Dan Osborne Naked

Daniel Osborne has been featured a number of times on this site – for his Hunk of the Day coronation, some sexy Santa poses, and some funny Tom Daley action. Now we have these GIFs, which merit their own post, and so you see them here. Mr. Osborne may have no greater claim to fame other than gratuitous skin shots like these, but let’s face it, that’s more than enough. Any time there’s a nude male celebrity, we’ll have his back.

And a bonus shot of Mr. Osborne with Tom Daley in a Speedo.

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Let the Words Fall Out

I’ve long been a sucker for a cheesy pop tune, and sometimes the simplest ditties evoke things deeper and more powerful than anything ever produced by a Mahler symphony. (This in no way puts pop music above a composer like Mahler, but if I need a quick jolt of inspiration and energy to do what needs to be done, I’ll grab Madonna over Mozart any day.) In this instance, it’s an infectious song by Sara Bareilles ~ ‘Brave’. I’ve been hearing it on the radio for a while, and only a few days ago discovered its quirky video, and the meaning behind it (she wrote it for a gay friend who was coming out).

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up

Most people who know me through this website, or my FaceBook or Twitter rantings, probably think I’m a pretty blunt guy – a guy who has no trouble saying what’s on his mind, a guy in complete control and utter command of where he is and what he’s doing. And in part, that’s true – it has to be, because there’s no other choice. But the truth is, I’m a pretty dependent creature – on friends and family and husband – and I never had to do it any other way. Until now. It’s a little late in the game (38 is kind of nearing the end of the time-to-grow-up curve) but it’s not yet too late, and so I’m beginning to do this.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
When they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave.

There have been a lot of distractions – whimsical fluff thrown up into the air, like glitter on the wind, floating bits of ostrich feathers leaving a trail of enchantment, the lingering memory of something fabulous, and a lonely beauty, shimmering in the crimson night of broken blood vessels. It was all about crafting an image, leaving an impression, and being what I felt the world wanted me to be.

It wasn’t all bad, either – there was magic in what I was capable of conjuring, there was value and worth, hidden deeply within. There were moments of goodness too, and I know I wasn’t completely self-serving. But looking back I could have done things differently, and the only way to make it better is to start again from the beginning. On my own. It’s something that only I can do – not Andy, not Mom or Dad, not my best friends, and not the most well-meaning of acquaintances or online comrades.

It’s not easy to be brave like that. So much of me is disguised weakness, a vast expanse of all that is meek, coated in sparkles and pizzazz and a flamboyance that struts its stuff so brazenly no one would dare believe otherwise. Yet being brave now – and being brave alone – is the only way to carry on.

Everybody’s been there,
Everybody’s been stared down by the enemy
Fallen for the fear
And done some disappearing,
Bow down to the mighty
Don’t run, just stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

We’ve all had moments when we’ve had to be brave. Somewhere inside of us we can access that courage, we can muster the strength to move forward. We have to, because there’s no other way through. You can’t run around Darth Vader. You can’t bypass the greed of Gollum. You can’t pretend all the bad things that happened to you – and all the bad things you did to others – never existed. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to do that, trying to escape from the past, trying to create a new future, and largely I’ve failed. It’s time to take ownership of those mistakes, and at the end of the journey I’ll have quite the tale to tell – and I won’t be afraid to tell it.

And since your history of silence
Won’t do you any good,
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave.

What are you going to do with the rest of your life? Where do you want to go, who do you want to be? What is standing in your way? These are difficult questions. They may never be completely answered, but in confronting them there may be some way of figuring things out. In the words of another cheesy pop song, we’ve only just begun…

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Digital for a Decade

For someone so enamored of photography, it may seem strange that I only received my first digital camera in 2004, relatively late in the digital world. However, checking today’s date, it looks like I’ve been digital for almost a decade, which makes my first shots practically vintage. A number of months (years?) ago I made a half-hearted attempt at doing a ‘Classic Shots’ series of posts on this site. We managed a few, but it sort of petered out. Marking a tenth anniversary is something different, though, and may signify a reinvigorated examination of what happened those many years ago. Here’s the first reboot of that series, a few photographs taken in 2004.

