It was about seven or eight years ago when I joined Planet Fitness. It was a fall deal they had going, and for $10 a month how could I refuse? Even if I just used it three or four times a month, it would be worth it. For about a year or two I went semi-religiously (and since church was once a week, I considered once a week ‘religiously’). For the past five years, however, I’ve sort of been promising to go without ever delivering. So when it came to light that Planet Fitness CEO Chris Rondeau had donated to Donald Trump, as well as anti-LGBT candidate Andy Sanborn, I had the perfect excuse to end my membership.

The woman behind the counter asked what my reason for canceling was.

“Your CEO donated to Donald Trump and at this point I can’t be part of any of that,” I said, not in anger or unfriendliness. The manager was standing right next to her and he gave a little nod.

“That’s fair,” he said. I chuckled a little, and he looked at my account, explaining that my annual fee was already pending, and I said I wasn’t worried about that – I had no issue paying it. He went on to say that if I ever changed my mind to get in touch with him – at which point he handed me his card – and if I came back he would credit this fee toward a new membership.

That’s fair.

But until such time that Mr. Rondeau publicly changes his Trump tune, I won’t be part of the Planet Fitness family. To think that any part of those $10/month payments went to that traitorous moron is unforgivable.

From time to time I need to be checked. Hard checked. That time came as I waited impatiently in the line at Starbucks. Already annoyed that the kids in the place outnumbered the adults , I longed for the days when Starbucks was not the province of young children. Ahead of me, a guy in a baggy suit waited with his kid. Paired with the suit, which was only mildly offensive for its ill-fit, was a pair of navy sneakers. Not dressy sneakers either – plain running sneakers. They had no place next to that suit. They had no place next to any suit. I almost took a picture for a post of shame.

After getting my coffee and settling into a couch, I watched the man pick up his drink. He walked with a limp, and he did his best to keep up with his son, and I instantly felt shame at what I had thought. He was wearing sneakers because he had to – and I had judged him and thought less of him for his choices before I thought of an explanation other than bad taste. And even if was bad taste, it was his choice. Who the fuck was I to think anything of it? It was a sudden and jarring smackdown of my silliness, reminding me that you never really know what’s going on with other people, even if it seems obvious and apparent. More importantly, it reminded me to ask – about others, about their stories, about their hurt and pain.

It was disappointing.  I was disappointed in myself. I’m usually better than this. Not always. But usually.

I’ll try for always from now on.

I’ve been taking selfies since 1986. 

I’m kind of over it.

The burning of wishes upon every seasonal solstice is a tradition that Andy taught me when we first met, and one which we have faithfully performed with each passing season. No matter where I find myself, I find the time and place to burn the little list of wishes that we send into the universe for safekeeping, hopefully to be made manifest through our own exertions or the happy happenstance of what may come. (One of the more difficult moments was when I was in Boston for the turn into fall, and I had to lean out the bathroom window and burn my list on the fire escape. It worked out. The universe accepts our wishes no matter how they are delivered.)

This year was slightly different as well, as I was up before first light to greet the first day of fall. With my work schedule, I’ve rediscovered my early morning window, and as the sun reluctantly began to light up the sky, I brought a flame to the corner of my wishes and watched them burn in a clay catch-pot. The smoke hung in the humid air, the smell of fall and coziness and cold days to come mingling with the sweet remnants of summer from the already-faded blooms of the angel’s trumpet. Sky brightening, the morning woke to the agitated chirping of a chipmunk. Not everything was still asleep.

We lucked out this year as far as the pool goes. We had lots of sunny and warm days in which to make ample use of its calming properties. In fact, we kept things going right up until the very end of September. Most everyone else we knew had shut down their pools before the last few days of 80 degree weather hit. Sometimes it pays to procrastinate. (Not usually, but this Virgo will take it once in a while.)

As for the last days of a warm pool in the cool season, they can be remarkably dramatic, as the water release its heat in steamy fashion, rising into the atmosphere like the beginning of some science fiction nightmare. On one such afternoon, I captured the effect as the sun was setting behind our banana and dogwood trees. 

As of this writing, Andy has won the last swim of the season, bravely jumping in after mowing the lawn. The water was warm, he said, but getting out was a chilly endeavor. He rushed by me just as I was writing this post.

If you look closely enough, you might see the flared nostrils of the Tyrannosaurus rex just poking through the foliage, and the voice of Richard Attenborough invoking that legendary greeting, ‘Welcome… to Jurassic Park.’ Cue John Williams and indulge me as the imagination runs wild. (Play the video below and I dare you not to laugh.)

Don’t get your manties in a bunch.

Or, as my former Structure manager used to say (and my Uncle soon co-opted): calm the fuck down, shit’ll get done.

After this double-whammy of a recap, it feels like a bit of a cop-out to put up another linky post, but fuck it, a cop-out it shall be. It’s the end of September as I write this, and the sun is shining and the breeze is on the warm side, and I will be damned if I stay inside a moment longer typing on this lap-top. Seize the day! Seize the sun! Seize the links of some of the Octobers that came before!

