Spinning on a stamen and prancing upon pollen, these pendulous fuchsia flowers dance like ballerinas suspended mid-pirouette. With a background of bright chartreuse (courtesy of a sweet potato vine that retains this fresh color throughout the growing season), the colors especially pop. It’s a classic combination, not for the faint of heart or the seeker of quieter shades.
There are things you can’t reach. But
You can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god.
And it can keep you busy as anything else, and happier.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
As though with your arms open.
Some days call out for simple posts. Like this one. It’s Nick Jonas in his shirtless worked-out form for his DirecTV appearance in ‘Kingdom.’ I’ll wait for the pics and GIFs to come out and enjoy it that way – no need to sit through an entire series. In the meantime, there are other notable Nick Jonas shirtless moments here, including this instant classic, and this Hunk of the Day honor which was all about, well, his butt.
A whole week of September has already gone by, and gone by too soon at that. We are that much closer to fall, when the real work begins. A number of projects are simmering on the creative stove, and before you know it the slippery slope to the holidays will have us all in its incontrovertible rush. That’s much too far ahead to contemplate right now, even for someone who loves to live in the future. And so, a contemplation of the recent past.
A beautiful birthday weekend in New York began with a return visit to ‘Kinky Boots’ and included a balcony view of the city (even from the bathroom), a piss-pot stop at the Plaza, and a bubble bath finale looking out at the Empire State Building.
Balzac gave words to my ball sack.
School started up again for some kids. Poor suckers.
The popular Hunk of the Day feature was in full-effect thanks to guys like Bernardo Velasco, Chris Campanioni, Christian Bok, Robert Ballard, and Aiden Leslie – as well as a couple of classic former hunks like David Beckham and Alex Minsky.
Believe it or not, the most requested guy who has appeared on this site is not David Beckham or Ben Cohen or even Tom Daley, it’s this gentleman right here: Alex Minsky. People continually ask when he will be the Hunk of the Day, but it turns out he’s already been given that honor long ago – not to mention this insanely erotic nude GIF. Of course, if he asks politely (or at all) he can have a second go-round at the title. As for Mr. Minsky, he recently made a cameo appearance (butt naked to boot) at Broadway Bares.
Sparked in part by this post of a school memory, and by the seasonal appropriateness of the tale, this may be a new feature – at least for the moment. Consider it the anti-thesis of the ‘Summer Memories’ series here, here, here, here and here. In these posts, I’ll recall a school memory that has stayed with me three decades and counting. For this first one, a memory of my very first day of nursery school. So traumatizing was it that I remember it clearly to this very day.
No one told me what it was going to be like. If I heard anything about school at home, it was how much my Mom hated it. Why would she force me to do something she herself despised? Aside from that bit of indefensible logic, I also just wasn’t ready to be left without my Mom. I suppose every kid feels like that at one point or another, but I seemed to take it harder than the others, who were already playing and interacting when I walked hesitantly into the classroom.
They tried to introduce me to the other classmates, but I wanted none of it. I ended up bawling underneath a table, afraid I would be torn away from Mom. Another kid, Eric, who would go on to become a football-playing jock, shared his tissues with me. He too was crying, and a bit harder than me. His Mom sat next to mine in the front of the room, apparently the space for parents whose kids were having a tough time letting go. I watched my Mom there, making sure she would not try to sneak out and leave me there alone. I got through it after a few days (though I would repeat the scene the very next year at the start of Kindergarten.) For then, it was sheer terror to be left behind by my mother.
It was the teacher’s son, a small boy with a mop of perfectly straight bright blonde hair, who came over to me and brought me into the social fold. Once he did that, I was fine. In fact, I was rather well-liked, so much so that by the end of the year I was no longer close to him. I didn’t feel guilty about that until this moment. Strange, the way guilt and forgiveness morph over time. We never know how we’ll look back at our behavior. For the most part, at such a young age, I was a pretty good kid. That would change soon enough…
Some of these shots are more revealing than others, but here is a brief collection of David Beckham showing off his greatest assets. There’s been some heated debate over whether that’s his butt or his bulge, so here’s a few views of both to let you make your own decisions. I won’t go crazy with the David Beckham links, because all you need to know is found in this very graphic post. But in case you wanted a little more, here you go.
The concrete jungle offers this coda of flowers for a final look back at our time in New York. Beauty can be found in many shapes and forms, but the simple grace of a plant in flower, particularly in the midst of all the asphalt and cityscaping, is a delight. Here are a few blooms we encountered along the way.
