Category Archives: General

Doing my damnedest to avoid the usual insanity that accompanies such lunar events, I’m laying low for a day or two until this zaniness passes. I seek peace and quiet, searching out meditative moments of respite in a reckless day. While that whirls on and the world surveys the cycles of the moon and the stars, let us look quickly back with our traditional Monday recap. (Remaining Seattle adventures to come…)

The summer annuals held on during the last few days of the sunny season.

Even so, summer had to come to an end. It always does, it always will. Luckily, the same holds true for its return.

A last minute summer Hunk held onto the heat: Cody Calafiore.

Fall holds its own enchantments.

Before we go full-fall throttle, however, a last journey for the end of the summer: Seattle.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour touched down in the Emerald City for some good food, a glorious walk in the woods, a brush with hardy cyclamen, a naked view, a pod of orcas, and a damn fine cup of coffee. The rest of the trip unfolds a little later, as does the rest of fall.

Fall, you have arrived. With very mixed feelings we welcome you. Your gourds, your squash, and your pumpkin-fucking-everything. Your pretty leaves, your picked apples, your cozy bales of hay. You snap us to attention with your brisk cool days, your biting breeze, and the way you plunge us into closed windows, even if we’re not quite ready to let this summer go. It was such a good one, you see, and no one wants the good ones to end.

Yet you are seductive and beautiful, especially at first, when we need a reprieve from the heat and humidity. Your early nights, so perfect for sleeping, are the stuff of cricket-chirping ease. Your days, when they are sunny and the sky is blue, are more richly shaded than the brightest summer morning. Yet we know what else you carry, what storms you bring. For that we say welcome with the slightest bit of trepidation. Yes, we still fear you, like the first day of school or the impending arrival of a hurricane. Go easy on us.

Our Summer of 2015 recap continues with August and September – two very eventful months as befitting these particular tick-tocks of time.

It was the summer that I headed out on The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star – my final tour. It began, as all good things do, with Madonna. Thus far it’s seen us through an opening, an entrance, a bunny hop, some Sunset Boulevard, some Joe Gillis, some Norma Desmond, some more Norma Desmond, and even more Norma Desmond. It’s gone to Boston, Cape Cod, Portland, Albany (!) and Seattle, with upcoming jaunts to Washington, New York, and maybe even London before it wraps. This is only the beginning.

It was a summer that saw at least one hottie in a Speedo.

Summer sees beans, not magic beans, but green beans.

Sail away with some summer music.

Summer finds a way in-between.

Summer also found me a publicist.

Summer is poetry.

The sweet scent of Hermes still reminds of the season.

This summer I finally met The Brits. The circle of friendship widens in happy form.

Another Brit, Tom Daley, was not in his Speedo as much as usual, but he did deign to stuff it here.

There were additional Hunks to keep it all hotter than hot: Bryce Thompson, Joe Zaso, Miles Teller, Steven Dehler, Luke Shaw, Ryan Phillippe, Jess Vill,  Sacha M’baye,  Warren Carlyle, Jonathan Duffy, Justin Willman & Jessie Godderz.

It was the summer I turned 40, with some planning, some navel-gazing, some breakdowns, some naked hilarity, some sea pals, and some decadence.

It was a summer of florals.

Introducing Iris Apfel: inspiration, muse, and oh so much more.

It was the summer Madonna launched her miraculous Rebel Heart Tour, and sang one of her best songs in years. (And this weekend Suzie and I hope to see it for ourselves!)

Sometimes summer brings about school memories, shameful or not.

And spewing of shame, there’s this horrid woman.

A jockstrap is fit for any season. As is a Speedo.

Summer is a time to read a classic.

My Dad shares my sign of the Virgo.

My birthday went both heralded and unheralded in myriad ways. It had its special dinners, its secret gardens, a roof-deck brunch, Tom Ford, birthday suits, and solitude. And then it was done.

Kafka & Murakami.

More Ben Cohen.

