Awakening to Awareness ~ Part Three

“There is yet another illusion, that it is important to be respectable, to be loved and appreciated, to be important. Many say we have a natural urge to be loved and appreciated, to belong. That’s false. Drop this illusion and you will find happiness. We have a natural urge to be free, a natural urge to love, but not to be loved…” ~ Anthony de Mello

May our recent Sunday afternoon/evening moment of calm and tranquility find furtherance in this post. Here are more words from Anthony de Mello and his book/talk on awareness, and these are pretty important ones. They shift a fundamental dynamic that has driven the way I viewed and interacted with the world, and especially with the people around me. Had I realized and understood this a bit better when I was younger, many years of heartbreak, heartache, and general heart wariness could have been avoided. Luckily, it’s never too late to learn, and it’s never to late to find freedom. Sometimes, finding it at this late stage of the game is even sweeter. There is an extra aspect of joy in unexpected delight.

When I think back to previous relationships I’ve had – not only romantic ones but friendships and family connections as well, not to mention long-ago iterations of marriage too – I marvel at how so much of what felt or seemed wrong was in my own perception of various situations. We want to attribute our own failings and strengths to those around us, perpetuating a cycle of reflection and warped refraction that doesn’t truly aid in connecting to anyone. And it certainly never helped to find and discover an un-obscured view of oneself. But that was then. I did the best I could do. Embracing illusions and delusions, I didn’t set out to hurt anyone, though the weirdly indulgent masochistic part of me may have welcomed some degree of hurt to myself. I thought suffering in some way made people better. Stronger. More vulnerable and therefore more appealing. I lived inside my head to kill it dead.

These days I can look at that mindset and its subsequent behavior with a bit of a chuckle. It’s best to laugh at one’s mistakes, after you have learned from them. It’s another part in breaking down a perfectionist’s need to be perfect. A laugh or a chuckle doesn’t always indicate judgment or derision – in fact, I can genuinely report that my laughter is usually not derisive, even though everyone gleans it as such. I laugh for joy – the enjoyment of all our imperfections, the enjoyment of the ridiculousness that I might not like your outfit or hair, the enjoyment of the insanity and inanity of me thinking I have any right to impress my taste on anyone else – I was, I am, and I shall remain an ass for my time on this earth! (And really, when are you going to do something about that hideous blouse?)

 “When you finally awake, you don’t try to make good things happen; they just happen. You understand suddenly that everything that happens to you is good. Think of some people you’re living with whom you want to change. You find them moody, inconsiderate, unreliable, treacherous, or whatever. But when you are different, they’ll be different. That’s an infallible and miraculous cure. The day you are different, they will become different. And you will see them differently, too. Someone who seemed terrifying will now seem frightened. Someone who seemed rude will seem frightened. All of a sudden, no one has the power to hurt you anymore.” ~ Anthony de Mello

{See also Awakening to Awareness: Part One and Part Two.}

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Every Day is Like Sunday

Sundays are usually melancholy days. We spend our lives making them such – from school dread to work dread to church dread – and even if Sundays are better than Mondays, the impending end of the weekend has always imbued them with a sadness I’ve never quite been able to shake. In switching trains of thought recently, I’ve come to see things differently, and have worked to embrace Sunday as much as Saturday. In essence, they are the same – if anything, Sunday comes with added options for rest, as most places have reduced hours on that day. Well, when they’re operating in usual fashion. That’s no longer the case. And so we have this timely song.

TRUDGING SLOWLY OVER WET SAND
BACK TO THE BENCH WHERE YOUR CLOTHES WERE STOLEN
THIS IS A COASTAL TOWN
THAT THEY FORGOT TO CLOSE DOWN
ARMAGEDDON – COME ARMAGEDDON COME ARMAGEDDON COME
EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
EVERY DAY IS SILENT AND GREY

We had snow just a few days ago, meaning that while it’s technically spring, it’s not necessarily in the air yet. While spreading mulch, however, I did catch a bit of magnolia on the chilly wind, a hint of perfume that may last a little longer in the cooler temperatures. The one saving grace of the weather is that flowers hang around as if they were being coddled in the florist’s fridge. These simple thoughts float across the mind as I contemplate a Sunday.

