Butt What?

This is just a blatantly gratuitous grab-ass butt-focused post to ease us into this Monday holiday. I’ve shown my ass here numerous times (shall we count the ways? ~ one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, a big fat hen), but it’s not always as covered as it is here. So that’s refreshing, right? One shouldn’t be naked all the time. Well, maybe some should. But I’m not one of them. These photos were taken after a quick shower the last time I was in Boston. It’s much too cold for such nonsense – come back in July. Or at the earliest, June. The pool will be open by then. The weather will be warm. And the whole of summer will be in fullest bud.

Until then, hunker down and cozy up in a Henley and some twill or tweed. This winter is not yet done with us, and any glimpses of skin will be in short supply for the next few weeks. (At least, my skin.) The Hunks will continue to disrobe. The models will preen and pose. And the nude male celebrities that populate so many posts will still drop trou.

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Presidential Recap

Today is a day off from work, so I’ll likely be home puttering about and sleazing across Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. A couple of years ago I did an entire day of live blog posts, with photos taken at each stage, and descriptions given of every minute. That was a bit much – as tedious for me as it probably was for you. I may try it again in slightly easier form, but today is not that day. I’m sleeping in, but here’s a recap of the past week and its mid-winter/mid-February insanity.

Kicking off the week was a brilliant performance by Kristin Chenoweth at Proctors Theatre. She knows about Popular.

I decided to bite the shameless bullet and post what I wore to The Gay Soiree. I still love it.

We put the new kitchen to its first major test, with this Vietnamese chicken curry, in preparation for a fun weekend with Josie. We need the company, and the talks.

I think I’m gonna love this.

The Olympics got sexy with the likes of Christof Innerhofer, Jeremy Abbott, Louis Smith, and Gus Kenworthy.

It was Valentine’s Day, but I decided to go a different route than usual.

The Madonna Timeline returned with one of my very first favorite songs.

So ten years, what’s… what’s the big deal?

Various other hunks took off their shirts to keep things warm and toasty, beginning with Darren Criss, continuing with Andrew Christian, Marco Dapper,  and a naked Dan Osborne  (bonus shot with a Speedo-clad Tom Daley)before finishing with a healthy bit of shirtless Ben Cohen. (Oh, and a few more shots of Dan Osborne/Tom Daley in their skimpy swim attire.)

Sometimes you have to let the words fall out.

And for those looking for a holiday treat, I’ll show off my ass in the next post. Anything for Mr. President.

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More Dan Osborne & Tom Daley

In the likely event that this naked post of Dan Osborne and Tom Daley wasn’t enough earlier today, here are a couple of GIFs to really put the cherry on this Sunday. Alas, the US does not yet have an equivalent of ‘Splash’ – the diving contest that brings out the boys in their bedazzled Speedos – not that American celebrities would be so brave and bold. At any rate, enjoy this bonus post before the week begins again.

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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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