Category Archives: General

This video always cracks me up, and on a day when it’s supposed to hit 96 degrees it’s a very fitting one. I want to hang out with this lady.

One question: Who the hell is paying for this damn meat??

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6tKJvWWDP4

The first time I went to a production at the Mac-Haydn Theatre in Chatham, NY was the day I told my parents that I was gay. Well, it was the day they read the first draft of a letter-to-the-editor in which I said I was gay. It was also the day they told me they wished I wouldn’t publish it. That night, my Mom had tickets to some musical revue at the Mac-Haydn, purchased and planned at a prior time, so we took the long awkward ride into the beautiful rolling hills of Chatham. It was a quiet drive, one in which I contemplated keeping silent to appease my parents, while struggling with the very real need to reveal who I really was.

We drove along the verdant roads, past tall fields of corn on the verge of being harvested, by ponds dotted with wild geese. Nodding umbrels of Queen Ann’s lace drooped after the hot sun of the day. Fuchsia-tinged thistles lifted their sharp leaves upward. The sky was a bright blue, holding a few puffy clouds, and the air was still. In the heat of high summer, it was better not to move too much. It was easier that way. More comfortable. The effort of sending out ripples sometimes feels more onerous than letting things lie.

I don’t remember much of the performance that evening. One thing that does stick out in my head was the oppressive heat, still lingering even after the sun went down. Sweat was pouring off the performers. One must have wiped it off between numbers a little too quickly and carelessly, as he returned to stage with a big piece of paper towel still stuck to his forehead. It was all I could focus on; my mind was entirely elsewhere. Bothered by the expected, but still unexpected, lack of support by my parents, bothered by the confines of upstate New York, which seemed to stretch out and sprawl forever, but held onto its small-minded lack of acceptance as if it was all that mattered, I couldn’t pretend to care about singing and dancing. I wasn’t that strong yet.

At intermission, I mulled around the little lobby area, lingering until the last possible moment. The lights went down and we were shrouded in darkness. The show began again, and for another hour we could pretend that nothing was wrong. And really, what was wrong? The simple fact that I was gay? Or the act of me wanting to tell the world? It was probably a little of both.

The ride home, in the kind of all-enveloping darkness that can only be found in the country, was equally quiet.

The next day I hand-delivered my letter to the local newspaper. I was directly defying my parents’ wishes. I was deliberately disobeying the two people who raised me. I felt guilty, and sad, and hurt – and like the biggest weight had just been lifted from my shoulders. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made in my life – and it saved me. When you can’t count on anyone else to do it, sometimes you have to save yourself.

The heat is on, and it’s not just on the street. It’s absolutely everywhere. Every-fucking-where. Like, there is no escape. It reminds me of a heatwave that swept through Chicago when I visited one summer. It was the kind of sticky heat that soaked you in sweat within minutes of walking outside. It literally took me hours to make it halfway through the Magnificent Mile, as I ducked into every store along the way for the sanctuary of air conditioning. I went into places I never wanted to see – Nine West, Escada, every single bank (because banks are the coolest places in the summer). Foot by foot I padded along in the oppressive Chicago heat, seeking relief wherever it could be found. (Notably in an extended stay within Crate & Barrel, where I think they began to fear I had moved in.) I’ve been in some hot places over the years – the Philippines, San Juan, Miami, and an overheated Volvo on a cross-country jaunt in August – but I’ve never been quite as hot as those few days in a Chicago heatwave.

This week looks to be a hot one here. My ties only last about half the day. My thoughts wander to water, to lapping waves, to a sparkling pool. Everything sweats in this heat. Windows, glasses, grocery bags. We seek out respites of coolness, shadowy spots of relief, and when we find them we pause. Summer has a way of stilling things like that. It’s one of its best secrets.

Though there are only four gifts I am really pining for the most this birthday season, I suppose I should put some filler gift ideas up here for more casual acquaintances and cheap-ass family members, or future friends I have yet to meet but would be glad to do so if they get me one of these beauties. THink of these as stocking-stuffers for the Big 4-0. As always, one can never go wrong with Tom Ford, and while most of his items are beyond the means of many, Gilt offers some of his items at a deep discount. A pair of sunglasses would be absolutely lovely. (And actually cost less than his Private Blend fragrances.)

There’s also my old standby Amazon Wish List, which has been updated and is once again current. Please make generous use of it. And, as I was once reminded of on a wedding invitation no less, money is always the right size and color. See, there’s always someone more crass and classless than me.

How in holy hell did we mange to reach the last week of July already? Karen Carpenter would roll over in her tiny grave if she knew we hadn’t just begun, yet here we are. This ends the leisurely summer weekend phase, since come August 1 I will be officially ‘on tour’ which fortunately is more a state of mind than anything else, but upcoming trips will lend it some credence. Before that, though, this look back at the height of summer.