HIDE ON A PROMENADE
ETCH ON A POST CARD:
HOW I DEARLY WISH I WAS NOT HERE
IN THE SEASIDE TOWN
THAT THEY FORGOT TO BOMB
COME, COME NUCLEAR BOMB!
EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
EVERY DAY IS SILENT AND GREY

Sundays carry a certain inherent sorrow too, something that has imbued all our lives in the last few years. I’ve discovered that it’s vital to acknowledge and occasionally embrace that sorrow, because it won’t go away or subside if you simply ignore it. The world is troubled. I feel it more on Sundays.

TRUDGING BACK OVER PEBBLES AND SAND
AND A STRANGE DUST LANDS ON YOUR HANDS
(AND ON YOUR FACE)
EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
“WIN YOURSELF A CHEAP TRAY”
SHARE SOME GREASED TEA WITH ME
EVERYDAY IS SILENT AND GREY

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Left to Fend for Itself in Boston

How long can a ZZ plant truly survive without water? We are about to find out, as I haven’t been in Boston for over a month and it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to water the ZZ plant I have there anytime soon. I thought of it for the first time a couple of days ago. Up until that point, I hadn’t missed it. I mean, I hadn’t missed Boston. I missed Kira, and I missed the escape it provided, but I didn’t really miss being there until recently, and that’s when I thought of the little ZZ plant in the bedroom window.

That particular window has seen a few plants over the years. It started with a ficus tree. I’d always wanted one, but never had enough light for one while at college. In the bedroom, light poured in for the entire afternoon. It did relatively well, but eventually succumbed to mealybugs and too many vacations.

Following that, a more amenable and less temperamental umbrella plant took its place, rising to half my height with its beautifully variegated foliage. It was doing quite well, basking in its sunny window, when I moved to Chicago. By the time I returned, it had wilted and almost expired, much like my heart. It made a bit of a comeback but gave up entirely a few weeks after I was back (to be completely honest, I may have given up on it too). It was better that way, as I was spending more time in Albany than in Boston, and soon enough Boston became my second home, visited once a month – sometimes less.

I didn’t think that schedule would support a plant (I didn’t want to go the cactus or succulent route) but when I discovered the ZZ plant and its water-holding rhizomes, along with tales of its indestructibility, I thought I’d give it a whirl. At Niche, I found a lovely specimen, which did so well the first few months, it soon needed a new pot. I brought some potting soil from Albany (so much easier than lugging a fresh bag on the subway) and found a pretty pot at Crate & Barrel, and it settled in happily. A monthly watering schedule actually worked much better for this kind of plant, and since then it’s provided a lovely bit of greenery, particularly in the winter months.

Now, I’m praying for its well-being in these crazy and dark times.

{Stay tuned for a more uplifting Boston post soon, even if it’s a fantasy piece.}

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This Is Not the Gayest Photo of Me, But It’s Pretty Damn Close

There are some photos that demand too many captions all at once.

I think this is one of those photos.

A few ruminations…

Nobody thought to tell me I was gay?

Serving attitude since circa 1986.

The sass is strong with this one.

All Adidas, all the way.

Striped tube socks served without irony.

How to sissy that stance.

Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.

Even the brochures I’m holding are gay in this.

{Some “friends” have wondered how I didn’t break my hip or back in this pose, and all I can say is that I was much more flexible and fabulous in my youth. Step & repeat.}

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When Six Is Just Right, But Feels Like Too Much

The first time I ever ordered bulk mulch delivered to our home was a number of years ago. After speaking with the person in charge of the delivery, we decided that two cubic yards would more than suffice. We don’t have a huge yard, but much of it is landscaped with gardens and various patches of shrubs and trees. That first year, when the truck arrived and dumped it in our driveway, I was happy to think of all the trips to Lowes I’d otherwise have had to make, bringing four or five bags of mulch home at a time, sometimes having to make a few trips in a single day. As glad as that made me, I was also somewhat daunted by the enormity of two cubic yards of mulch. I was also surprised by how quickly it went, and how much more I actually needed.

A number of years passed since that happened. I’ve been amending the gardens gradually since then, buying a bag or two here and there as necessary, but this year the ground was bare enough to merit another delivery. Unfortunately, the memory is fallible, especially mine of late, and the one thing that I recalled more than anything else was not the enormous amount that two cubic yards was, but rather how we didn’t have nearly enough. So I ordered six this time.

If you’ve ever ordered mulch or know how much that is, you are probably laughing at me right now. I would be too. It’s absolutely laughable, as was my horrified look as the truck dumped out an amount of mulch that would fill the entire inside of our house about three times over. Now, I rarely get overwhelmed. Even when I should be, I usually don’t feel it. But as I walked outside and was greeted with a wall of mulch that went up to my head, I felt it. Overwhelmed.