It’s a strange juxtaposition to have a few fall shots for a rebirth of a series, but stranger things have happened here. Besides, I’ve always considered fall as a chance to begin again. The cool nights, the snap of a frost, and the forests in flame all serve to jump-start inspiration.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #105 – ‘Dress You Up’ ~ 1985

{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.}

The year was 1985. In the wood-paneled family room of my childhood home, the remains of a Saturday morning of cartoons had faded away, and the early afternoon chill of the second half of the weekend had begun. Our parents were off somewhere else, leaving my brother and I deliciously alone for a couple of hours. On the television, Madonna’s ‘Virgin Tour’ began, and the opening salvo of ‘Dress You Up’ sounded.

I didn’t know her then. I also didn’t know how concerts worked, or whether she would sing more songs that I recognized. All I knew was that one hit after another came over the TV, and I alternately sat and danced along with this woman who would change my life from that moment forward.

You’ve got style,
That’s what all the girls say
Satin sheets, and luxuries so fine
All your suits are custom-made in London,
Well I’ve got something that you’ll really like

If ‘Material Girl’ made me a Madonna fan, ‘Dress You Up‘ solidified that status. It was catchy, had a driving beat, and on the surface it was all about fashion. It spoke to me in ways overt and subliminal, and it may just be my favorite cut off the ‘Like A Virgin‘ opus – no small feat considering the lead-track (MG) and the title-track (LAV). ‘Dress You Up’ touched something deeper in my gay psyche: a love of glamour, a perfectly-crafted pop song, and a dream of something better. (It also marked my most egregious lyrical misunderstanding of all time – instead of “All your suits are custom made in London” I thought it was “All your suits are custom made and laundered.” Such was the thought process of a ten-year-old gay boy. Either way worked.)

Gonna dress you up in my love
All over, all over
Gonna dress you up in my love,
All over your body.

In my brother’s boyhood bedroom, I played this song over and over on his stereo, rewinding it and jumping on the bed to the Nile Rodgers beat. In the same space where we re-created ‘You Can’t Do That on Television’ (recording our own ‘˜You Can’t Do That on Tape’ audio cassettes and staging earthquakes with falling debris in the place of green slime – hey, I may have loved Madonna but I was still just a boy), I listened to her sing about the stuff of fantasy and fascination. The underlying metaphors might have been lost on my virgin ears, but there were more powerful forces at work.

Feel the silky touch of my caresses
They will keep you looking so brand new
Let me cover you with velvet kisses
I’ll create a look that’s made for you
Gonna dress you up in my love
All over, all over
Gonna dress you up in my love,
All over your body. 

Far more than come-hither sexiness, Madonna showed me the art of seduction – not so much as a means of gaining access to the bedroom, but as a pathway to acceptance and love. With her strut, her cockiness, and her devil-may-care sense of fashion, she taught me confidence – and even if that confidence wasn’t real, even if it was just a front ‘ there was power in that. When Madonna looked out at the world as her own, she made it all right for me to look too, and if I could get there by dressing myself up, so much the better. Because that was something I could do.

From your head down to your toes…
Song #105 – ‘Dress You Up’ ~ 1985
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A Last Thought On This Day Of Love

At first I thought love was about sexy shower scenes and fetching newspapers.

Then I thought love was about camping out in a tent.

For a long time I thought love was about finding a compatible companion.

Now I don’t think I knew anything about love.

The only thing I’ve learned in 38 years – and the closest I may have come to love – is in genuinely wishing happiness for another person. That, to me, at this very moment, seems to be the best definition of loving someone else: wanting their happiness more than anything else, even if it means letting them go.

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A V-Day Poem

In the past, I used to send out Valentine photo cards (cheeky, skin-baring ones, of course), enclosed with a Dorothy Parker poem that extolled the bitterness of love, and the cynicism that Ms. Parker so masterfully rendered in a few turns of phrase. This year, having already bared my bum, and feeling slightly kinder, I’m posting a different kind of poem. One written in earnest, one written in hope, one written in love.

Of Love

By Mary Oliver

 

I have been in love more times than one,

thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting

whether active or not. Sometimes

it was all but ephemeral, maybe only

an afternoon, but not less real for that.

They stay in my mind, these beautiful people,

or anyway people beautiful to me, of which

there are so many. You, and you, and you,

whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe

missed. Love, love, love, it was the

core of my life, from which, of course, comes

the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned

that some of them were men and some were women

and some – now carry my revelation with you –

were trees. Or places. Or music flying above

the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun

which was the first, and the best, the most

loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into

my eyes, every morning. So I imagine

such love of the world – its fervency, its shining, its

innocence and hunger to give of itself – I imagine

this is how it began.

