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Category Archives: General

Halloween, or My Day Off – Part I

When you dress in relatively outrageous attire on a regular basis, a day like Halloween is like a breather. It’s a bit of a relief to see everyone else finally put as much care and concern into making an impression as I try to do on a daily basis. For that reason, I usually sit Halloween out – or if I do go to a party or event, I tend to be considerably subtle about it. (A hooded cape is the most you’ll usually get out of me.)

For those who want a bit more, here’s a sampling of what I wear throughout the year. These are various get-ups for holiday cards, grocery shopping, work, and the day-to-day hum-drum existence of a casual blogger. This is why I’ll be in sweats and a t-shirt today.

PS – Don’t even think about ringing my doorbell.

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DO NOT FEED OR ATTEMPT TO RESCUE

Here’s a warning I really did not need:

“Please do not FEED or otherwise attempt to rescue my CHILD.”

Is this the most disturbing thing you’ve seen today? I’d rather a real child was in danger than see this atrocity. I will not sleep well tonight, or ever. Previously, only bunnies gave me pause. Now I have to reassess my view on clowns. Thanks Obama.

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The Burning of Fall

Burning leaves carried on the wind, the smell of smoke both a warning and a comfort. The dry words of Henry James, a most-dissatisfied writer by many accounts, were recalled to my mind. ‘The Turn of the Screw’ and its haunting mind-fuck of a tale somehow became part of the day. A brittle walk into November, over a carpet of dry moss and dead leaves, not usually a thing of dread, suddenly turned darker. That gray light of mid-fall, muffled and dim and sad enough to suck the joy out of the brightest countenances (of which mine is certainly not one) descended as the day advanced.

Shadows deepened and the birds grew quieter. The bustling of the chipmunks and squirrels died away, the fear of the nocturnal hunters had set them into hiding.

Goblins appeared in the gnarled trunks of trees that had seen more years than I had. Exposed roots, like the knuckles of ghouls, grasped the ground and sought something more – escape or surer-footing perhaps. The forest casts a strange spell in the fall.

A stand of ferns had turned a ghostly pale yellow. They would fade and fade until they disappeared completely. In the woods, in the fall, that sort of thing happened. They went missing. One day a toadstool was resplendent in speckled salmon, the next it was gone. Torn from its foothold by some hungry marauder or felled by a hard frost, it was impossible to tell – it simply ceased to be where it once was. Holding onto a space in the forest, no matter how small, is tenuous stuff. Even the most ferocious raptor can be pierced by a bullet. That cuts both ways, though, and the forest takes back hunters and wanderers- the trespassers and the lost – with equal recklessness.

A fallen apple, like fallen grace, stilled in momentary beauty, would soon rot, and all the world around it would crumble too. The winter loomed ahead.

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Fallen Leaves, Fallen Countenance

For many years, fall was the season of doomed romances for me. They blossomed, mostly in my head, from the simplest and smallest of gestures, then grew – fed by desperation, an insatiable need for love, and a desire for companionship – before erupting in raging flame, burning those closest to me, singeing those in furthest proximity. Like the season itself, their beginnings were beautiful and kind, cozy and warm, but they soon turned cold and bare, empty and barren, as hollow and destitute as a faded, rotten jack-o-lantern.

When I was very young, long before I knew the heartbreaks that would unfold for me, I used to walk in the forest in the fall. The smell of leaves – still fresh, not quite wet with decay or rot – was invigorating, the crunch of them, enmeshed with coppery-hued pine needles, a happy accompaniment to a solitary journey. Dappled sunlight, brilliantly illuminating the flaming tree leaves still held aloft, lent the woods a lighter feeling than the dim green of deep summer.

That false lightness, however, is deceptive. When the fall day turns, sooner than it does in summer, the forest changes. It happens quicker than you expect, too, falling with sudden grace, but not quickly enough for you to notice right away. It’s a more insidious way of lowering the shades – not enough to eradicate the light, not until it’s too late.

This is when the ghosts of Hester Prynne and the Headless Horseman come to my mind. The breaking of a twig, the rustling of leaves, and any change in the wind signals danger. Fall adds the impending weight of winter to any load, no matter how far off it may be.