The first thing I did was to consult the weather calendar, because if it was going to rain anytime in the near future, I’d be screwed, and I needed to know if I was going to have to find some make-do tarp to cover it from water. Luckily, the skies showed clear for at least three days. I could do it in three days, I thought. Turned out I could do it in two afternoons, but I’m paying a bit of a price. 

My body is aching.

My muscles are sore.

My hands are worn.

And I haven’t felt this good in forever.

Bonus: I got it all down before the snow fell again. 

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Friday Night Blues

Or more accurately, ‘Almost Blue’ and some melancholy jazz featuring Chet Baker and his trumpet. Any Friday night plans? Me neither. Except perhaps some light reading and more of Mr. Baker and his evocative music. For some of us, music is helping us get through this isolation phase. I’ve been delving into Dua Lipa for daytime inspiration, and ‘The Malady of Elegance’ for sleep. Chet Baker falls somewhere in-between the two, because music can be many things depending on time and mood. Sadly, Baker didn’t have the happiest life, but his talent and his music brought happiness to others. Someone once remarked that he was “an American dream being dragged through the mud,” and hearing that rips a little hole in my heart. There are also reports he wasn’t the greatest partner, proving that heartache and hurt often leads to more heartache and hurt.

Once in a while, Friday night is a quiet night. 

We’re likely to have more nights like this in the near future. Meet you back here next week. 

“Having to live up to the fantasies of others is a big drag.” – Chet Baker
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Madonna: Her Virgin Fragrance, Rediscovered

‘Truth or Dare’ will always be the Madonna movie that turned me into a super-fan, but it was also the name Madonna chose for her first fragrance. While its heavy floral bouquet of tuberose and gardenia was way too much for me the first time I smelled it, I find it’s lovely for wearing around the house every once in a while. Like on a rainy spring day when you are still in isolation for safety, and the weather is not cooperating. With some neroli and jasmine, it is very much a deep floral, which I can only take in small doses. It almost veers into old lady territory (and that’s not an insult in my world), but there’s a youthful spirit to it that befits the agelessness of Madonna.

She conjured the fragrance in memory of her mother’s own perfume, and several connoisseurs have indicated it’s also quite similar to Fracas, an expensive classic also top-heavy with tuberose. The best perfumes are those that combine memories with decadence, beauty with history, and for Madonna, ‘Truth or Dare’ seems to contain all of the aforementioned. For me, it’s a scent of spring, to be worn only on special nights when you find yourself wanting to indulge, and not needing anything other than the skin you’re in. (Hello, ‘Naked.’)

A single spray of a gorgeous scent as one heads to bed for a few moments of reading is one of life’s more unheralded pleasures.

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The Brothers Evans

Continuing the love affair that began with the recent Hunk of the Day crowning of Scott Evans, here’s a lighthearted video of the Brothers Evans for your evening enjoyment. See more of Chris Evans here, and much more here. Also check out Scott’s recent HOD honor here

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Getting High Off More One-Pot Stops

Like many others, I’ve been on a cooking kick of late given that there’s not much else we can do while waiting for the weather to warm up a bit and work in the yard. Be that as it may, I’m not averse to simplifying things in the kitchen as much as possible, so a recent New York Times supplement that included ’24 Brilliant Recipes for Everyone Who Hates Doing the Dishes’ has been a godsend. Thus far I’ve made my way through six of them – the latest being this Dijon and Cognac Beef Stew, which was as scrumptious as it was simple. [To date this pork chop endeavor has been my favorite.]

The cognac beef stew seen here is basically just some stew beef, seasoned and coated in a dusting of flour before being nicely browned in the rendered wonder of some salt pork, then some onion and shallots and carrots and mushrooms, and finally some cognac, beef stock, Dijon mustard, Pommery mustard and red wine. (Confession: I omitted the Pommery mustard and just used a bit more of the Dijon we had because ours seemed to have enough whole-grains in it, and I don’t really know what Pommery mustard is. I feel more badly about the sinful omission of the red wine because we didn’t have an open bottle, but I would definitely add it if you have some on hand.)

This recipe could also be done in a slow-cooker, which is the way I did it, because if you can do it in a slow cooker, just do it in a slow cooker! Technically, our slow cooker will saute too, but I used one pan for browning the meat and cooking the veggies and it worked out with minimal clean-up.

