Category Archives: General

We have replaced ‘bedtime‘ with ‘scrolling in bed’ time and we are the worse for it. 

#TinyThreads

The last time I tried to talk to my Dad in church, the doors of the place were locked, and the church was closed to the public. That was earlier in the winter, which made the disappointment a little keener, having traversed the chilly path on an icy day. 

I’m not sure why I seek out a church in which to talk to him. He never much liked church, at least he didn’t seem to like it. On some level it must have brought him comfort because he went for the majority of his life, likely on the insistence of Mom, but still – he would only maintain something he didn’t truly like for so long. And so I find him there – or try to find him there, as I’m not sure he is with me in the House of God. 

On a recent Tuesday, I took my lunch time and walked up the hill to St. Mary’s, which was blessedly open again. It was also entirely empty, which made for a more peaceful moment. I slid into the last pew on the right, where light poured in through stained glass, and a haze hovered in the air – likely the remnants of the Stations of the Cross Friday service. 

The comforting scent of incense hung there like a veil between worlds – a wispy web of faded smoke, the smallest particles floating in shafts of stained-glass-shaded light. I hurriedly ran through the prayers I knew in my head, then attempted to speak silently to my father, though my heart knew he wasn’t there. The terror I felt in that same space, when he was in his final days, no longer gripped me; there was a duller, more muted ache in its place. One is sharper, but quicker; one is gentler, but longer. 

I feel accused.

I feel attacked.

I feel seen.

Mindfulness and meditation amid all the mayhem.

Try it. You’ll like it. 

Even though I’m almost 50 years old (it’s coming in August, people, start saving) the older I get, the less I seem to know. Doubts and uncertainty creep into every decision of a day, and I find myself questioning things that never warranted questioning before. There are moments where I wonder how I got to where I am, and whether I’m adulting in any way acceptable or even passable for what an adult acts like these days. It’s not so much an existential question, and nothing near a crisis; in most cases it’s a welcome acknowledgment of limitations and not knowing, a humility that allows for mistakes and mis-steps, and a lack of entitlement that eliminates disappointment. 

There’s also the notion of approaching life with the desire to learn instead of waltzing through the day with the swagger of thinking you know it all. I’ve never felt like I’ve known it all – though I’ve been guilty of waltzing through the day with unjustified swagger. Just when I think I have an idea of something, more information or a different perspective makes me realize that I know hardly anything. This is a good check on hubris, and when you go through life looking to improve and get better rather than assuming you’re already good, life becomes much more interesting and enjoyable. There is always more to learn, always more to discover. 

You may think you’ve seen a cloud already, but you’ve never seen this cloud, you will not have seen the clouds of tomorrow, and they will not be the clouds of today or yesterday. 

Happy Birthday to my dear friend Skip, seen here in pics from twenty years ago. In fact, these photos were taken on the very first day I officially met Skip in 2005, which means that this year marks 20 years of friendship, just as we are celebrating the 10th anniversary of our first BroSox Adventure. (I told you 2025 was going to be epic.) 

Skip’s lovely/long-suffering wife Sherri is one of my best friends, who also happens to be my boss, and she appears here making Skip look better than in the hilarious featured pic (which I had to include because it’s too funny and it’s what we do). Again, we were twenty years younger, and friends that you’ve had for twenty years are dear indeed.

I don’t recall much from my first interaction with Skip, other than I thought he had decent enough style to rock such a jaunty cap, and I trusted Sherri’s impeccable judgment of character to consider him a good guy. Twenty year later, he’s still proving how good a person can be, and remains someone who keeps me on my game – morally and intellectually. 

Finally, since I posted what they were wearing twenty years ago at one of our theme parties (the Venetian Vanity Ball, to be exact) it’s only fair to post the ridiculousness adorning my body for that fateful evening. Here you go – Happy Birthday Skip! Looking forward to #BroSox10!

At the time I am writing this it’s almost 7 PM and there is still ample light in the sky. The sun itself was out in full glory a few scant minutes ago, and the temperatures stretched into the 50’s. Finally, it feels like spring might actually come back after all. Not that I ever doubted it, but it was getting trying. While winter may be far from over, this glimmer of hope will see us through it. 

I pruned a few branches from the Coral Bark Maple trees that anchor the corners of our home. I’ll try to force them – any little bit of greenery that comes at this time of the year is welcome. We have a couple of dinner parties scheduled in the next few weeks that could use some simple and elegant vase work. Little joys, flotsam and jetsam of happier days, and still so far from the sea…

The cardinals have been visiting us a lot lately. Andy noticed the pair preparing for nesting. I heard their distinct clipped chirps like the music of spring again in the air. 

My hair has officially reached Tom-Cruise-in-‘Collateral’ gray-wolf status.

Not entirely mad about it. 

Not entirely happy either. 

But definitely not mad. 

Amused more than anything else.

At life. And being alive. 

Losing an hour of time is always a bit of a mind fuck. Gaining it back in the fall is fine, but the cost of later sunlight is some crankiness from one less hour of sleep. Especially at a time of the year when there is about to be so much more to do – so let’s take this sleepy Monday morning and do our usual weekly blog recap before we get busy…

A spark of light come again. 

Andy’s first take on a Filipino classic. 

Hateful little meme.

David Beckham, still a shirtless, sexy beast.

Music for winter impending end. 

Pure evil.

This is Human Resources.

Approaching or departing Eden.

Mockarita madness at the start of #10.

Crystal snowlight shivering and glittering. 