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The Last Recap of October?

When next we recap things, it will be November. If that’s not enough to set a chill into your time-stopping hearts, I don’t know what is. Where did the days go? Where did the time fly? Where was I in the last five days? Let’s re-examine what went on here.

It was a week of Hunk requests, and Roman Reigns reigned as the week’s first Hunk of the Day.

Some of us celebrated Andy’s birthday (I gave him the gift of time – in an hourglass).

The Liberal Party swept through Canada, riding on the sexy coat-tails of newly-elected Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. Everyone keeps saying that he is the sexiest PM, but I have ask: what exactly is the competition? I mean, can anyone name one other sexy PM?

Sex. Just Sex. (Ok, and Erotica.)

Requested Hunks like Tyler Posey make me feel old.

Knee-deep into fall, the turn has been made. The past is in the past.

Austin Armacost had his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

Never one to let another guy get all the ass-glory, David Beckham put his best bottom forward.

But when it comes to banging butts, the edge has got to go to Kayne Lawton. Sorry David.

Hotel primping.

I’ve already declared this The Year of the Soup.

Soup it up, baby. We have a long road ahead, and we need all the inner-warmth we can find.

Another request for a Hunk was honored in the appearance of Teddy Sears as Hunk of the Day.

Coming up this week is a quick recap of our latest Ogunquit jaunt, and a few other surprises for the Halloween season… until then, one more shot of Kayne Lawton.

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A Very Savory Soup

My newly-kindled love affair with soup is in full-effect with this entry. I’ve declared my obsession with Lidia Bastianich from the Create Public Television station (don’t get me started on one man’s unhealthy fixation on JoAnn Weir) and one of her Italian cookbooks features a section on soups that has transfigured the entire notion of that liquid love.

Most of my former issues with soup revolved around the idea of it being rather insubstantial starter fluid, light of heft and lacking in anything fully filling. An ill-fated cabbage soup – made mostly of water and cabbage, and devoid of flavor or broth – did nothing to help my disdain for the dish. Yet there are ways to bulk up any watery concoction – from the simple amendments of noodles or rice, or more decadent additions of coconut milk or cream. When all else fails in thickening up a big pot of the stuff, simply boil it down for an hour or two – even the clearest of liquids will eventually condense into flavorful richness. Oh, and when even that doesn’t managed to turn it something good, drop in a few bay leaves – the greatest secret of many a cook.

Lidia suggests the making of a big batch of vegetable broth base, from which you can create virtually any kind of soup. Still holding onto a few strong threads of doubt as to how flavorful a soup could be made from water, potatoes, celery and carrots (not even an onion or clove of garlic!) – I forged ahead and did as instructed.

The most difficult part of this is the peeling and cubing of two pounds of potatoes – but this is the work that keeps one occupied on a cold day, the mundane routine of the kitchen that, when coupled with music and a glass of red wine, can turn into something wondrous instead of woeful. It’s the cozy preparation that lays the groundwork for a spectacular bowl of goodness that will warm the oncoming night. I’m getting ahead of myself. First, the recipe, from ‘Lidia’s Family Table’:

SAVORY POTATO BROTH

Ingredients:

  • -        ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
  • -        2 ½ pounds russet potatoes, peeled and diced into ½ inch cubes (approx. 6 cups)
  • -        2 teaspoons salt
  • -        2 stalks celery, finely chopped (about 1 ½ cups)
  • -        2 medium carrots, peeled and grated (about 1 ½ cups)
  • -        3 tablespoons tomato paste
  • -        4 quarts water, heated to boiling
  • -        3 bay leaves
  • -        1 or 2 pieces outer rind of Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano cheese

Preparation:

In large cooking pot, heat oil to medium-hot, but not to the point of smoking. Add potatoes, sprinkle on 1 teaspoon of salt, and toss in oil. Cook until lightly crusted and caramelized (about 6 minutes). Lower heat to prevent burning, and stir so they don’t stick. As potatoes start to leave a crust at bottom of pan, add celery and carrots. Stir well, scrape up any potato crust, and raise heat until vegetables are hot and steaming. Push aside to clear a hot spot in center of pan and drop in tomato paste, cooking it a bit before integrating it into the vegetables.