When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not. ~ Georgia O’Keeffe
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one. ~Â Edna St. Vincent Millay
Emblematic of New York, the Empire State Building was at one point the nation’s tallest skyscraper. I remember visiting it when I was a child, stepping into the tarnished brass of an art-deco elevator and rising to the top of the world. In the dim haze of memory, the day comes back as quite gray and drab, and, indicative of all heights, very windy. Other kids were whispering of stories of pennies dropped from such a height falling with such velocity that they would kill someone if they were to land on their head. I never verified the actual possibility of such a stunt, but I didn’t take a chance by flinging any copper into the air.
On my last night in New York, after a decadent birthday dinner at NoMad and a walk back to the hotel in the midst of a gorgeous midnight hour, I filled the tub with bubble bath and settled in for a long soak. Outside, the Empire State Building winked at me from several long blocks away. Outside, a strong breeze blew along the balcony: the night wind that carried the imminent arrival of fall on its shoulders.
A perfect birthday weekend in New York had come to a close. The next day Andy and I would return by train to Albany, and the magic of the city would be another memory, only this one would be anything but drab and gray.
The anniversary of my birth dawned in sunny splendor as Andy and I made our way to Tavern on the Green for a birthday brunch. It was our first time at the establishment, and it was lovely, if a little hot. When we asked if the outside seating was shaded from the hot sun, the hostess looked at us skeptically and said with more than a little foreboding, ‘For now…’ I asked if there was more shade inside, and she said yes. Another gentleman then took us to the ‘shaded’ area which was a glass room that acted perfectly as a greenhouse. Not one to make a fuss over seating, we sucked it up, and soaked in a lot of sun. An average meal was saved by the incredible birthday cake seen below – a fluffy bit of ricotta decadence.
From there we walked back toward the hotel along Fifth Avenue, pausing for a piss-pot stop at the Plaza – because there’s no finer place to pee than the Plaza.
A cologne-sampling revelry at Bergdorf Goodman introduced me to the latest By Kilian (and at a higher price point than Tom Ford’s Private Blends, if you can even get your head around that). For that reason I kept the AmEx tucked safely away.
A matinee, and the very last performance, of ‘Bullets Over Broadway’ formed the highpoint of midday, and then it was back to the hotel for a bit of a siesta before a very late dinner at the NoMad. It was one of the finest dining experiences I’ve had in a very long time, and it’s my new favorite stomping ground in New York. No matter what it takes, I am hell-bent on staying there (it’s a hotel as well).
It was a very fine birthday. Thanks to Mom and Dad and Andy for a wonderful birthday gift.
Continuing our New York adventures, I present The Solitude of a Hotel Bathroom. In a city teeming with millions of people, pockets of solitary secrecy still survive, places where the mood can be sullen or celebratory and no one is any the unhappier. But as Levar Burton once put it, ‘You don’t have to take my word for it.’ And who is better at words and navel-gazing than Balzac?
“When no relationships exist which call for minor concessions in dress and deportment, we lose the habit of accepting inconvenience for the sake of others and a deterioration sets in which affects our inner and outer selves.” ~ Honore de Balzac
“Indeed, ridicule is most often incurred by the carrying of fine sentiment, good point and special ability to extremes. A haughtiness which is not toned down by intercourse with polite society takes on a certain rigidity when it can only find outlet in trivialities instead of expanding in contact with people capable of lofty feeling.” ~ Honore de Balzac
“Which of us has not observed the eccentricities peculiar to polite society, the capriciousness of its judgements and the extravagance of its demands? To some persons everything is permissible; their conduct may go far beyond the bounds of reason; all their actions are seemly; they are justified by all and sundry. But there are others to who society is incredibly severe: they must make no mistakes, never falter or even utter a foolish remark. They are like venerated statues which are removed from their pedestals once the winter frost has nipped off a finger or chipped a nose; they are allowed no human feelings and must for ever remain god-like and perfect.” ~ Honore de Balzac
“This young man is characteristic of our times. When one has no particular aptitude for anything, one takes to the pen and poses as a talented person.” ~ Honore de Balzac
“Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.” ~ Madonna
Even with the witty warnings of Jacob Tomsky in his excellent read ‘Heads in Beds’ I’ve always loved a hotel bathroom. I don’t care if they clean the glasses with furniture polish or pee into the cologne bottles of douche-bag travelers (you can’t unscrew a Tom Ford bottle even if you try), I can suspend the realities of what monstrous dirtiness goes on there with the pristine appearance of sterility and cleanliness. And no matter how gross any hotel bathroom might seem, it’s really nothing compared with some of the dumps I frequented in college, and some apartments that some friends still reside in.
