Category Archives: General

Advance word on Fifth Avenue is that attendance at the ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s Formal Evening Affaire‘ as put on by GLSEN is at near-capacity, which means that tonight’s party will be hopping with the best and brightest of Albany’s sweet and elite. As soon as I finish work, I’ll be making a mad-dash home to primp and preen for the event, which begins at 5:30PM, making it the prime jumping-off point for a weekend of Pride parties and the big parade.

Please join us at the Washington Park Lake House, where the black tie is formal and the feather boas are always encouraged…

“It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.”

Every year at this time we tend to get a little crazy. Maybe it’s the residual antsy-ness from school, or the delayed effects of a long winter of cabin fever, or just simple revelry in the sun and warmth. It makes you want to get into the car, roll down the windows, and burn some rubber. So that’s what my brother and husband did in this ’69 Pontiac GTO, while I clung to the backseat, hanging on for dear life.

Suffice to say, once around the block was more than enough for me.

It defies everything we thought we knew…

My mid-life crisis is going to last forever.

Doesn’t Every Poet Write a Poem About Unrequited Love?

By Mary Oliver

The flowers

I wanted to bring you,

wild and wet

from the pale dunes

and still smelling

of the summer night,

and still holding a moment or two

of the night cricket’s

humble prayer,

would have been

so handsome

in your hands —

so happy – I dare to say it –

in your hands –

yet your smile

would have been nowhere

and maybe you would have tossed them

onto the ground,

or maybe, for tenderness,

you would have taken them

into your house

and given them water

and put them in a dark corner

out of reach.

In matters of love

of this kind

there are things we long to do

but must not do.

I would not want to see

your smile diminished.

And the flowers, anyway,

are happy just where they are,

on the pale dunes,

above the cricket’s humble nest,

under the blue sky

that loves us all.

Today is Suzie’s birthday, and after Andy she’s probably the person I get asked about the most, based on what I write in this blog, and put up on FaceBook or Twitter or Instagram. I like that, the way that the people who are most important to me have become a cast of characters that other people care enough to inquire about.  As for Miss Thang, she will likely be spending her special day working and taking care of the family as per usual (we will have celebrated in NY at dinner and an Imelda Marcos musical by the time this gets posted.) Whenever I start complaining about how much I have to do or wonder where I’m going to find the time to do it, I think of Suzie and instantly shut the hell up.

She’ll be moving out of Brooklyn this month, which is something she’s been waiting and wanting to do for a while, but without a definitive plan or destination in mind, she and the family will probably be staying with her Mom for a bit. Selfishly, I’m a little excited, as we haven’t lived this close to each other since the 90’s.

Happy Birthday, Suzie! Here’s to fried clams, Mary Poppins, grape taffy, red lobsters, ham-bone, and Pinocchio. (I only really remember five of those references… what was ham-bone again?)

The peony parade began later than usual this year, having only just started in the last week or so. Traditionally the peonies have been spent by the first flush of warm days in June. I prefer the later arrival, as it gives me time to appreciate their beauty after the excitement and jam-packed days of May.  For now, we look back on the first full week of June – the month of roses, even if the peonies are stealing the show with their lingering loveliness. One of the best invitations I’ve ever received was a simple hand-written note from my mentor Lee Bailey, who wrote, “Come and see me when the roses are in bloom.” I arrived just after their blooming season, and made a vow to never miss June again.

Earlier in the week we featured what will hopefully become my new summer fragrance, courtesy of none other than Tom Ford.

It was the start of the annual explosion, with some perennials giving off their own show as well.

Guys in Underwear.

A musical about Imelda Marcos. I’m in. So are Chris and Suzie.

Miss Madonna. Oh so classic.

We had a plethora of Hunks on parade as well, including ginger Christian Kruse, perfect male model Justin Clynes, Mr. Shades himself Jamie Dornan, Renaissance man Daniel Robinson, fellow Filipino Vince Ferraren, country crooner Luke Bryan, and World Cupper Olivier Giroud.

The first dip of the season. Non-skinny, believe it or not. (I waited until the second to take the clothes off.)

It was a cruel summer… but this one won’t be.