And still more Murakami.

Farewell Summer… until we meet again next year.

Oh sweet beautiful season of summer, you always depart too soon. You know that by not lingering we will love you more, miss you more, want you more. The promise that you will be back doesn’t mean much once winter comes, but we’ll hold it dear until the spring. You have always returned, and a season of her word is ever noble.

This was a happy summer – the very last one of my 30’s – and I’d like to think I made the most of it. Poolside gatherings with friends and family formed the happiest memories, and the gardens had a banner year to back it all up (the elephant ears are big enough to hear the whole world). I didn’t want it to end… we never want summer to end, so here’s a look back, for those fall mornings when things get dark and cold. Bookmark it for when you need an escape; I know I will.

SWEET SLEEPY WARMTH OF SUMMER NIGHTS

GAZING AT THE DISTANT LIGHTS

IN THE STARRY SKY

This summer, like most summers, or any other season for that matter, was about Madonna and hot men.

It was a time for an Hermes fragrance by way of Mssr. Li.

It was the summer we celebrated the Supreme Court’s ruling on marriage equality, no matter what that ugly-on-the-inside Kim Davis is trying (and failing) to do.

It was the summer of sweet peas and Queen Ann’s lace and a stalwart little petunia braving the sidewalks of downtown Albany.

THEY SAY THAT ALL GOOD THINGS MUST END SOME DAY

AUTUMN LEAVES MUST FALL

BUT DON’T YOU KNOW THAT IT HURTS ME SO

TO SAY GOODBYE TO YOU

WISH YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO

NO, NO, NO, NO

AND WHEN THE RAIN

BEATS AGAINST MY WINDOW PANE

I’LL THINK OF SUMMER DAYS AGAIN

AND DREAM OF YOU

It was the summer in which Justin Bieber showed off his naked booty, even though most of us wish it had been Pietro Boselli.

It was the summer I peered over the edge of 40, and examined it with a little fear, and a lot of hope.

I also paid homage to the naked chef, in my own naked way.

Other gentlemen removed their clothes as well, because summer is a time for heat.

Just ask the beautifully beefy Ben Cohen, or a Speedo-stuffed Steve Grand.

Moreover, check out the Hunk of the Day posts for Jon Kortajarena, Casey Lee Ross, Darius Ferdynand, Simon Dunn & Scotty Dynamo.

THEY SAY THAT ALL GOOD THINGS MUST END SOME DAY

AUTUMN LEAVES MUST FALL

BUT DON’T YOU KNOW THAT IT HURTS ME SO

TO SAY GOODBYE TO YOU

WISH YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO

NO, NO, NO, NO

It was the summer that my Final Tour began, and it was christened thusly.

It was the summer of survival, and not just where you bump and Grindr it.

It was the 15^th summer I’ve spent with Andy…

And my first with Diana Vreeland.

It was – and it will be again – a summer of sunsets.

AND WHEN THE RAIN

BEATS AGAINST MY WINDOW PANE

I’LL THINK OF SUMMER DAYS AGAIN

AND DREAM OF YOU

There will be a much more exhaustive summer recap encapsulating the entire season in a bit, but for now a look back at the final full week of the sunniness we’ve so far enjoyed. To be honest, I’m not really sure where I am right now – going back and forth from Maine to Seattle, Albany to Boston, and back again next weekend, makes for a tricky touring schedule, but onward we go! Hell, if Madonna can do it, so can I (and my entourage is far less in number).

My 40th birthday was still going on (and it will be all year, so you’re just going to have to deal with that) and one of my favorite Tom Ford Private Blends came out just in time for the celebration. I wore a special birthday suit for the inaugural spritzing. And then I wore nothing at all (birthday booty warning!)

A wedding video and some magic made Justin Willman a Hunk of the Day.

Kafka and Murakami made for excellent bedfellows, while providing no reason whatsoever for this extent of disrobing.

