Category Archives: General

You know what that means: smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em! While I’ve never been a big pot smoker – or a pot smoker period, I have been known to take a toke on the rare occasion it rears its head. (Mostly this happened in my early twenties, when a lunch break from John Hancock and a circle of towering rhododendrons in the Southwest Corridor Park invited such shenanigans… but I digress.) Onto a much less hazy week in review, where the only smoke was that created by the hotness of a few choice Hunks, and the burning fire of creative inspiration.

First, the Hunks. We got to see the wood-working of Tommy Mac, the son of Dirty Harry ~ Scott Eastwood, the mad musical genius of Diplo, the news reporter Gio Benitez, the man who made something out of his boy band legacy ~ David W. Ross, the comic creation of Will Arnett, and the luminescence of Bright Light Bright Light.

Second, a citrus-based cocktail, to tease the sun out of its hiding spot.

Third, a citrus-tinged chicken recipe that seems to fill the stomach with sunshine.

Fourth, the incandescent maker of a pair of golden shoes that fly on sunlight itself ~ the jocular Jeremy Scott.

Fifth, a coat of sunshine in the midst of Chinatown.

Sixth, a group of nude men.

Seventh, a collection of quotes from a favorite book.

Eighth, a visit to my hometown ~ Amsterdam, New York.

Outside of upstate New York circles, I have to clarify when I claim to be from Amsterdam. Apparently my little hometown is not on the international map, while some sex-and-pot-riddled place in the Netherlands has made a name for itself under the same moniker. Visiting the real-deal has always been a dream of mine, but until that day arrives I’ll have to do with the city that stood home for a single windmill (until it burned down a while ago.)

On a recent weekend, I traveled back to Amsterdam, NY to work on a new project. My brother’s been renting out a space in the Clock Tower, once the center of the busy carpet mills that put the place on the map. Those mills closed, leaving a shell of an industry in their wake. Now, it seems the city is trying to revitalize the spot with some trendy industrial loft-style spaces. Sky-high ceilings and enormous windows make for the perfect backdrop for an artsy-fartsy photo shoot.

It’s for a top-secret project which I’ve been working on rather loosely for the past few months, and it kicks into high gear now that spring has reinvigorated my drive. Let’s just say it’s a final lesson in delusional grandeur.

To that end, I’ll be busy with photo shoots and writing and editing and compiling, so this site will be on auto-pilot. (Not that anyone will notice, as I’ll program posts as I’ve always done, and there won’t be a blip in the Hunk of the Day parade.)

Behind the scenes, however, this bee will be busy flitting from inspirational flower to inspirational flower, as I work to create the final piece of a puzzle that’s been in the making for twenty years.

The year, after all, is 2015. A lot of shit went down twenty years ago.

Karma Chameleon, baby… and remember: karma is a bitch.

“Nothing he did or said was unpremeditated. He saw through everybody, but he saw through them precisely because the first thing he looked for in people was the very thing he had seen in himself and may not have wished others to see.” ~ André Aciman, ‘Call Me By Your Name’

How could anyone intuit the manner of someone’s thinking unless he himself was already familiar with this same mode of thinking? How could he perceive so many devious turns in others unless he had practiced them himself?

What struck me was not just his amazing gift for reading people, for rummaging inside them and digging out the precise configuration of their personality, but his ability to intuit things in exactly the way I myself might have intuited them. This, in the end, was what drew me to him with a compulsion that overrode desire or friendship or the allurements of a common religion.

~ André Aciman, ‘Call Me By Your Name’

 Did his heart jolt when he saw me walk into a room?

I doubted it.

Did he ignore me the way I ignored him that morning: on purpose, to draw me out, to protect himself, to show I was nothing to him? Or was he oblivious, the way sometimes the most perceptive individuals fail to pick up the most obvious cues because they’re simply not paying attention, not tempted, not interested?