Oh, and some more guys in underwear.

Sparkling across the swirling water of the pool, the sun slants down in the afternoon sky. The day has turned warm, and after working on the lawn and the garden the sweat was rolling down my back. Andy had heated the pool to a comfy 84 degrees, but instead of my customary dive I slowly made my way down the ladder into the shallow end, like I used to do as a kid.

There are two popular ways to enter a pool: stepping gingerly into the water inch by inch, or jumping right into the deep end, immediately submerging yourself. The latter is generally said to be easier to do when entering cold water. The slow and excruciating method of trying to gradually adjust and get comfortable as you painstaking lower yourself into the water is, in my mind, just a way to prolong the discomfort.

On this day, however, and into this warm water, the slow entry is pleasant. Easing my body beneath the surface, I am soon enough immersed in summer again, and as I push off into the deep end, I feel the weightless joy of floating at last.

It was a long winter, and I’m glad it’s over.

Tomorrow I will be reunited with Suzie and Chris, forming a favorite triumvirate who has roamed together for almost twenty years. This trip was not planned with much forethought (most of my trips are organized with long-range military precision) but it worked out and fell into our laps because it was simply meant to be. As things shifted into place, I realized how fitting, and necessary, this gathering may be. It will likely be the last time the three of us are together before Chris gets married this fall, and it will be the final time we’re together before Suzie leaves Brooklyn. I’ll bring my own drama to the proceedings in ways I won’t be revealing here, so this comes at a most opportune moment.

Prepare the way, New York.

It’s taken several years, but I’ve finally come around to using annuals in pots on our backyard patio. For quite some time, I was a perennial snob, not bothering with planting those flowers that could only last for a single season. I liked how the perennials got going as soon as they could – they didn’t need to wait for frost-free days, they just waited for their nature cycle to begin. There was no guess work or worry – and whatever happened regarding late frosts or snowstorms was something we could not control. It was risky, but the pay-off was substantial. An established swath of coneflowers or Helianthus could get a head start and fill in sooner than a patch of zinnias.

This was, however, mostly in my head. Most annuals, given their short life cycle, grow much quicker than their perennial counterparts. They have no choice but to make up the time, and because of that they can fill in a space sooner than one expects.

Another mental hurdle I had to overcome was the preconceived notion that pots were insubstantial and pointless. It turns out that the larger ones become integral parts of a landscape, such as in the way something like a mass of sweet potato vines can be completely transformative when softening architectural edges. Those sweet potato vines are currently the bedrock of our backyard patio, forming the living lushness that seamlessly transitions the house to the outside gardens.

This year I also planted some begonias that are taking off quite nicely. Their handsomeness is apparent in both flower and foliage. I’ll coddle and feed them to aid in their swift expansion, as I will do for this hanging fuchsia. A little extra effort reaps great rewards.

Somehow the lusty month of May slipped through our fingers, proving rather disappointing weather-wise (hello holy hail and upstate tornado) but somehow catching up as only Mother Nature can do. Cooler temps meant that spring had a slow start, which I don’t mind as long as we get it back in the fall. There’s never a guarantee on that. Rather than restrict this post to one week, we’ll encapsulate the last month, since I’m not quite ready give up the magnificence that was May.

May is for Mothers, and Mother’s Day, so I took mine to Broadway. Our annual theater trip was back and better than ever (with a surprise or two, and a walk in Central Park) thanks to productions of ‘Mothers & Sons,’ ‘The Bridges of Madison County,’ and ‘Hedwig & the Angry Inch.’

The lilacs returned, in all their fragrant glory.

Mother darling.

Dance. Just dance.

The baker in his prime.

The peonies were late!

There were sad days as well, as we lost a dear friend.

OMFG.

Love is a hotel room. (Even with a broccoli rampage.)

Preparation for The Party of the Season began – did you get your tickets yet?

The Men of the Met Gala. White bow ties indeed.

Smells like Tom Ford. And Hermes.

Though temperatures here in upstate NY stayed relatively on the low side, that didn’t stop several male celebrities from getting shirtless (or one sexy female from taking off her clothes as well.)

The gardens were late, in this case quite literally.

