No, no, NO.
Andy shouted as I looked up from my laptop.
“A duck just landed in the pool!” he exclaimed. “Two ducks!”
Flashes to Our First Year of COVID skidded through my mind.
Other duck memories quickly followed.
This is their third visit to our pool in an apparent attempt to find a safe nesting ground.
We will deal with them accordingly. Humanely, but accordingly.
It will get done and we will not speak of it again.
If all goes according to plan – and when Mercury is in retrograde motion that’s a lot to ask – this weekend may mark the meeting of new and old friends, and there’s nothing more soul-nourishing than that. Spring hasn’t been all that we wanted it to be, but we are trudging through the rainy overcast days, hoping for those promised May flowers. To make up for it, I’m sprinkling a purple theme throughout the weekend’s festivities, grounded in 80’s music featuring Prince and Madonna – with lots of lavender to bring peace and calm.
On a Friday night in April, this is how we party these days, and it’s good. A set of purple candleholders in purple glass – from my Grandmother – sets the scene, and we will drink out of matching purple glasses when the guests arrive – the past now being given a new spin to make memories for the future.
Happy Friday!
My friends Ann and JoAnn are due to visit us this weekend, and throughout the decades I’ve known them they have fueled whatever fabulousness I’ve ever been able to conjure. They inspire and support me in ways that have been life-saving on certain days, and life-affirming every day. Lately, they’ve forged their own friendship, and this will mark their first in-person meeting. No stranger to loss, they seem to have found comfort in being such kindred spirits, and I’m so happy to host them. It’s enough to get me (back) into black lace and a fedora, and nothing much does that these days.
Raised in the 80’s, we are taking our dearly beloved Prince and making this a Purple Reign weekend, with all the 80’s bops one would expect from the likes of Madonna, Whitney, Belinda Carlisle, Boy George, Bon Jovi, et. al. Hats and black lace are my visual nod to that formative time period, when Ann and Josie would gaze upon their Debbie Gibson posters and all felt right with the world.
We will get a little deeper on friendship and the passing of years, but for now let’s just celebrate and inhabit the joy that a promising weekend beholds. Everybody’s worked toward the weekend, and it’s finally here! Everything will work out just fine!
More than any other segment in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ – more than the sassy quips of Glinda or the wonderful Wicked Witch of the West’s glorious cackle, even more than those fabulous ruby slippers – it was the transition from the sepia world of Kansas to the color-saturated world of Oz that always thrilled me the most. It was that magical space of a doorway or portal to another place, the way every exit, and entrance, marked a moment to manifest a new beginning, that spoke to me even as a child. Starting over again is one of the hard-learned lessons of life, one that I’m still struggling to fully understand. Years ago, that used to scare me – now it gives me a little thrill, the same sort of excitement that I feel when Dorothy opens that drab door and reveals a world of vibrant color.
It’s the feeling when winter shifts incontrovertibly to spring, or when the sun, dampened by an eclipse, reappears in rekindled splendor.
Defying the challenging weather we’ve had this spring, Andy practically willed the pool open this week. We both needed to see the pretty blue water instead of an algae-coated pool cover; our summer pool season is short enough – whatever it takes to elongate that is a good thing. While no one is going swimming anytime soon (at last check water was a crisp 50 degrees Fahrenheit) it’s a happy visage now that the cover is off. Echoing the elusive blue sky that this season has only deigned to show us in short, quick bursts, the water shimmers and promises us sunnier summer days ahead. For now, we wait and watch, and slowly bring the gardens and the backyard back to life.
It’s been a while since we’ve had a blue sky. All these days of gray overcast skies have left me restless and agitated, especially with so much outside work still be done. Mercury is in retrograde motion and nothing feels quite right. My mind is all over the place… difficult to focus. Wednesday posts are like that.
Who new that Leroy Anderson wrote more than Christmas music? Listen below:
The one constant is a daily meditation that grounds me for twenty minutes, quite literally, as I sink into the floor of the living room. Feeling the points where my body touches, anything to find a focus and stop the mind from spinning its destructive yarns. Outside, the sky spins too, the clouds moving like thoughts.