~ André Aciman, ‘Call Me By Your Name’

I’d never traveled in this world. But I loved this world. And I would love it even more once I learned how to speak its language – for it was my language, a form of address where our deepest longings are smuggled in banter, not because it is safer to put a smile on what we fear may shock, but because the inflections of desire, of all desire in this new world I’d stepped into, could only be conveyed in play.

~ André Aciman, ‘Call Me By Your Name’

Across the street from where I slurped a bowl of pho, I watched this gentleman step outside for a smoke. I was struck by his apron of bright yellow, and while it was more than likely a piece of utilitarian garb, for me it was the perfect spot of spring color. Like some striking canary in a sea of gray-backed robins, he shone like the sun, resplendent in a world of uninspired surroundings.

The wind blew his smoke down the street, and soon his quick break was over. Hunched over a bit, he shuffled back inside, while others hurried by ignoring his colorful outfit. My eyes followed until the door closed behind him.

The weather of April is so variable that it’s risky to put up any ‘warm and sunny’ post in advance of it actually happening. Oh well, no risk, no glory, so on with the story. As our Northeastern spring struggles to catch up with the rest of the world, April is wild and unpredictable, not unlike the last week on this blog.

The most pressing matter of the moment is the question of how I’m going to procure a pair of these sneakers. Ideas and donations are equally welcome.

I’m hoping to return to the brilliance of Boston very soon, preferaby with skies like these. And flowers like these.

Madonna performed a scorching rendition of ‘Bitch, I’m Madonna’ on Jimmy Fallon’s Tonight Show, but I was much more enchanted by her ‘Ghosttown’ song and video.

Along those lines, Terrence Howard made his debut as Hunk of the Day thanks in part to his co-starring role in the above-referenced Madonna video.

Slowly but surely, it’s on the way.

Stupid is as stupid says.

In the question of who’s hotter in their underwear, Justin Bieber is hardly giving David Beckham a run for his budgie-smuggling money.

When Kira’s around, things get saucy and Saulty.

Adam Lambert got ripped.

No matter what nastiness was going on outside, the Hunks of the Day kept things nice and toasty. This week’s honorees included Chris Nogiec, Filip Sjunnesson, Jussie Smollett, Ming Tsai, and, one of my favorites in a long time, Luke Watson.

Now that He is Risen, may we all get back into the groove? It’s been a week of high holy madness, with a (hopefully) final resolution of all my bunny issues, and a slightly more poignant Easter memory of my grandmother.

It was also the week I returned to Boston after a snow-blocked winter.  There’s nothing better than a Market Daze.

Confessions: I slept with a woman.

And Tom Daley went full-frontal on us.

And you won the lottery.

In the midst of all the holiness, a holy backlash.

A pair of Holy Hunks: Pietro Boselli and Aaron O’Connell.

It ain’t the meat, it’s the motion.

A Boston Tea Party, minus the hate.

If I were married to a woman, it might look something like this. And that’s no laughing matter.

Finally, Nick Jonas got all nude and naked on us. Happy Easter indeed.

There’s no greater joy than dissolving into uncontrollable laughter with an old friend over nothing. As you can see from the evolution of these photos, I tried to be serious, but ultimately failed. Kira held it together much better, but her expression seems more confused (and therefore more hilarious) than anything else. Like so many who know me so well, my antics don’t register as anything more than typical nonsense. All in a day.

We tried to do a more meaningful photo set earlier in the day, but these lighthearted shots are more indicative of our easygoing, enjoyable relationship. I’ve known Kira for almost seventeen years, and in that time she’s become like family. I’ve never needed that more than I have recently, so seeing her in Boston last weekend was a boon to my heart.

She’s one of the few people in the world around whom I am completely comfortable to be myself, and to let my guard down. Hell, I even got into bed with the woman. (Despite what you may have heard in the past, I don’t usually do that. I like a healthy three feet of distance between me and the closest person, and woe to those who violate that issue.)

She’s like a sister to me, and someday I’ll go deep and try to figure out why I seek out substitute parents and siblings who will protect and make me feel safe. Kira does that ~ in her unassuming kindness, in her supportive, helpful way, in her genuinely good-hearted nature. It is one thing to act out of forced familial obligation, quite another to actively choose to be kind and interested in someone.