A gratuitously shirtless Patrick Schwarzenegger post. 

Taking the crazy when it’s this pretty.

Fuchsia fabulousness of a divine diva.

Bad banging style.

Bad boy poseur.

Bad dreams.

Winding.

Spring stirrings in the peat.

A brief underwear tease.

You should see the underwear I don’t wear.

A brief list of underwear posts because it’s Sunday night and I’m lazy, but you might still be thirsty:

Taylor Zakhar Perez in underwear.

Dominic Albano in underwear.

David Beckham in underwear.

The Jonas brothers in underwear.

Jeremy Allen White in underwear.

Steve Grand in underwear.

Jacob Elordi in underwear.

Luke Evans in underwear.

Carlos Alcaraz in underwear.

Shawn Mendes in underwear.

Wind has been vicious the past few days. Messages and meanings crash against the house in the middle of the night. When I sit in the attic and write I can leave the music off and listen to the raging tantrum outside. Somewhat strangely, there is comfort in the dull cacophony, muted by the roof and walls and windows. The howling and whistling still seeps in, but the thunderous whirling roar is blunted to soothing form. Background noise, like the rhythmic call of the ocean, so dangerously pulling the unaware to sleep. 

The end of winter doesn’t want to arrive, like some reluctant child clinging to the womb. I watch the pine boughs in wild sway as the sun struggles to set the land ablaze, and listen to the avalanche of air – invisible, omnipotent beast. 

And then I hear something playful at work, some presence that lets me know things will be ok, that everything will be all right in the end. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s faith. Maybe it’s someone I miss from the other side. 

Maybe a whisper of a God so powerful and angry it comes as a gale and a gust for all the things we’re currently doing wrong. Superstition works both ways; magic and fairy stories serve their purpose in attempting to explain the unexplainable. We believe what we want to believe – sometimes what we need to believe – to get through, to survive, to weather a windy night. 

The plastic bag scene in ‘American Beauty‘ was a way to capture wind on film. It’s always haunted me for that, and for other things. 

Our now-non-holiday cactus has decided to grace us with a smattering of blooms, long before we could even consider it an Easter cactus, and so far removed from Thanksgiving or Christmas that it gives up any chance of holiday affiliation. I don’t appreciate it any less, however; in fact, it may have sensed our wish for spring, and flowers, and any glimpse of hope in this gray and barren world, and thus delivered a show out of sync with any human-sanctioned holiday. Those are often the best shows anyway – the unexpected, the unhyped, the unpredicted. The reminder that life is so often a whim that defies planning or expectation. I need to heed that lesson more, to embrace the moment at hand and not attempt to set some rigid outline of what’s going to happen. That takes up way too much space in the brain, and my brain needs what little space remains just to get me through the damn day. 

Preliminary planning for this year’s BroSox Adventure began on a dismal rainy night at La Mexicana Restaurant and Grocery Store on Central Fucking Avenue. Sidling into one of several empty booths at this cheery hole-in-the-wall, Skip and I dove into brainstorming for what marks the 10th anniversary of our very first Boston Red Sox trip, so it’s got to be epic. Go Big or Go Home (Plate). See, I know baseball lingo. Strike! Dug-out! (The word says it.)

Here is some music to go with our food, and a mock-margarita that is just pure Jose Cuervo margarita mix minus any alcohol, rimmed with salt and adored with a slice of lime. Totally as awful as it sounds, but when in Rome! The company was good, and the food was delicious, so you take the wins when you can, and on a cold rainy night in March, a Mexican meal with an old friend is comfort indeed. 

My proposal for #BroSox10 is an ambitious two-page itinerary of box items that touch on classic moments and memories over the past decade of BroSox adventures, with the intent to check off as many as we feel up to doing. The expectation is that two or three might get checked off if we get off our lazy asses and front stoop – no promises for much more beyond that. Perhaps we’ll rally and drive through all of them, or perhaps we’ll meet somewhere in the middle – whatever the outcome, it’s bound to be fun and chill and just what my world needs in such dark times. 

Part of the fun is in the planning, so we’ll delve into details and cement game dates as we get deeper into spring. It’s a banner year for so many reasons… stay tuned. And if you have any suggestions what two mid-to-late-forty-something gents should do when in Beantown, send them my way. Skip is always up for a dare. 

I don’t work in Human Resources because I hate people!

I hate people because I work in Human Resources. 

{Totally, almost, hardly kidding.}

March has entered the building like a proverbial lion, and as things are already brewing for the month that will usher in spring, let’s get this weekly blog recap out of the way so we can continue on our journey. 

A post and a pause for narcissism! Here here!

Shallow dish, deep reward.

The Madonna Timeline returns in lackluster fashion, because not every song can be ‘Vogue’. 

To the Trump voters who use Medicaid, this one’s for/on you. 

Beauty in the aftermath.

Preparing the way.

A message of the kids, and especially the parents of kids: if you get vaccinated for measles you won’t get measles and die.

Back to basics in a pair of Calvin Klein briefs.

The economic blackout was a success as far as saving money for the day went. (And I’m going to continue the slowdown in my general spending habits on a more regular basis.)

Life can be sweet if you stop to sniff the urine. 

Looking back was a theme for the week.

The fairy in flight. 

Deliciously dreamy, queer and dear.

Lions and lambs and Lent – oh my!

A blue-hued interlude.

Fabulous in fuchsia.

A pause in our divine duties.

A Monday morning moment.

Dazzlers of the Day included Amanda Rheaume and Franz Rogowski.