Pour heated water into pan, drop in bay leaves and cheese rind, grind 1/2 teaspoon black pepper, add salt, and stir well. Cover pot and bring to a soft but steady boil for an hour, stirring occasionally.

Uncover pot and cook for another hour or so, still at low bubbling boil, until it has reduced to 4 quarts.

After an hour, remove the bay leaves and let cool. Divide as you wish, or use as a simple soup on its own. Oddly enough, I didn’t happen to have the outer rind of a big-ass block of cheese lying around, so I omitted it – though I can see how that would add another layer of richness to the affair, and may find a smaller piece in the future for just such a purpose.

This is the savory vegetable broth base from which I made two variations on a couple of Lidia’s recipes: a parsnip and fennel soup, and a bok choy and scallion soup. Basically I chopped up the additional ingredients and boiled them for 45 more minutes or so. The russet potatoes somehow remained solid enough and didn’t fall apart – not sure if this was due to the initial cooking in oil part, but whatever the reason, it’s a happy one.

Though it’s a simple recipe, it does take time – but that’s cooking time, not active preparation and work time, so once it begins you can sit around writing silly blog posts while the heat works its magic. You can also speed things along by upping the heat and boiling factor, but the slow nature of the cooking process is, for me, part of its cathartic empowerment. One of the best lessons of all is to be found in the making of soup: patience.

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The Incontrovertible Turn

The snow was not necessary to let us know that the turn into fall had been executed a while ago. It flickers and fades in the memory, receding further into the past. No longer is it possible to pretend that it hasn’t yet happened. There are a few more warm days to come, I hope, but the chill has set in, and the heat that the earth holds through early autumn has just about dissipated. Once it goes, it’s very difficult to get it back again, and we likely won’t have that all-enveloping warmth until next June. That feels like a long way off.

On Sunday, when the first few snowflakes fell, I’d made a tour of the yard. It had been a couple of weeks since I was last out. The fallen annuals and desiccated, brown ferns depressed me too much. In addition, I’d been sick, and traipsing around in the cooler weather did not seem like a good idea. Besides, I’d already seen the devastation that the arrival of fall inflicts on a garden. It starts with the ostrich ferns, particularly in such a dry hot summer. They were on their way out months ago. Now, they are long gone.

The leaves of the coral bark Japanese maple tree are just beginning to light up, and as soon as they turn yellow the brackets of their red bark will form a magnificent pairing. The traditional Japanese maples will burst into a brighter scarlet, and when they catch the dying sunlight they will burn like the most glorious fire.

The lady ferns have held on, and will slowly go a ghostly pale-cream shade, much like the lighter leaves of the Solomon’s seal have already done. This year the leaves of the hydrangeas have gone straight to burgundy, an interesting combination with their pink umbrels which continue the show. I cut them off and brought them inside before the hard frost.

Northern sea oats are in their seed-headed glory, nodding their dangling architecture in the slightest breeze, swaying and gently shimmering in whatever light the day affords. They’ve gone an earthy tan color, but even that will glow in afternoon sunlight. One of the best, and most surprising, color shifts occurs on the feathery leaves of the weeping larch. It looks so convincingly like an evergreen that the switch to a bright copper hue is startling, and always a shock. A beautiful, fiery, final clarion that will have to be enough to ignite the memory until its soft wintergreen starbursts signal the arrival of another spring.

The garden breathes slower now, preparing for its annual slumber. The days sigh, giving way to the nights. There will be other ways to find warmth now.

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An Almost Snowy Recap

Yes, it snowed here yesterday, Ho hum, hum-drum, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. Too early for that kind of nonsense. Way too early. Thus, we do our best to keep things hot just a little bit longer.

Today is Monday, but the real blues hit tomorrow.

Ben Todd was incendiary in full-color, and black-and-white. 