I’ve got my eye on a Shrimp Scampi with Orzo next…

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Taking the Bore Out of Bulgur

There’s nothing very exciting about bulgur on its own. Whole wheat grain that doesn’t require much cooking to prepare is about as thrilling as it sounds. Before you go to sleep, however, give it a whirl with some eye-opening additions, such as preserved lemon, garlic shrimp and a big handful of fresh cilantro, and you’ve got a suddenly exciting dish that is ample enough to stand on its own as an entree. 

This is basically just some bulgur soaked in boiling water and left alone for half an hour or so, then mixed with some shrimp sautéed in garlic and butter, a healthy pour of olive oil, a small preserved lemon finely chopped (or half of a large one), and some chopped avocado. A good handful of freshly-chopped cilantro is the final touch for this bright meal – perfect for spring and summer because of its minimal cooking time. Be generous with the salt and pepper too – the bulgur wants it. 

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A Cozy Bowl of Mung Beans

This is one of those dishes that took years for me to grow into, like lobster, pizza and Fritos. (Yes, there was a time in my life when I didn’t like any of those things.) But time changes us, and tastes evolve and grow, so when Andy was introduced to the Filipino mung bean recipe that my Mom made and instantly loved them, I gave them another shot. Back when I was a kid, I didn’t see the point to them – they were bland and dull. I couldn’t taste the subtle earthy nuances of the beans, nor enjoy the healthy benefits of the swirls of spinach running through them. Now I enjoy them, particularly on spring days that retain the brutal sting of winter, as we’ve had of late. They are a comfort food, reminding me of grand family gatherings of Filipino relatives, when Tagalog was shouted back and forth across crowded dining room tables, and my brother and I could slip away unnoticed and undetected to do our spying and secret mayhem.

My Mom gave us a package of mung beans several years ago, and in the great pantry cleanout forced by the current state of affairs, I brought them out and asked her to send me the recipe she used. We needed comfort food more than ever, and a healthy pot of beans would last several days in a household of two.

A 12 oz package of mung beans is all you need to begin. It can go right into a cooking pot, then cover the beans with water and bring to a boil. Once boiling, turn heat to low and continue to add water as the beans soak it up and cook for about 45 minutes. You want a stew-like consistency (but add more or less as suits you).

Next, chop up a small-medium onion and sauté in some olive oil. (I also added some fresh ginger and garlic to the onions for additional flavor, but this was not part of my Mom’s original recipe.) If you have a small tomato on hand, chop that up and add it to the sauté pan. If mung beans are soft at this point, add all the vegetables to the pot and stir. At this point, I added a lot of salt (it’s necessary to combat the blandness) and a number of turns of pepper.

The final part is a bag of spinach or some chopped Swiss chard, which goes in for the last few minutes of cooking, until it is just wilted. Serve in a bowl, or atop a bed of rice as you like.

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Listening to the Malady of Elegance

Though I’ve been doing my meditating in complete silence, I’ve been falling asleep to ‘The Malady of Elegance’ by Goldmund, which I’ll admit to purchasing without hearing a single note of it, based solely on its name. In the past, this sort of blind buying has paid off, as in the case of Shirley Horn’s ‘Here’s to Life’ and Viktor & Rolf’s ‘Spicebomb’ and Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Minerale’ but it’s not a wise or safe practice, so I can’t recommend it. I can however, strongly recommend ‘The Malady of Elegance’ for those moments when you might be looking for an aural background to peaceful contemplation, or just a bit of music with which to calm down.

As mentioned, I’ve been listening to this as I fall asleep, and I can imagine it would sound equally lovely on a Sunday afternoon, a rainy morning, an after-work wind-down, or any moment where one needs a little respite from the wickedness of the world. We may need that a bit more these days. I know I do. Find a few moments, locate your quiet space, take a couple of deep breaths, and let the music move you.

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The New Best Banana Bread Recipe

“There is more than one peanut butter and banana sandwich in the world.” ~ Violet Newstead, ‘9 to 5’

That’s basically the only brush I had with the combination of bananas and peanut butter, and the only one I really wanted to have. (I was not one of those kids whose Moms packed a peanut butter and fluff sandwich – a Fluffer-nutter if I recall, not a bad nickname now that I think about it, but a gross concoction to my childhood mind.) Over the last few years, however, I’ve become even more open to strange combinations, particularly where peanut butter has been concerned. [See this hot dog and peanut butter combo that was rather delectable.] As for peanut butter and bananas, it makes more sense than the hot dog marriage, so the notion of adding peanut butter to a banana bread recipe wasn’t immediately repellant. Coupled with this amazing recipe I found online from Two Peas & Their Pod, it turns out we had all the available ingredients on hand for a quick mid-morning baking session.