Andy has come around to the magic and the majesty of matcha, so I dipped into his new bag of green glory and made a cup of it to kick off this work-week. It’s Monday morning, which means it’s time for the weekly blog recap. You know how we roll, and if you don’t, welcome! Pull up a pillow and prepare to be soundly put to sleep…
Nothing beats a cock post to start off a week of blogging, am I right?
The Wonky and the Wayward (because this sure as shit ain’t ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ or even ‘The Young and The Restless’).
A Mexican salad recipe off the cuff and for posterity.
A day I’d been dreading for years arrived, and it was time.
Felled, frail, and fighting for the future.
Yeah, I’d likely drop my dick right now if it wasn’t attached to my body.
Cleaning up my cologne cabinet was a wonderful trip down memory lane.
There may not be crying in baseball, but there was certainly crying at Trader Joe’s.
Booty-shot clickbait (forewarned is fair-warned, as they told us in the retail biz).
Everyone, and everything, wanted to hide from the wind and rain this week.
First-world problems, because until we move to a third-world country, these are the problems we are going to have.
Dazzlers of the Day included Michelle Visage, Ronan Farrow and Jacob Tomsky.
The past week has felt wonky and weird, and every time I’ve gone out anywhere the roads have been filled with madness and drivers making very questionable decisions. I’ve felt it in stores and restaurants too, almost to the point where I’ve looked around to see if Candid Camera was still operating from some 80’s time capsule. It felt that extreme, and I couldn’t understand why since we’ve already had a full moon.
Then someone posted that Mercury is again in retrograde, and will be until April 25.
Well fuckety-fuck we are oh-so-fucked.
Knowing that, however, alleviates some of the anxiety that a world suddenly gaslighting me had put into my head. It’s not that the whole world has conspired against me – it’s just Mercury in retrograde! This isn’t your fault, this isn’t my fault – this is Mercury’s fault! And now that we know, we can embrace these little attacks and brush them off with customary nonchalance.
Enjoy the roller coaster ride until April 25 my friends!
Here, have a bouquet of peony tulips to ease the trauma.
Without any full-frontal April Fool’s shenanigans, this weekly recap finds us looking back at a week that still felt very much like winter, with a snowstorm that felled some of the most stalwart of souls, as evidenced quite plainly in the below photo of a downtrodden daffodil. Best to put all of that to rest and look ahead to brighter days…
It all began with a cake-pop, which gave more hope than the week ever delivered.
The Worm Moon reared its full-blown head, though no earthworms were to be found.
‘Boy Culture’, helmed by the magnificent Matthew Rettenmund, is still my go-to-site for gay culture.
Sometimes the best option for the day is one that cannot be accessed. That’s when you have to make smaller choices.
Snow in spring is complete and utter bullshit.
A musical post for the dark spring nights, not the bright spring mornings.
As I’m finalizing reservations for our wedding anniversary weekend in Boston, a choice of two gift ideas.
Dazzlers of the Day included Jeremy Jordan, Eva Noblezada, Ali Louis Bourzgui, and Jeremy Gloff.
Our wedding anniversary trip to Boston takes place a few days earlier than usual this year, thanks to the way the calendar falls, and in anticipation for that here’s a very short wish-list, starting with an exquisite Movado watch in purple and lavender. At $395, it’s one of the less-expensive offerings from that esteemed watch house, but that’s still way too much for an anniversary gift (this is our 14th, so we’ll go bigger next year) and our funding is less than ideal with home improvements and car upgrades.
Instead, I’m really hoping for a more reasonable bottle of cologne that just went on a super-sale here. It’s the 1.7 oz. selection of ‘Carnal Flower’ – a polarizing scent that I first smelled on an elegant woman at the Quill bar in Washington, DC on a trip with Suzie. She sat down beside us and I was so entranced by the way it worked on her that I got over any shyness and asked her what perfume she was wearing. She told us in a shy voice, perhaps not entirely comfortable with the ‘Carnal’ reference – which is precisely at odds with the attitude you need to pull this off. After 48 years on earth, I’ve learned and earned that attitude.
This bottle of ‘Carnal Flower’ is what I’m hoping Andy will order early (while it’s on sale) and bring to Boston so it can form a new olfactory memory from an anniversary escape I’m currently planning…
PS – I wouldn’t say no to this gloriously-garish cocktail ring either, in size 10…
This is too much.
Where was this nonsense in January when we needed/wanted it?
This helps nothing.