Madonna was stirring, as was her nipple. It’s that time of the year.

Tom Daley got a wet rub-down in his skimpy underwear.

The sexiest battle of the century: Ben Cohen vs. David Beckham.

Our ‘Profile of a Straight Ally‘ series returned, with one of the gentlemen who inspired it: Hudson Taylor.

Finally, May has always been about Ogunquit. This year proved no different, with a relaxing trip that found new Ports(mouth) of call, old and dear friends, and lots of pretty flowers. A new notebook and an old path neatly bookended the adventure.

Some people keep their guard up when dabbling in social media. For me, it’s the opposite. Social media provides one big playground for my kind of exhibitionist fun. While this website can hold up to the grandstanding and soapboxing that I sometimes enact, I find most of my serious stuff too, well, serious for places like FaceBook or Twitter or Instagram. Those are the haunts where I can let my hair down (though not my pants – in a twist of tragic irony, my nudity can only be seen here.) But for the most part, my real self shines through on social media because it’s a quick, honest glimpse of what we’re like every day.

Instagram is probably the silliest – with vainglorious selfies and flowers and cocktails forming the bulk of entries. (See accompanying photos.) Yet it also allows me to be my most candid and unstaged.

Twitter is light on content, short of characters (140 or less), but succinct in expression.

FaceBook allows the fullest view of one’s life, outside of a personal website of course, and if I get deep on social media, that’s usually where it will happen.

Whenever I’m away (as I’ll be this weekend) this website usually goes on autopilot, with pre-programmed posts (such as this one) and carefully-choreographed entries designed to maintain momentum, and hopefully keep viewers coming back for more. Yet it’s not an accurate depiction of what’s happening at any given moment. For that, you will need to friend me on FaceBook, or follow me on Twitter or Instagram.

Let’s face it, we all like to watch.

While May will always hold a special place in my heart, it’s June where the real celebration of summer begins in earnest. I still recall the thrill when my last final was completed, and I walked into the backyard, into freedom, and threw my pencils in the air like Mary Tyler Moore’s hat. (And they say we are forgetting our gay history…!) Here’s to June, with a look back at that glorious month:

First and foremost, June is about Pride. Pride in your marriage. And pride in the parade. Every parade.

It’s a time for family fun. Or family mayhem. When the sun is high in the sky, and the promise of the season extends beyond the day, it’s hard not to feel like a kid again.

The fragrances are lighter and sweeter, if slightly more fleeting, echoing the peonies and mockorange shrubs, such as in this evanescent neroli.

Summer is the time to dance and sing, get up and do your thing.

It’s the time to don a Speedo. Especially if you’re Tom Daley. Or one of these guys.

It’s the time to stay up until the break of dawn, listening to a song like this, marveling at the world, at the morning, at the first light, or the last.

It’s the time to be ruthless, to be delicate, to be resilient, to be ravenous, to be hopeful, and to be remembered.

June ~ the summer sun, the vacations, and the eyes of the wolf.

Our time in Ogunquit, ME has just about gone, even if I haven’t begun to post about it (stay tuned). Instead, let’s look back at what went on online this past week, beginning with a Mother’s Day weekend in NYC with my Mom. Three amazing productions were reviewed: ‘Mothers & Sons‘, ‘The Bridges of Madison County‘, and ‘Hedwig & The Angry Inch.’ No choosing favorites in that tight race – I just couldn’t do it.

The latest addition to my Tom Ford collection is ‘Black Orchid.’

The magnificent Hudson Taylor marked the return of the ‘Profile of a Straight Ally’ series in a big way.

Don’t cry for me, weeping larch, but do pucker for the redbud.

A simple mocktail, if you’ve got the grass.

The return of my arch enemy.

An epic Ben Cohen post, rivaled only by an epic David Beckham post.

Pics: The sexy likes of Ricky Schroeder, Neil Patrick Harris, and Kevin Fletcher.

This photo – both versions – was taken last year. Our peonies are not quite in bloom yet – but they’re swelling quickly, buds about to burst, the first ants already crawling around the beads of sweet sugary sap. It is the season of promise – the season of spring.