such humble proceedings, I put together this charcuterie plate, which I served with our annual NYE Fondue Savoyarde. Along with the meats and cheese, I added some olives and cornichons. They may seem like frivolous afterthoughts, but I found them integral to the spread, right down to their cute little bowls. (Suzie would be proud of all the mini dishes.)
All in all, it was one of my favorite meals of 2018; here’s to more of that this year.
There is nothing wrong with having chicken parmesan for breakfast.
What is chicken but a wicked old egg?
The New Year’s bang now a faded memory (and thank goodness), we can return to a hopefully peaceful start to 2019, and a renewed effort to bring some calm into this online world. I’m deeply enjoying ‘Heaven and Earth Are Flowers: Reflections on Ikebana and Buddhism’ by Joan D. Stamm – it’s part of the research for a new project, and is a wonderful rumination on quiet things of beauty and, if all goes well, enlightenment. A calm and bright beginning to a year in which kindness is one of my major goals.
Beneath the slumber of winter, there is work to be done. What we do now will lay the groundwork for what comes up in the spring and summer. Yet it is also a time of reflection and stillness. There is no rush to any of this, and sometimes you have to lose a weekend to sleepy lounging or appreciating the last few days of a beautiful Christmas tree. I came upon Andy sitting on the couch and looking at the tree, and was pleasantly reminded of the moments that matter, the moments that form the quiet in-between time of real life – the simple golden sheen of companionship and love – and I vowed to slow down a bit.
Going back to the simple and true is the best plan of action for the early days of winter.
A cup of green tea warms the hands.
A pot of soup simmers on the stove.
A spray of paperwhites perfumes the air.
There is beauty here, and comfort.
Sit, unwind, breathe and relax.
We will wind our way through the winter…
An apt symbol of a new year, the egg represents many ideas.
Mostly though, I just like to eat them.
The soft-boiled egg is a beautiful thing. I also find them easier to make than poached, fried, or even hard-boiled eggs. That may seem strange, but I’m a strange bird. (Scrambled eggs, whisked or otherwise, remain a specialty, so that’s still the simplest method I use, but these soft-boiled tips may make for an easy alternative.)
Here’s what I do: boil a small pot of water, using just enough water so it will barely cover the eggs. It should rise to a medium boil, bubbling but not too violently. Carefully lower three eggs into the pot, turn down the heat a bit so a low boil remains, and cover loosely. Start a timer for exactly seven minutes. When it’s done, carefully put the eggs into an ice bath to stop the cooking immediately. After the eggs have cooled for a bit, gently tap each with a spoon around the center to break the shell, and peel away. The seven minutes and medium to low boil seem to be the keys here. It took some practice, but now they come out pretty consistently. This is also the most delicious form of cooked eggs – the yolk is wonderfully runny, like some rich buttery sauce, and the white is tender and moist. It’s enough to sprinkle with a bit of salt and pepper for an easy protein-rich snack, or use them as accents on many sorts of dishes. I find them especially good for lifting up a plate of leftovers.