October 2018 ~ In which a fountain lulls me to sleep, a favorite Aunt celebrates her birthday, and a favorite slew of Madonna songs embodies the season. Oh, and PVRTD.

October 2017 ~ In which a robe determines one’s destiny, ‘Sex’ and ‘Erotica’ come to a head,  and Halloween makes a surprise appearance. 

October 2016 ~ In which Nick Jonas shows off some naked side ass, a night in New York demanded not one but two posts, and the leaves fall in Boston. 

October 2015 ~ In which I dyed my hair blue, got banned from FaceBook for this booty shot, and got naked in random hotel rooms for the sake of a tour. Also, the incontrovertible turn. 

October 2014 ~ In which the bitter mingles with the sweet, a mermaid resides in this cozy residence, the last of the flowers gives up its show, this racy look back on stormy days is made artful by the black and white, and I hold onto my penis for dear life. 

October 2013 ~ In which a favorite recipe gets its time in the sun, David Beckham gets into his briefs, and Zac Efron gets naked. 

October 2012 ~ In which we hear the music for Falling, we stand by the ocean in Ogunquit, we spend some time with the Ilagan twins, and we make a visit to Sharon Springs, home of the Beekman Boys.

October 2011 ~ In which I recall the memories of ‘Material Girl‘ and ‘The Power of Goodbye‘ and give toast to the Vesper. 

This post will be doing multiple-duties since we didn’t have a recap last week – summarizing the final days of summer, the arrival of fall, and everything else that’s happened in the last two weeks. Let’s get right to it so you can check out what you may have missed in the maelstrom:

Newsflash: according to Madonna, life is a circle. See ‘Extreme Occident.’ 

The potent cocktail that knocked everyone on their ass. 

A plant for the kitty. 

Sunday brunch for the family. 

A watermelon appetizer with some verve and bite. 

Summer concluded with a four part recap, starting with this Speedo-clad dose of gratuitous silliness. 

Part Two of the summer recap was all about the heat of July and all the florals that came with it (and the Speedo slips off at the end). 

Bringing up the third part of summer was the shenanigans of August, that sultry time of the year which always begs for more. 

The last part of the summer recap featured even more Speedo shots because September demanded it. 

Aww shit, I should have just linked you to this post, which combines all the summer recaps in one place. 

As soon as summer ended, we went immediately into our fall season, starting off with a seven part series on my state career thus far. That’s never been something I’ve written about much in these parts, but I was feeling nostalgic, and with all the back-to-school stuff it felt like a fitting time for those of us in the workforce, especially other government workers. Check out all the stories below:

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part 1

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part 2

Confessions of a New York State Worker- Part 3

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part 4

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part 5

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part 6

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part 7

Greeting September with something short but powerful. 

Kick-starting the fall with this bopping bit of brilliance by Michael Buble.

Was this dragonfly a repeat visitor? It felt like we met before. 

Fall is for gentle piano music. Things will get stormy enough. 

A pile of leaves burns and releases its smoke into the fall air. Crisp bite of mid-morning, sharp sliver of sunlight, and whispers of witches ride on the night wind. Cast a spell of autumnal enchantment…

I’ve always known about Adam Lambert’s Superpower. 

A September song as sung by Ella Fitzgerald. 

These hunks with bulges transformed the dwindling days of September into sexy scintillation. 

When it’s too early even for morning wood. 

Hunks of the Day included the following gents: Kamil Nicalek, Riz Ahmed, Nathaniel Bucolic, Brandon Whitlock, Cody Fern, and Bowen Yang.

It finally happened.

At approximately 4:36 AM, September 25, 2019, I entered old age.

Because at that time, I woke up without an alarm, tossed and turned for a few minutes, then got up because I could not get back to sleep. I am officially old.

It took a while to process. In my head, I’ve been an old man since I was ten, so I’m not really bothered by it. I also think our ageist society has to stop using terms like ‘old man’ in a derogatory way. My celebration of shifting into the second half of my life begins now, and I intend to make it just as crazy and fun as the first – if not more-so. (Second acts are supposed to be better, according to some.) And if it means I’m going to be up with a few hours to populate, you may be getting more posts with more content (witness the heft of that ‘Confessions of a State Worker‘ series – not saying it was supremely exciting, but it was well-documented!)

As for this particular morning, the world is cloistered in darkness. A bouquet of Northern sea oats sits upright, intentionally drying and arching its elegant stems. Another bouquet of roses sits wilted, unintentionally drying because I’ve been too lazy to throw it out. Two small vases, each filled with a faded fern, are further evidence of neglect. These are things I never would have revealed during the light of day. It’s easy to be confessional at this early hour. Maybe that is the path this blog will begin to take. It’s not all fun and games. It’s not all prettiness and perfection, I can more than vouch for a multitude of mistakes. Too often I try to paint things as pretty when the reality is a little less lovely.

Even so, there is beauty here too. Faded roses aren’t unpretty.

They’re just a little older.