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Happy Valentine’s Day

First, foremost, and always… To my husband.

Thirteen years is a long time together, and they were years rich with laughter and tears, smiles and frowns, and a commitment to work through whatever came our way.

It wasn’t always a cake-walk, and I wasn’t always the best husband, but it’s never too late to improve, to be better, to care and be a little more supportive.

That’s the lesson I’ll try to take from this Valentine’s Day. Not so much the gushing romantic overture, but the lasting resonant chords that sound through the rest of our life together.

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From Across the Pond

My contacts in the frag world have been whispering that Tom Ford’s Private Blend ‘London’ (until now only available in the London store) is making its way across the world, and will be available here long before I ever get my ass back to England. That’s good news, in a way (I was hoping to get it while actually in London, but if I end up not liking it I’d rather be disappointed on these shores.) Instead, if it turns out to be a keeper, I’ll wear it if and when I make it back to its glorious namesake city.

Mr. Ford’s Private Blends can be exquisite, but at such an exorbitant price point they are not to be taken lightly, and if you don’t absolutely love one, it’s not worth it. I have high hopes for ‘London’ but they come with reasonable reservations. Too often what sounds good on paper reads very differently to the nose, and even if one loves every single ingredient in a certain fragrance, the way it’s put together can turn it into something that is far less than the sum of its parts.

I tend to enjoy the darker, more complex Private Blends, however, so ‘London’ has that in favor. It sounds slightly smoky, with a dash of the oud that he’s been obsessing about lately, and both of those aspects appeal to me. It may be the perfect tail-end fragrance to winter, or something to be savored over a ripe fall. We shall see… or smell, as the case may be.

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A Vietnamese Dinner, Half Home-Made

The half-home-made part right up front: these spring rolls, purchased at Fresh Market because I was in no mood to finely chop vegetables for ten hours. I’d have made a mess of the rolling too. One day I’ll tackle that assembly line. For now, it was enough to make the chicken dish that follows.

Both Andy and I are fans of curry. One of our favorite moments is when the kitchen is filled with the pungent aroma of a curry dish bubbling away on the stove, wafting through the hallway and teasing the nose. It lifts the darkest mood, warms the coldest evening, and makes the house feel like a home. It was one of the first dishes I introduced to him a few months after we met, and he took my Chicken Curry in a Hurry recipe (a misnomer if ever there was one) and transformed it into something wondrous.

This is a Vietnamese version of chicken curry (Ca Ri Ga), which is slightly lighter than its Thai counterpart, and sets itself apart with the use of sweet potatoes and Kaffir lime leaves. Lacking Vietnamese curry, I had to settle for a Madras curry.

Vietnamese Chicken Curry (Ca Ri Ga)

Makes 6 servings 

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1 large yellow onion, chopped (1 1/2 cups)

6 kaffir lime leaves, crumpled in hand, but intact

2 tablespoons Vietnamese or Madras curry powder

Salt

3 or 4 pounds chicken, cut into 8 serving pieces, or 3 pounds of bone-in chicken parts

2 1/3 cups unsweetened coconut milk (about 1 1/2 cans)

1 cup water, plus more as needed

2 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes and/or russet potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch chunks

Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat until the oil starts to shimmer. Add the onion and kaffir lime leaves; cook for about 2 minutes, stirring, until the onion has slightly softened. Add the curry powder and 1/4 teaspoon of salt and cook for about 15 seconds, stirring, until fragrant.

Add the chicken, skin side down; cook for 3 to 4 minutes on each side, until lightly browned (the chicken will not be cooked through).

Add the coconut milk and 1 cup of water, then the potatoes. Make sure the chicken pieces and potatoes are submerged in the liquid; add water as needed. Increase the heat to high and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low, cover and cook for at least 1 hour and preferably 2 hours. When the dish is done, the chicken will be fall-apart tender, and the gravy will be thick from the starch of the potatoes. Add 2 teaspoons of salt, or to taste.

Remove the kaffir lime leaves before serving.

Serve with freshly steamed rice or French bread.

It’s best to allow the curry to sit overnight so the chicken really absorbs the flavors from the spice-rich gravy.

I made some minor modifications: for the chicken, I used about eight chicken thighs. I’m a fan of the the darker meat when it comes to poultry – it’s juicier and more flavorful, and I find it more tender than something like a breast. I used two cans of coconut milk (slightly more than the recipe called for) and went lighter on the water. It simmered for about two hours, but the next time I’d wait an hour before adding the sweet potatoes, which turned out less-firm than desired – almost too soft to stay intact in fact.