British actor Danny Walters kept shirtless vigil by the pool.

My birthday wish list was revealed – though a more reasonable one for more casual acquaintances will be posted shortly. Hey, I want EVERYONE to be able to participate.

The soon-to-be classic beefcake pin-ups of tomorrow as seen today.

This pretty survivor is resplendent in pink.

A Dusty Hunk who is equal parts hairy and hot: Dusty St. Amand.

Our 15th anniversary arrived in lovely fashion.

The only kind of cars I can afford to give Andy at the moment are the blog-post kind.

More Tour Promos, as inspired by the great Diana Vreeland.

Currently playing at the Mac-Haydn Theatre: West Side Story.

The Boulevard of broken dreams.

Shirtless hunk Yadier Rodriguez.

Is Grindr cheating us of our destinies?

Big, bodacious & beautiful Ben Cohen.

The great Diana Vreeland plays a major inspirational role in the creation of the new Tour Book. Her love of a super-saturated red, for example, informs the color palette for the book. Sometimes I catch myself trying to tone things down for certain events (weddings and what-not) but Ms. Vreeland never did that. At work, I don’t do that either, hence this Cynthia Crowley folder design that decorates the office with a punch of color. (I have a matching pencil holder and clips to go with it.) There is something to be said for the softer, subtler entrance – but embarking upon one’s Final Tour is neither the time nor place for quietude and gentleness. Instead, I am hitting hard and bold, and living up to the dramatic name I’ve created. It may not be real, but it’s fitting for this last time.

To live as unapologetically and unabashedly as Ms. Vreeland and Ms. Crowley, embracing one’s love for powerful hues and anything-but-delicate color is a lesson in fortitude, strength, self-expression, and pride. It is the power to be so completely yourself that confidence comes as second nature. If you project something long enough, it eventually comes to be, whether you believe in it or not. The opposite proves true too, which means that habit can be dangerous, and stagnation may only breed further stagnation. Once a rut finds footing, it’s difficult to change the path. But not impossible.

I’ve done it.

And I’ll do it again. One final time.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

The curtain goes up August 1, 2015

Kindly take your seats…

Go to the wood and bring me back…

This August will see me turning 40 years old. While some may see no reason in celebrating such a milestone (and I may be one of them) I’ll be damned if I don’t take advantage of the once-in-a-lifetime moment and put forth a wish list worthy of such a fat number. This one is for my parents and husband, who, when left to their own devices, do their best but occasionally miss the mark when it comes to gift ideas. As in so many other arenas of my life, guessing what I might like for a present is dangerously difficult territory. I know this, I acknowledge this, and I apologize for it. Let this wish list go some way toward alleviating the pressure and the guess-work. (And they say I don’t care!)

First up is the most elusive and difficult to find. As of now, it is completely sold out everywhere, but whispers of it on ebay have reached my ears, and “if you want something badly enough the whole world conspires to help you get it.” These are the gorgeous  Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings 3.0 “Gold”, Size 9.5 or 10 designed by the brilliant Jeremy Scott (I will make either size work for a thing of such beauty.) Being the hardest to procure, by natural design they are the ones I want the most. If anything would mark my 40^th in a special way, these golden wings would be it. (Again, Size 9.5 or 10 would work, and these are not to be mistaken for similar wing-tips that Mr. Scott has produced – these are the ADIDAS JEREMY SCOTT WINGS 3.0 GOLD SNEAKERS. No substitutes or frauds.

Second, as if on cue, Tom Ford is about to release a new Private Blend – Venetian Bergamot – and on paper it combines two of my favorite things: Tom Ford and bergamot. The former has long been a bastion of this blog, and the latter has been a favorite scent of mine for years. We won’t even get into the fascination and allure that Venice holds. (Surely you remember ‘The Venetian Vanity Ball’ we threw in 2005?) Another sign that this one is meant to be: according to Neiman Marcus, it will be shipped out on my actual birthday, August 24. Thank you, Tom Ford.

Third, a wish of a whiff from across the pond comes courtesy of British gent Richard E. Grant and his ‘Jack’ fragrance. Cries for the Union are answered in this delicious cologne, which feels perfect for the march from summer into fall, and I like to set these things up early.

Finally, given that I’m about to go on my final tour, just send me somewhere fun and far. San Francisco, London, Miami, Chicago, Los Angeles – all would be welcome and fitting jaunts for The Delusional Grandeur Tour. It will be my very last stand, commemorated by my 40^th birthday, and a guaranteed something to remember.

Bring me these before the chime of midnight…

Henry James thought that there was no finer pair of words than ‘summer afternoon’ – but, as I often do with his writing, I also take issue with that statement. ‘Summer weekend’ has a much lovelier ring to it. This past one was just about perfect in every way. Our house was filled with dear old friends, and some youngsters, the weather was sunny and hot, and the pool was a perfect 85 degrees. I didn’t want it to end. None of us wanted it to end. Yet that is the very thing that makes a memory most happy. One last look back over the week that led up to it.