All it does is delay outside work, wreak havoc with outdoor bulbs just coming into bloom, and fuck up drives and travel. I am so sick of it, especially after our last ordeal with an ice/snowstorm.
This is bullshit.
Sometimes it helps just saying that out loud, getting all the ickiness and frustration out in a common curse word.
And sometimes it doesn’t help at all, because it’s still bullshit and just saying it doesn’t change that fact in the least.
Still, we try.
And still, this is fucking bullshit.
Andy was set to start pumping out the winter pool water and setting the stage for an early pool reveal. We have guests coming in a couple of weeks and wanted to start spring with their visit. This may delay the outside glory, and that does indeed suck. Memories of summer pool days go only so far when we are so close.
Matthew Rettenmund has been featured here before, but it’s good to give people a reminder of those websites that continue to produce impeccable and substantial content, because I know how difficult that can be. Rettenmund has been sharing his witty take on the world since 2005, and continues to be an entertaining bright spot amid this online world of awfulness. Check out ‘Boy Culture’ here.
Boy Culture was born on November 6, 2005, out of a desire to say something mean about a pushy journalist its founder, editor and author Matthew Rettenmund, had encountered at a Blondie concert. Since then, Boy Culture has grown to become an influential blog covering celebrity, gay issues, music, film, theater, beautiful men, humor and politics.
Wary and suspect, I’m still unaccustomed to celebrating a full moon and attempting to harness its powers rather than cower from it and hide away until it’s passed. The most recent full moon – the Worm Moon, also known as the Lenten Moon – appeared last week, and came with its usual bit of tumult. Is there really an uptick in crazy-ass behavior during a full moon? In my experience, decidedly yes. But I can’t tell if the full moon came first, or whether in my mind I simply have it programmed that such events will occur when the moon is full, and therefore subconsciously manifest the madness into happening.
Regardless of which it is, during a full moon I tend to be a little more careful, a little more mindful, and a little more accepting of the pratfalls that often accompany the lunar phenomenon. It’s an opportunity to practice one’s acceptance of imperfection, embracing the shit that a wayward day will throw in our way.
Last week’s recap was all about being powerless, this week is all about pumping out at full power. It’s Full-Frontal Monday, as we recap the previous week in this April 1st post. While spring is officially here, it barely feels like it, and we’re set for more nasty weather in the next few days, so hunker down and revisit all that has come before…
It began with beautiful ice and danger.
Observation of the century: every poo-poo time is a pee-pee time, but not every pee-pee time is a poo-poo time.
When friends write a blog post.
Castles aren’t fun to live in.
Three days of powerless bliss.
In the harmonies of Wilson Phillips, “You won’t see me cry.”
A Good Friday in a baseball cap.
Eliminating the fuzz and the buzz.
The Ilagan twins turn 14 years old.
Turning my traumatic Easter narrative on its head: he sits on my lap now.
The silly stuff of a child’s Easter.
The porcelain trappings of youth.
Dazzlers of the Day included Amelia Dimoldenberg, Theo James, Son Heung-Min, Scott Nevins, and Jared McCain.
Whenever I find myself thinking ill of someone, and it does happen as often as you may think, I imagine them at their most happy or joyous, and for some reason that resonant joy of being alive makes me feel more softly toward them, seeing them as a fellow human being and not an adversary. It usually works, even with the most heinous creatures who have done me wrong. This is a long-winded and overly-winding introduction to an old Easter decoration I loved as a child, which was one of those paper honeycomb creations that had a pale yellow Easter egg unfurl its three-dimensional tissue paper form surrounded by a playful bunny rabbit. That bunny’s expression was one of tenderness and joy, with slightly doleful eyes, and I fell instantly in love with the stupid thing, which soon became worn and ragged because I would bring it everywhere I went.
One day around Easter I must have left it somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be as my Mom threw it out. I found it in the kitchen garbage in a frantic search after I discovered it missing. After fishing it out I ran to her with tears streaming down my face asking her why she would throw it out. Her reaction was befuddled confusion, she hadn’t known how much I loved the silly paper decoration, and I had never shared how much I adored it with anyone either. Somehow I understood then, and at such a young age, that love would prove difficult and problematic for someone who didn’t show it.
An Easter memory that suddenly surfaced from the depths of what should likely be buried. ‘Tis the damn season!