Overall, though, it was a resounding success. Andy said it smelled just like the dish he had at Van’s a few weeks ago. I attribute it to the magic of the Kaffir lime leaves. They made all the difference.

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Inhabiting the Moment

On JoAnn’s visit here this past weekend, we got around to discussing the way we lead our lives, and she mentioned that she needed to learn how to take things as they came, rather than being constantly concerned about what is next. I have the same issue, living in the future as opposed to the present. Every once in a while I’ll catch myself, force myself to slow down and admire that instant, make the most of that moment, and I can do it. Whether that’s sitting down in silence to have a piece of Scottish shortbread and a cup of tea, or turning off the stereo and pausing to look out over the winter landscape in silence. Those brief calming moments of quiet are too few and far between, and I’m trying to elongate and spread them out so much that they become a way of life. It would bring a sense of peace to things.

Both JoAnn and I need to focus less on what is about to happen, on what may or may not happen, and experience what is happening. A plunge into the present moment. A realization of the here and now. A connection to this world.

We belong.

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Mid-Week, Mid-Winter, Mid-Life Crisis? Not Yet…

On the tenth floor of my office building, at 7:13 in the morning, I am one of the only people around. The sky’s color is swelling, its lavender overture ripening into fiery pink and warm salmon, and then the bright explosion of sun, radiating from one central point so many miles away. It lights up the Hudson River, today covered in snow, but beautifully so, throwing off the blue light of the dawn’s pure sky. I take in the moment, pausing at the window, allowing the light to wash over me. Basking in such beauty works wonders for the soul, if we let it.

Sometimes it must seem like there are a lot of cryptic messages going on in this blog, and sometimes there are, but for the most part you only hear about the drama and the highlights – not the majority of quiet days, so I just want to set a few minds at ease. I’m not having a breakdown. I’m not having a mid-life crisis (I don’t plan on dying so young). I’m not shooting up or having online sex with strangers or buying little red corvettes. I am, however, trying to live a better life. A healthier one – especially regarding eating and drinking, a bit more exercise, and a kinder countenance. Over the last few months, I’ve noticed a steady decline in the way I treat myself, as well as in the way I treat others, and I’m going to turn that around.

It’s not so much a drastic transformation as a simple realignment. I’m not that broken, just a little jarred. There is work involved, and this week quite a bit of it, as I work to examine what has changed in the last few months, and where I’m going in the next few weeks. There is value in that work though, and I know quite well the importance of the process over the actual results. Where this takes me is anyone’s guess. I realize that with any growth and evolution, certain things – sometimes even people – must be left behind. What comes of such grand plans is usually a mixed bag. I’m hopeful the bag has more good than bad, and that it comes stamped with a Tom Ford logo.

Some things are better left unchanged.

And some things aren’t.

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Darren Criss, Shirtless and in Bed

Darren Criss certainly looks like he’d be a lot of fun in the morning. And even if he wasn’t, I’d wager you’re not going to kick him out of bed for being anything less. A rather shallow and gratuitous shirtless post of Mr. Criss, but one made worth it for the bedroom eyes and GIF motion.

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Is This The Trashiest Thing I’ve Ever Worn?

In public, perhaps. In private, far from it. Yet for all the nudity I post here, in person and in public I’m usually rather demure, or at the very least fully-clothed. This was the most exposed I’ve ever been, but for an event like The Gay Soiree, where gender-bending and over-the-top decadence were the order of the evening, I felt the need to step-up and represent. Hence the fishnets and the lace, the corset and the guy-liner, and, of course, the butt-for-lace glimpse of my derriere.

While not the most ideal ensemble for a chilly night in February, it was fun as hell (if a little tight – that corset is over ten years old, and unlike my waist it has not expanded over time). And the stockings? They don’t stay up without garters, which, hard to believe, I did not have on hand. No matter, the motion of having to constantly pull them up all night added to the sleazy look.

Accompanied by my friend Josie (who donned a wig, and that amazing coat from my own private collection – later given to her because she looked so much better in it than me), we made a somewhat amusing scene to Andy, who’s used to such shenanigans.

By the way, while I’ve always appreciated women, and what society demands of them, I have even more empathy now. Having seen the cost of eyeliner ($10 for a pencil? I can get two hundred #2’s for that!) having felt the tight tug of a corset (there’s a bugle bead still embedded in my back, I just know it) and having wobbled around in high heels (there’s a bloody toe somewhere in one of those shoes) my hat (clipped torturously into my hair) goes off to the ladies, and anyone who has the balls to dress like a lady. That takes a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of money. Here’s to the ladies!