A bit of lace, fit for a queen, came in the form of this classic summer flower.

An unorthodox choice for Hunk of the Day, James Corden proves that Hunkdom comes in all shapes and sizes.

A more traditional Hunk was gay Australian bob-sledder Simon Dunn.

As we near August, we approach my 40th birthday. For better or worse…

Speaking of which, here’s an entry for my upcoming birthday wish list: Jack cologne by Richard E. Grant.

Derek Yates was crowned for a second time, while Scotty Dynamo and Danny Perez, Jr. popped their Hunk cherries.

Cuteness to the extreme.

My half-naked turn as the naked chef.

The promotional push for the New Tour ~ ahem, the Final Tour ~ began in earnest.

This shall be The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star.

And you will Surrender.

“It’s not a mad hatter’s tea party. It’s meant to be a sensual, erotic display. You’re there to get a new husband, a new boyfriend, a new girlfriend, whatever. And you can get it. The hat is a means to an end, a marriage contract. It’s everything. It’s a sensual thing – the idea of catching somebody like a spider in a web. It’s the old fashioned cock-and-hen story, the mating dance. Men love hats. They love it because it’s something they have to take off in order to fuck you. Anyone can wear a hat.” – Isabella Blow

Tomorrow, the New Tour is christened with a name. Come back for the big reveal.

#TheFinalTour

Rabbits are not customarily welcome in our yard, no matter how cuddly and cute they are. This year, however, we have so many weeds in the lawn they’ve been doing us a favor by keeping them at bay, and leaving our more precious commodities alone. This little guy/gal has been peacefully hanging around the front, nibbling on crab grass (and occasionally rising on his/her haunches to chew on some Clethra, which normally is not cool, but it needed to be trimmed back anyway).

I don’t recommend fostering this type of behavior, because it’s only a matter of time before the weeds run out and they discover the delicious sweet potato vines on the patio. Then the battle will begin. For now, though, I’m enjoying the cuteness.

A perfect July weekend comes to a close, and I’m still hanging onto memories of all that I did (lounging by the pool, reading, watering the gardens) and mostly what I didn’t have to do (anything else.) It was [sigh] practically perfect. And like all things that good, it had to come to an end. But other weekends are bound to follow, and exciting things are already on the way, so let’s take one quick look back before we go forward into fabulousness.

Justin Bieber showed his naked ass in the manner to which I’m usually accustomed, and it was better than most people envisioned.

Ben Cohen looks just as sexy fully-clothed as he does in his underwear, so this post may leave you feeling torn.

A threesome-themed post with Mr. Cohen and David Beckham. Who wants to be the third?

It was a week spent mostly by the pool, and that was a very good thing.

Cuteness on high.

Barrett Pall entered the elite two-time Hunk of the Day club, and quite deservedly so based on these photos, while Mariano Ontanon made his Hunk debut.

I want to smell like this by the end of July.

Is this guy the sexiest math teacher in the world?

Madonna has left me with many a summer memory. Here are more than a couple.

The variety of Hunks of the Day proved extreme, as we vacillated between a sexy straight guy casually fronting for marriage equality in the fine form of Joe Santagato and an openly-gay dancer from across the pond, Robin Windsor, between a straight go-go-dancer in Hollywood, Jeff Tetreault, and the openly-gay internet phenomenon Tyler Oakley. Oh, and UFC champion Conor McGregor.

The most important development of the week, however, came in the form of the first glimpse of the Final Tour. It’s what I’ve been working on for the past few months, and the reason why things here have been light and hectic and somewhat less than what I hope you expect. That’s all about to change. The reveals are about to arrive…

Summer can be sticky, but we haven’t had enough of it yet to start complaining. Still, the humidity of the last few days has begun to feel oppressive. The sky wants to let loose with a storm, but the air is holding onto every drop of moisture as though afraid to release it now. Perhaps air knows something sky doesn’t, that to let go of itself at this point would prove far too perilous than trying to hang onto what little it has. Sooner or later we all get a little desperate.

This past Sunday I finally had the chance to simply float in the pool. Up until now, I haven’t had the opportunity or luxury to do so, in spite of all appearances otherwise. Those whose lives appear the most effortless are often paddling double-time beneath the surface. Just don’t call me Howard the Duck until I get lift off.

Groups of three.

One single post.

Easy way out.

Love is lavender.

What a prick.

Hunky Tom Goss.

The prostitute’s meal.

Choi Ho Jin.

To the lighthouse.

These Instagram dreams.

More Ben Cohen.

And David Beckham.

A July recap.