Andrew Christian model Timmy Thok and Mr. Pec-tacular himself, Jessie Godderz, were named Hunks of the Day.

Ben Cohen was gracious enough to send me a birthday Tweet, so I made him a birthday post.

A quick weekend in Portland, Maine was captured in a single post.

Ginger Eddie Eduardo made his Hunk of the Day debut, as did inked model Jordan Levine.

This week, provided I can manage it, The Delusional Grandeur Tour hits Seattle, Washington. Are you ready to ride with the whales?

We interrupt the 40th Birthday journey with this quick recap, coming later in the day than is usual because I felt like switching things up a bit. It’s taking me a little while to catch up on things here – trips to Portland, Maine and Seattle, Washington are both forthcoming – and right now we are in the midst of my Boston birthday weekend, so there are good things to come. It’s also best to keep people guessing as to where I am. (It deters would-be thieves, not that there are any with a retired police officer guarding the goods. Forewarned is fair-warned.) On with the recap!

In the event that you’re in need of a great read, and have not yet experienced this one, I fell instantly in love with ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’.

This is one of the last times I get to say, “It’s still summer,” this year. I’m crying too.

Madonna is back, and better than ever.

It takes balls to wear a Speedo.

My Dad was born on 9/11, many years before that date had such significance, so here was my belated homage to him.

As mentioned above, I’m finally getting around to describing my 40th birthday weekend. An early dinner at Douzo, an almost-secret garden before a massage, and this most glorious brunch at the Taj.

The only place in which I wanted to turn 40 was the Judy Garland Suite.

Or under the sea.

And there is more to come after this recap… so stay tuned.

As I’ve done since opening this website in 2003, tomorrow marks the one day a year when things go silent here out of respect for the lost lives of 9/11. Words have never been enough to convey the profound loss and sadness of those who experienced that day, and I would never be able to explain the shock and horror of everything that we all went through at that time. Instead, a day of silence – to honor, to remember, and to heal.

Tomorrow also happens to be my Dad’s birthday, but he has never minded the lack of a timely post for that. And in case he does now, here’s an early Happy Birthday to him. More later…

On this day of Labor, we recap the week before, and as I’m wrapping up a Tour Stop in Seattle as we speak, let’s delve immediately into the past before looking ahead. Unofficially the end of summer, Labor Day is really when the fall season heats up. To that end, the Hunk of the Day feature was in full daily effect, with the gorgeous likes of the following gentlemen strutting their shirtless selves:

Jess Vill

Nate Gill

Sacha M’baye

Warren Carlyle

For many unfortunate people this week marked the return to school. Sucks to be them! And on some days it sucked to be me, saddle shoes and all.

Hateful, homophobic, and law-breaking fashion-abomination Kim Davis was still defying the highest court of the land and refusing the issue marriage licenses to gay couples.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour rocketed from one side of the country (Portland, Maine) to another (Seattle, Washington) in less than a week. Boomerang anybody?

While hooting it up in Seattle, a series of Sunset Boulevard posts from the Tour Book were put up. It began with a pool, and the unfortunate detour of a writer at the end of his rope ~ a man who ended up the victim of his own machinations as much as… hers.

My love affair with Norma Desmond began twenty years ago, and comes full circle on this tour. This world’s waited long enough, I’ve come home at last.

Sparkling in the waning hours of a sun-filled afternoon, the water looks inviting. Do not be deceived: this is no bath. The water is cold. Its still surface belies its deadly charm. Like some California dream, it is all an illusion. Pretty enough to look at, but no one would dare delve deeper into such a frigid world. Do we know the day when it is at hand? Do we ever really know the day? I think we only know it when it’s gone. It’s only real when it’s over. It is safer that way.