For our recent stay at 70 Park Avenue, the bathroom was this heavenly slice of paradise looking out at the Empire State Building, and resplendent in bright tile, crisp marble, and C.O. Bigelow accoutrements. Some bathrooms get short shrift in hotels, particularly in New York, but this one was a long, lean, beauty-enhancing machine.
When you get into a hotel room, you lock the door, and you know there is a secrecy, there is a luxury, there is fantasy. There is comfort. There is reassurance. ~ Diane von Furstenberg
On the Amtrak ride along the Hudson River, I scrolled through the offerings on my phone. There were two decent tickets available for ‘Kinky Boots‘ that evening, and since we had no plans, I booked them. I’d wanted Andy to see it ever since my Mom and I had been blown away by the great Billy Porter, and since it was my birthday weekend I was feeling generous and treated him to a performance. (He did, after all, get us tickets to the last performance of ‘Bullets Over Broadway‘ but I’m getting ahead of myself.)
For now, the train chugged along the river, and I watched as Andy alternately gazed at the surroundings and tried to sleep amid the raucous debauchery of a group of Yankees fans. They felt that 9 AM was the ideal time to start drinking and discussing the game that was to take place in a few hours. I popped in my earbuds and let Sam Cooke take me away.
My ambivalence toward New York has been made known, but I planned this trip a little differently, allowing ample rest time for Andy, securing a decent room in a decent hotel, and spacing out shows and dinners so nothing was rushed or hastened. Coupled with a spot of beautiful August weather, it came together as one of our favorite trips to the city.
It began with the sensational environs of the 70 Park Avenue Hotel. This heavenly Kimpton property gave us a corner room on the top floor, with a balcony that looked right up towards the Empire State Building. It was my first time staying in an NYC room with a balcony and it was every bit as wonderful as you might imagine. Along with a few cocktail coupons, and a magnificent basket of fruits and cheeses, the Kimpton folks made this birthday boy feel cherished and celebrated. I cannot sing their praises enough, and while I tend to try different hotels when traveling, I will be keeping the Kimpton hotels as my first preference.
After a dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant, Rossini’s, we made our way to the Al Hirschfield Theater and I was thrilled to see that Billy Porter was still starring in ‘Kinky Boots’ – he gave another fantastic performance, and won Andy over.
We walked back to the hotel on a beautiful evening, returning to our room and looking out at the blinking lights of the city. On nights like this, I loved New York.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
Not every Madonna song is a classic in the mold of ‘Like A Prayer’ or ‘Ray of Light‘ – and even though this Madonna Timeline selection is reportedly one of Guy Oseary’s favorites, I’ve never been all that fond of it (though the video and sound are classic early Madonna.) This is ‘Burning Up’ – a relic from the 80’s that probably should remain buried there. I differ from many Madonna fans on my antipathy for the song, but there’s enough room in the world for different tastes, so I’m standing by my dislike.
‘Burning Up’ treated us to one of the first hallmarks of many a Madonna song: an unabashed ode to sexuality and pleasure that could also be read as an ode to love. Underneath all the double entendres there is the simple excitement of feeling the heat from an object of affection, and the passionate will to do anything for said object.
It also set Madonna apart from everyone else, particularly in the way she snarls, “Unlike the others I’ll do anything, I’m not the same, I have no shame, I’m on fire!” Little did the world knew how true she would prove that to be.
Instead of recapping the week, let’s revisit the entire month of August, as it was too lush to leave without notice. The fact that it’s already September is incontrovertible, but that doesn’t make it any less depressing. For now though, a look back at the month where I began, and everything that led up to this moment.
August marked one of my first trips to Provincetown, and Shirley Horn put a capital ‘F’ in it.
August is also the personification of summer.
August is about lavender, hosta, and lilies.
August is about family and fun.
August is about birthday plans and hotel stays.
And birthday plans come to life.
And birthday suits.
August is about eating well and eating beets.
August is about fun music from the likes of Mika.
August is Broadway.
August can be like a virgin, and like an idiot.
August can be a dead bunny.
Sometimes August is about being an outsider.
Sometimes it’s about being scared.
And sometimes it’s about being a kid again.
August is about smelling good.
This August was certainly about the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge.
And last but most definitely not least, August displayed this magnificent menagerie of miscellaneous men, which added to its ranks with the likes of this long and luscious list:
And after all this, I can’t wait to see what September brings.