As you can tell from the evolution of these photos, we always deteriorate into laughter, no matter how hard I try to be serious. That ease and release is something I treasure above all else. It’s rare and it’s precious and it’s the only way I’ve known to feel like all is right with the world.

While broken marriages are not usually a laughing matter, sometimes a little joke is exactly what is needed to put things in perspective and move on with your life. To that end, Kira and I worked through her relationship woes with a few staged photos meant to depict the waning days of a marriage. We only got two semi-serious shots out of the whole thing (the comical test shots are coming up because they make me laugh hysterically) which is actually a good thing. Reaching the stage where you can laugh at something is the final part of the healing process.

Intended to portray two people at the end of their ropes, at the very moment between hanging on and letting go, these pictures hint at darkness, and the dimming of the romantic idealization of love. Heavy stuff for two silly friends just filling a Saturday afternoon. There is more than a little cathartic magic in make-believe.

It’s almost blasphemous to post this on a day like Good Friday, but such is the state of this blog. When in doubt, blast out the blasphemy! God strike me down if I did you wrong, this is not a love song! I saw these crazy kids running in Boston during last weekend’s snow Saturday. Weather be damned, they were going to get their meat run on if it killed them. I was in a far less celebratory mood, barely containing my disgust in my winter parka, and certainly not running around like a lunatic in a hamburger costume. (And I almost always love a costume, especially in an unlikely place – which is basically anywhere when you’re a hamburger.)

Move over Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, my sex scandal involving a woman is about to hit the sheets – I mean the streets. Rather than let rumors and stories circulate, rather than allow speculation to run wildly rampant, I’m going to put it all out here and let you get it straight from the source.

Years ago, my friend Kira and I went out for an after-work shopping expedition to some mall outside of Boston. A friend and co-worker offered us some weed, but we each steadfastly refused. I just didn’t do it, but Kira’s explanation was more succinct, and I quote: “If I do that I will make love to Alan right here in the backseat of this car!” Obviously, I pushed the pot as far away from Kira as I could.

Cut to this past weekend in Boston. While there was no pot involved, one photo shoot led to another and before you know it we might as well have lit up a doobie or swallowed a batch of funny brownies.

You know my motto in life: hit it and quit it.

And you know my other motto on days like this: Happy April Fool’s!

Due to the twins’ birthday and a weekend in Boston, I didn’t get to post a weekly recap yesterday, so let’s get that out of the way now. It’s the last day of March anyway, which makes it ideal for such a look back. I hesitate to see that we have seen the last of winter, particularly in such a cruel year, but I saw daffodils poking through the ground in Boston, and snowdrops in actual bloom. The pendulum is on its swift move. Stand back.

The Hunk of the Day feature here went a little deeper with this entry honoring legendary Olympian Greg Louganis.

A fun family dinner welcomed Elaine and Tony back into the moody Northeast spring.

Andy and I turned up the Homoradio.

Silver-fox favorite Max Joseph and Zac Efron made a pair of fine-looking gentlemen.

Marking his second appearance as Hunk of the Day, male supermodel Noah Mills once again made a pretty splash.

I finished ‘Wasn’t Tomorrow Wonderful?’ by Kenneth Walsh, and it was quite wonderful indeed.

Another inspirational Hunk of the Day, Noah Galloway, showed the world how to overcome anything.

Groundbreaking or not, I love florals for spring.

Eat the fish!

The Ãœber-fit Roger Frampton in all his shirtless glory.

It wouldn’t have been nearly as good a week without a little shirtless Channing Tatum, and a naked Austin Armacost.

A touching Special Guest Blog by my pal Joel.

But the highlight of the whole run was this stripped-down-but-epic performance of ‘Ghosttown’ by Madonna and Taylor Swift. Bow down.