For now, a pause to admire the prettiness of the scene. A pristine look before bodies and waves and blood pierce moonlight-stained water. A bed of liquid to break a dead man’s fall. Or a pocket of delusions to give him wings. Either way, he’s about to take flight…

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

Next Stop: SEATTLE, WA

Such a sad and sorry post, to signal the coming end of summer and its final full month. I don’t want it to go, I don’t want it to go, I don’t want it to… Repeating this like a mantra, like a prayer, I try my best to slow time. That’s the worst thing to do, as it always has the opposite effect. It is far more effective to focus on the moment, and making each one memorable. There’s too much to lose by being distracted by such mind games. On with the recap.

Sometimes a Hunk of the Day is so named simply because of his eyes. Jacob McCaslin is one such Hunk.

Ryan Phillippe is the same age as me, which just feels grossly unfair, because his body is in an entirely different bracket.

Getting locked in a gym is all Nicholas Clayton needed to do to make it into Hunk of the Day status. That and his body.

Little pockets of beauty, little bouquets of flowers.

This UFC mixed martial artist got naked before he threw the punches.

‘Iris’ may well be my new favorite movie. Another testament to the power of Mr. Maysles.

The artist as Hunk: this is Dustin Yellin.

La vie en rose.

A jockstrap is always in vogue, especially on these male celebrities.

Finally, a hint of pink.

Ensconced in the Judy Garland Suite of the Lenox Hotel on my 40^th birthday, I am in no position to worry about blogging or updating this website, so I’m pre-populating posts such as this one, in which a look back over the previous lovely week will have to suffice until my return to the hum-drum existence to which I’ve instantly become unaccustomed. While we normally do the weekly recap on a Monday, it’s a day late because of birthday shenanigans. On with the show…

One of the first official tour stops was Cape Cod, but even better than that was the introduction of The Brits ~ cherished friends of JoJo who quickly became cherished in my heart as well. She has a knack of making people feel like they belong.

Summer flavors are better than any other.

Sumer was blooming its head off.

In real time we’re just ending it now, but this is where it all began.

Tom Daley’s bulge is beautiful in burgundy.

Beauty’s where you find it, and sometimes it whispers.

The rousing cry of the return of a rebel.

A Madonna Timeline to coincide with the eve of a birthday.

I turned 40. Fucking 40. And I think I’m gonna like it here.

Happy Ass Ending, because some things never change.

Holy fuck, I’m 40. In what crazy-ass time-warped universe could I possibly be 40 years old? I was just 29 a few days ago… In some ways it’s unthinkable, in some ways it’s inevitable, but mostly the act of turning 40 is, for me, uneventful. It’s never been the number that’s bothered me. There are deeper forces than some arbitrary milepost at work, and that’s where my head is at right now.

‘The Big Chill’ was on television the other day, and watching that when you’re about to turn 40 is akin to watching ‘Leaving Las Vegas‘ when you’re about to turn 21 (I managed to do both, with various emotional landmines exploding around me). The first time I saw ‘The Big Chill’ I found it drab and dull, but what was once a big bore suddenly became relevant and relatable. The set-up is slightly contrived, but it provides the perfect backdrop for the ruminations of incontrovertible middle-age: following the suicide of one of their college friends, a group gathers and finds their lives far from where they thought they’d be. Here was a group of people who found themselves losing their way and grappling with the realization that while the time for dreaming went on forever, the time for action and for doing anything may have already passed. There’s a coldness to this, and a hardening of the heart that, once begun, is very difficult to slow or stop.

“I haven’t met that many happy people in my life. How do they act?”

~ The Big Chill

I’ve felt that chill recently. I don’t know if it’s turning 40, or simply the ripening of my situation. I’ve been with a loving gentleman since 2000, I’ve worked my way up to a decent position at work (after starting out as a Grade 5 Data Entry Machine Operator almost a decade and a half ago), I have a wonderful support group of close friends who’ve stayed with me for the better part of several decades, and I’ve been generally healthy for most of it. In so many ways, I have so much. Yet there’s been a gradual erosion of the spark and jolt of feeling alive, of new experiences and new places. I find myself looking back at previous periods of life and thinking how much more colorful and exciting they were, how much more passion and excitement and hope buzzed with the birth of each day.