Stal and vamp, vamp and stall.

Simon Dunn had his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

Show us your tackle, indeed.

This will never be a political blog, unless it involves hunky politicians like Martin O’Malley.

Madonna: at close range (at least, the closest that I’ve ever been).

By request, Randy Orton was another Hunk of the Day.

Eat here at your first opportunity.

One of the more polarizing Hunks of the Day in recent memory is Frankie Grande.

This Speedo Trio was a triple-threat of sexiness.

Separately, they were pretty hot too.

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A Most Amazing Boston Restaurant

Celebrating our 40th birthdays, just a couple of months after the fact, Suzie and I reserved a seating at O Ya, probably the best restaurant in Boston right now. It was to take place the night before our Madonna concert, and the entire weekend was a much-needed reunion of two very dear (and ever older) friends. After a brief out-of-the-way excursion (we got talking and didn’t realize we passed our exit by 45 minutes…oops!) we found our way back on track to Boston and arrived to a parking space right on Braddock Park. No matter, we hadn’t seen each other in a while, and certainly haven’t had much one-on-one quality time, so this was a luxury. The sun was shining, the first days of fall were just upon us, and the weekend stretched out full of promise and possibility.

A cocktail at the Hotel Intercontinental started things off on the right foot, but after that it was all about the amazing works of culinary art that paraded before us at O Ya.

Each plate was a revelatory masterpiece, building in taste and exquisite artfulness.

It’s a pricy endeavor, but one only turns 40 once. (Thank you, Suzie!)

The dinner was matched only by the company, and Suzie always manages to remind me of comfort and safety and family, and all the good things on which we should be able to rely.

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Back-Log Rolling

The only good thing about the sinus cold that is ravaging me from the neck up is the fact that it waited until the end of this year’s trip to Ogunquit to strike. Thank you, thank you, thank you for that small favor. (Other years have not turned out as fortuitously.) Unfortunately, that meant going into work with a countenance that was decidedly less than happy. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a wimp when it comes to sickness – after a childhood wracked with asthma and lactose issues, I can take a bit of sickness and discomfort without much complaint. However, when I do get ill, it’s no joke. And yes, I’m a little testy, but never wimpy about things. Needles and blood tests and hospitals never scared me. Hopefully we won’t get to that point. I’ll stick to a steady regime of Zicam and hot green tea made with boiled water infused with fresh ginger coins. Tastes as delightful as it sounds!

In the meantime, I promise to do my best in getting back on track with some updates regarding recent Boston and Maine trips, and some magical Madonna moments as well. The Delusional Grandeur Tour isn’t slated to resume until next week’s ‘Book of Mormon’ performance at Proctor’s, so there’s some time for recuperation. I am determined to let nothing derail this tour! Ok, the second exclamation point in as many paragraphs is a clear indication that I’m not right! Oh God, there’s a third. Heading out to find my mind…

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Tuesday Mornings

I’ve long maintained that Tuesday mornings are far worse than Monday mornings, and that holds doubly true on the Tuesday after a Monday holiday. I’m not sure why I’ve always thought less of Tuesdays. Maybe it was that damn religious education class that we were forced to take on Tuesday afternoon, the one that extended the school day well beyond that of those fortuitously-non-Catholic heathen classmates. More than that, though, I think it’s because one expects that avalanche of awfulness that is Monday, so when it comes, it’s never as bad as it seems.

Tuesday takes you by difficult surprise, the morning minutes slowing to a snail’s pace, halting and hesitating and making themselves known in a cadence that usually goes unnoticed on a Monday. Of course since today is the first day of a workweek, it may function more like Monday in that respect. So I’m hoping I won’t mind this Tuesday as much. I’ll save the drudgery for Wednesday.

This post has been brought to you by post-weekend/post-vacation laziness.

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A Minor Holiday Recap

It seems strange to be celebrating a man who basically ravaged this country’s native people, so this “holiday” will pass without much notice from me, other than a day of thanks for having it off from work. It’s certainly no reason to skip the weekly recap, so here it is, a bit later in the non-work day.