We welcomed snowbirds Elaine and Tony back to the Northeast with a dinner of ham and potatoes au gratin this past weekend. They’d been fortunate (and wise) enough to have spent the winter in Florida, and were none too pleased with the weather that was waiting for them upon their return. Luckily they brought their own sunny countenances, along with a couple of bouquets of flowers to drive off any lingering winter darkness.

My father-in-law and sister-in-law joined in the fun, as did Suzie and her family. Andy made a special strawberry cake upon request from little Momo, who proclaimed it “very good.” All in all, it was a sweet way to spend a Saturday night. If all goes well, the next time we gather together may be for an outside barbecue. (Dare to dream…)

In the meantime, let us have daffodils and disappearing snow.

Though it feels far from that glorious season referenced in the title of this post, technically it is spring, and I’m dressing as if to the manner born. That means bright pastels and colorful shoes, snow and ice and dirty streets be damned. The turn of the seasons was marked in tell-tale fashion with this filler post. (Nostalgia played a big part in this week’s posts, and you do have to take my word for it.)

The week began with this glorious Not-Safe-For-FaceBook post, because if there’s one entity that has its finger on the pulse of appropriateness, it’s fucking FaceBook.

Better yet was the exploration of The Art of the Jockstrap and the magnificent craftsmanship at work by The Crochet Empire.

The bulge of a prince was more than fit fodder for Hunk of the Day Richard Madden.

Slices of 80’s nostalgia were in full-effect with this ditty by Roxette and this piano-driven ballad by Richard Marx.

Perfect male model Isa Rahman was all we needed for this Hunk of the Day honor.

This is the only kind of hand-cuff I could handle, and it’s quite beautiful.

Another beautiful male model, Chad Buchanan.

Things got a little deeper with some uncomfortable-because-they’re-true family issues, and a look back at one magical night out.

A pair of European beauties rounded out the superficial delights of the week: Stepan Pereverzev and Olivier Rousteing.

In the midst of a lull…

On the hunt for inspiration…

Amid the chaotic ramblings of a transient heart…

This Sunday morning offers the dawn of a new promise, like every morning does, but the fact that it’s Sunday instills it with more meaning.

Tom Ford can simply open up his closet, slip into a dressing gown like the one seen here, and find all the beauty he needs to keep going. For the rest of us mere mortals, a little more is required. For those days when Mr. Ford is feeling uninspired, he claims to don a tuxedo, deck himself out to the nines, and suddenly everything feels a bit better. I get that. It’s partly why I put such effort into my wardrobe. It’s rarely done to impress others; it’s done to empower me. I need all the help I can get.

In the first few days of spring, before it really feels like spring, there is this limbo of dirty slush and gray skies. Everything feels so bleak. A state of purgatory before it gets really good or really bad. Either way, the heat will soon be on.

In the meantime, my eye is on Boston, where I’ll return for the first time in what feels like forever. No matter the state of snow, I shall be there next weekend, catching up with Kira and the city I so adore. It’s time. Spring weather or winter remains, it’s happening.

A fresh blanket of white stuff covers the land, and the first day of spring looks remarkably similar to the first day of winter. It’s a kick in the face to those of us so desperately hoping for something warmer, something sunnier, something less fucking winter-like. Enough is enough.

In honor of this seasonal change, let’s look back a year or two at some other first days of spring. You’ll find it’s not all that different. For instance, in 2013 I seemed to be equally unimpressed with the arrival of the new season. (I’m so bitchy sometimes.) But on that day I had some moving musical memories to keep me warm. (Plus, Hunk of the Day Dylan McDermott was keeping everything else quite hot.)

Sometimes the moon helps ring in the spring season, as it did in 2011 (even if I didn’t show my moon.)

Last year it seems the seasonal shift made no mark on blog posts, as they stayed smutty and shirtless, as in this one featuring Henry Cavill, and this one featuring Hunk of the Day Jason Beitel. To be fair, they were merely  lead-ins for the lead-us-into-temptation bit of this post. (And so we don’t just push you to the edge and stop, the climax.)