Unaccustomed to such nostalgia, I was surprised by the worry and weight that was slowly building. There was a sense of general ennui, to the point of madness, in what followed a long, gentle, barely-discernible slope of sadness. Yet for all of that, I haven’t done much about it. I’ve been complacent, unable to muster the real ambition and drive to do anything other than vaguely complain or whine on occasion, finding substitute thrills in clothing or cologne or the same old trips to the same old places. I’ve wondered about those friends from high school and college, as I watch them expand their families on FaceBook, as I hear from them on birthdays, as we move further and further away from our youth, and from each other. I hope they are finding their own happiness.

“I just love you all so much. I know that sounds gross, doesn’t it? I feel like I was at my best when I was with you people.” ~ The Big Chill

Then I think the terrifying thought: what if it meant more to me than to them? What if everything I’ve ever believed in was a minor footnote in their lives? It’s so hard to tell whether we matter – whether we really and truly matter. A crippling doubt envelops everything then, and an insatiable insecurity – never quelled, never satisfied, never conquered – over-rides all the good I’ve ever tried to do in this world, and suddenly it all feels so pointless. We want so much to mean something to somebody. Anybody.

“A long time ago we knew each other for a short period of time; you don’t know anything about me. It was easy back then. No one had a cushier berth than we did. It’s not surprising our friendship could survive that. It’s only out there in the real world that it gets tough.”~ The Big Chill

I have to believe that it still matters, that we still matter, that what we went through together still means something, still holds a place of significance in our hearts. I have to believe that love doesn’t just disappear, doesn’t fade away even when time and place and circumstance keep us apart. I have to believe that even in the smallest, most mundane motions of a day there is meaning and magnitude and magnificence. If we don’t believe in that, if we don’t believe in something…

“Wise up, folks. We’re all alone out there and tomorrow we’re going out there again.” ~ The Big Chill

I don’t want to think that we’re alone. As much as I love my solitude, and as well as I do forging my own way, I don’t ever want to feel that I’m truly alone. I also don’t want to feel like nothing matters. If I’m dramatic or high-strung or over-the-top, let me be that way. The opposite is apathy. There’s nothing more cruel and damaging to the human spirit than someone who just doesn’t give a shit. That kind of coldness can crush the happiest soul.

And so I greet 40 with gleeful defiance and happy ownership of everything I’ve done up until now, and everything I have yet to do. I will still be here. I will write, and I will take pictures, and I will read and garden and sing along to Madonna songs as loud as I like. I’ve done it since I was a child, I’ve done it as an adult, and I’ll do it until the day I die. I’m taking all the foolish baggage that comes with turning 40 and turning it into something to signify the start of everything. We are far from done here – and we always will be.

Ahh, August. Favorite month of all the months, for so many reasons – and not just birthday ones. August is the last full month of summer. August is the last month with no school. August is the last month when there are more days in the pool than out of it. August is heat and sun and fading flowers. Most of all, August is happiness. Contentment. The calm before the storm. And I don’t want it to end, so let’s go back in time, just a week, and do it all over again.

We held a retirement gathering for my new publicist Gin-Gin, and she wore a head-dress that was simply stunning. Let me see your peacock. (Don’t forget to follow @CircleOfAlan on Twitter!)

Zac Efron and his man-purse, even if I employed that look years ago.

Summer poem for a summer night.

There was beauty in the form of male models, including Genaro Perez, Norbi Novak, Joshua Joles, Jake Jensen & Ellis McCreadie.

There was something more serious from the mouth of my own brother.

The latest, and last, for Hermes from the brilliant Jean-Claude Ellena.

Take a colorful toke.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour picks up steam, with some support from my naked ass and Louis Vuitton.

Somebody else has an August birthday, and she’s one of my favorite people in the world.

Finally, some sangria, for summer.

THE HOUSE WAS QUIET AND THE WORLD WAS CALM

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
~ Wallace Stevens