It began in fine Hunky fashion, with the likes of Matthew Manning making his debut as the Hunk of the Day. A day later, Jeff Grant had his Hunk cherry popped in even finer fashion.

Boston will be coming back here in a big way, as I’m about to drop a few Beantown posts that will round up the last couple of tour stops there.

I’m popping bottles that you can’t even afford, I’m throwing parties and you won’t get in the door.

A Hunk by the name of Leo Sabato makes for a sunny Sunday indeed. And Monday. And every day.

Things got very eclectic here, not just once, but twice.

Hotels and Tours go hand in naked hand.

Vagabond Booty.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour continued, as three more installments of the Tour Book hit the blog:

On the Road/Hotel: Part I

On the Road/Hotel: Part II

On the Road/Hotel: Part III

The (male) Flesh & the Fantasy is all coming back to me now.

And more male flesh comes back again.

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An Eclectic Collection ~ 2

Continuing with our exploration of the whimsical and strange posts that have appeared on this site, here are a few more out-of-the-ordinary posts. That means entries without Gratuitous Nudity, Naked Male Celebrities, Male Models, Male Nudity or Tom Daley. But there’s still worth looking at, I swear! In fact, I find them much more entertaining than my ass, or anyone else’s ass, and that’s saying something.

Color me nostalgic.

A favorite bathroom floor experience.

Adventures in Babysitting.

Do I make you porny?

The thrill of recognition.

Heart of gold.

Kitchen mayhem (not of my doing!)

A WalMart Midnight.

Speaking of the midnight hour

McFly, my pretties.

Hot pause.

The Seagull.

Baseball, baby.

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An Eclectic Collection ~ 1

Every now and then I like to veer away from Madonna and Ben Cohen and even David Beckham to post something strange and, in my opinion, wonderful to share with you. (I’ll never have enough Tom Ford.) I consider these one-off posts the spices that go into making this blog a little more flavorful and unexpected. There’s nothing better than a third act surprise. Sometimes whimsical, sometimes funny, and sometimes touching, these entries are just different enough to keep people guessing. Here are a few of my favorites:

The first girl I almost married.

Correspondence with my niece and nephew.

A trip to the ballet.

6th Grade S&M. (I started early.)

It separates us from the animals.

The horse whinnies.

Every once in a while you need a little smudge.

Confessions of a Former Twink.

The moon in spring (and I don’t mean my naked ass).

Rainy day activities.

Campy!

Going commando, semi-inadvertently.

More to come… so come back.

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A Chilly Recap

This was the week in which the tide turned. Temperatures plummeted and fall was indisputably at hand. A Super Blood Moon kept things interesting, and I laid low to avoid the insanity and moodiness that sometimes accompanies such a lunar event. (End result: little to no sparring.) I’m embracing the shift, getting back into the kitchen for some roasted spaghetti squash, and perhaps frying up some sage leaves for a butternut pasta dish later. For now, our weekly look-back.

It began by the wrap-up of my Seattle Tour Stop. Shopping played an integral role in that visit (duh) but so did Snowqualmie Falls. It was Laura Palmer and Dale Cooper country, and it did not disappoint. Neither did Seattle.

It was Ally Week, and I gave a few shout-outs to some of my favorites.

It was a week in which I went true blue, literally, going back to my Manic Panic roots, but with a professional (and permanent) twist.

Speaking of favorites, there were a few new Hunks of the Day to enter internet immortality, as ephemeral and fleeting as that may be. Say hello to the shirtless shots of Nico Tortorella, Jack Mason and Jacek Jelonek.

Nick Jonas took his shirt off as well, and flexed his muscles, but he’s already been a Hunk of the Day, so until he does something more he only gets a minor post. Justin Bieber did NOT get naked, and has never been a Hunk of the Day.

This butt-shot got banned from FaceBook, but I reaped the benefits of the ban as always.

A life in motion.

A much-needed break.

The Madonna Timeline returned with ‘Ghosttown.’

A major clean-up of my social media pages, and a new way of utilizing those sites, was put into effect. I feel more joyous already. (Don’t take any of it personally.)

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