It’s really just like adding a creamier version of butter, and it mixed surprisingly well with the bananas. The one thing I did change was the addition of a half-cup of white chocolate chips, because we had some of those on hand and I’m in the mood to use up all the odds and ends that have been in our cupboards for, don’t judge me, years in some cases. While I was obliterating part of my childhood beliefs by putting bananas and peanut butter together, I allowed my younger self a nod by not adding any nuts to the bread. I couldn’t stand nuts in muffins or brownies or similar sweets back then, so here’s to that boy.

I baked this on the lower end of the recommended time and it was done by then. Our oven usually takes longer to bake things, so watch near the end. They turned out deliciously – moist and light (I also did minimal mixing when adding the dry ingredients to the wet) and the flavor was divine. A decadent addition of peanut butter or honey was advised, so I went with the latter. A slice of warm peanut butter banana bread with some honey is precisely what these blustery days of spring require.

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Easter Basket Monday

Now that we’ve had the return of the big JC, let’s get back into the carnal sinning and winning that this site aims to deliver when it’s not all about Christ. To that front-end, here’s a post that celebrates the baskets of gentlemen who have appeared here before, along with the requisite links to more of their junk.

The featured photo is of Austin Armacost, whom some consider rather caustic after his turns on various reality television series. Having not followed any of said series, I’m only going by looks and appearance – the hallmarks of a former Hunk of the Day, especially one who has helmed other posts like this and this and this. Better known for his do-good efforts is Max Emerson, who was also a Hunk of the Day, and more than once as well

Emerson also appeared in just as skimpy attire (and a bit less) right here. Tom Sandoval is a Bravo-lebrity from ‘Vanderpump Rules’ and also released at least one infectious song. He might be better-suited to posing in his underwear

Nathan Adrian brings some Olympic metal (and medal) to these proceedings. He appeared mostly in his Speedo in posts like this and this, and even less here and here

Eddie Eduardo shakes his groove thing in his Hunk of the Day crowning, as well as this celebration of ginger heat

Pietro Boselli packs a pretty punch in his skimpy swim attire, as he has done countless times in the past, such as here, here, here, here, and here. He also likes to show off in his underwear. If you want to see a naked Pietro Boselli, check out this post and this one and this one. Ashley Parker Angel hangs out mostly in his underwear, as he did here and here and here. (And one bonus naked Ashley Parker Angel post.)

Naked male models are always appreciated in these parts, as witnessed by previous posts featuring Zander Hudgson. You can see how he fills out his briefs here, and get a peek of his naked ass here

Will Taylor always makes a splash in his Bright Bazaar enterprise, particularly when he slips into a colorful Speedo. James Haskell brings his rugged hunkdom to this post, and he fills out his underwear quite bodaciously here. If you want to see him without any underwear at all, go here

Our final Easter Monday basket shot is of Aaron Renfree, who received his first Hunk of the Day nod here. If you’re looking for a naked Aaron Renfree, see this post. He also did some beautiful work with Snooty Fox Images

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Grab a Cup of Coffee So We Can Recap

Andy recently taught me how to make coffee, and I’ve been on a decaffeinated kick of late, so let’s grab a cup of the brown stuff and pretend we are meeting up at Starbucks like we never used to do. None of that lingo is used correctly, is it? Oh well, I’ve given up on pretending to be perfect. Cream or sugar or that cocoa powder that doesn’t come out? Is the lingo getting better? I’ve always been a Starbucks loner – you won’t find me gabbing with friends or attending a tutoring session or doing a job interview – and I’m accustomed to minding my own business when sipping on my Grande decaf. In essence, not much has changed. Yet it turns out that while I like being left alone, I also like to watch people. From a Bette Midler distance.

My current office outfits are all business on top, party down below.

Shirtless Tom Daley break.

Grocery store avoidance solution.

Spring before and spring after.

Autumn joy in spring.

When ducks visited our pool.

Liquid lunch.

A gratuitous Jason Derulo post.

I whipped it out to mark my territory.

I adore the new Duo Lipa album.

Little star of blue.

Homage to ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ 1 – The Home-From-Work Scene.

Homage to ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ 2 – The Shower Scene.

An ode to Easter joy.

Reclaiming Easter trauma as a shirtless bunny

Another awakening brings more awareness

 

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