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Schenectady Adores Kristin Chenoweth (But Who Doesn’t?)

She first caught my eye scrambling to the top of a human pyramid in ‘Steel Pier’. She then cast a spell over us as she descended in a bubble for the opening of ‘Wicked’. But last night, Kristin Chenoweth captured my heart just by being herself, in her solo show at Proctors Theatre, where she brought her music and magic to an adoring crowd.

A Broadway baby who’s made a mastery of the star-turn on television and in movies, Ms. Chenoweth is perhaps best-known and most-beloved for originating the role of Galinda in ‘Wicked,’ yet she was treading the boards for years before that. I remember her fondly in a smaller, scene-stealing role in one of her first Broadway shows: John Kander and Fred Ebb’s under-appreciated ‘Steel Pier’ from 1997. I sat in the third row for that show, and every time Ms. Chenoweth came onstage, she drew the attention and energy of the entire theater with her exquisite, heart-stopping coloratura. That such a petite pixie could produce such a powerful sound was a stunning and unexpected thrill, and I found myself standing at the end of the performance just for her.

She referenced that show before launching into one of Kander and Ebb’s better-known ballads ‘Maybe This Time’ from ‘Cabaret’ – capturing the brittle crux of desperation and hope that makes Sally Bowles such a transfixing and tremulous character. Chenoweth knows her way around the dramatic rendering of a story-song, both in poignant form (‘Coloring Book’) and lighter fare (‘Taylor the Latte Boy.’)

Her background in musicals made this a gratifyingly-Broadway-focused evening, even though she has several pop/country albums under her belt. After ‘Steel Pier’ she went on to win a Tony in ‘You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown’ and a couple of years later she returned to reclaim her Broadway crown in ‘Wicked’. The only issue I’ve had with all of her shows was that she wasn’t in every scene, which makes a solo performance such a supreme joy.

Chenoweth sprinkled self-deprecating interludes and anecdotes throughout the night (including a sweet shout-out to Schenectady’s own Ambition Cafe, where she’d gone earlier in the day) but it was her pure musical talent and artistry that reigned supreme, and the audience loved every pristine note, erupting in a couple of standing ovations.

A centerpiece of ‘Wicked’ tunes provided a contemplative gaze back over the last ten years. After performing ‘Popular’ for over a decade, she said she needed to do something to keep it interesting – in this instance that meant singing some of the verses in Japanese and German (she’s working on her Norwegian). From that touchstone song she moved into a touching audience participation moment in a duet with local eight-year-old Olivia, who held her own in ‘For Good’. Chenoweth said that Oz would always be a part of her, and proved it with a powerhouse version of ‘Over the Rainbow’ more than a little inspired by its originator Judy Garland.

Even with weaker material such as Andrew Lloyd Webber’s treacle (‘Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again’) she managed to make something transcendent, and while she impressively showed off her belting prowess at several points, it was the quieter moments that were more emotionally devastating. Her touching, delicate rendition of ‘Bring Him Home’ from ‘Les Miserables’ became a literal prayer, a song of faith, and an exhibit of finding the universal meaning in a lyric, turning it into something both intensely personal and utterly relatable. The high she gets off that sort of connection was exuberantly apparent.

The finale of the evening was her self-proclaimed anthem ‘I Was Here’ – a rousing and inspiring song in which she extols the importance of doing something that matters, and making your presence felt. In the hands of a lesser, less-genuine performer, the platitudes might have rung hollow, but in the care of such an impassioned and earnest master, it was nothing short of breathtaking. The crowd stood, demanding an encore, and Chenoweth delivered with an acoustic version of ‘I Will Always Love You’ done in original Dolly Parton fashion. It was the perfect ending to a perfect show.

Displaying genuine warmth, gratitude, grace, and a seemingly-effortless gift that soared beyond the rafters of Proctors and into the hearts of all in attendance, Chenoweth delivered a performance that cemented her status as one of the finest vocalists and song interpreters out there, as well as one of the most charismatic and enthralling stars to grace any stage.

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A Shirtless and Hairy Ben Cohen

Because some Mondays are so tough you need a little man candy.

There is none sweeter than Ben Cohen.

Especially without a shirt.

And in his wet underwear.

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