The Jonas Brothers recently performed in Albany, NY, but I had to miss it, so here’s the next best thing: Joe Jonas as Dazzler of the Day. It comes well after a year following the crowning of his brother Nick as Dazzler of the Day, so I hope that didn’t cause any friction among brothers. Joe has been here before, notably in this scorching underwear post and some of his junk in motion here. Here he merely dazzles, and it’s more than enough.
A poinsettia somewhere between pink and purple is a fitting image of the conflicting things this season is inflicting right now. Grinching out, Scrooging out, whatever you want to call or consider it, I’m kind of already over the holiday season. Endeavoring to find the magic and spirit of the season will be the ultimate challenge, and every year I usually manage to meet it. This year is different in a number of respects, but family and friends will hopefully help – and I do need the help right now. On with the weekly recap, because on this blog all is always well…
A bit of clickbait to start the week, with this gratuitous piece of hazy nakedness.
Deodorant is now an indulgence.
A horologist is not what I thought it was.
Once upon a time I wore a dickie: a brutal confession.
Feast upon this holiday smorgasbord for days.
How an encounter at a sex club inadvertently led to my first office job in Boston.
A Boston office party straight out of the 90’s.
Dazzlers of the Day included Michael DiMartino, Hannah Waddingham, Paul Daigneault, and Levi Kreis.
My first office job, as a research analyst at John Hancock Insurance, may have been procured through a chance meeting at the local sex club, but by December of 1998 I’d won the hearts (or minds) of management over, had made several new friends (some of whom I’m still quite close with) and started dating a sweet boy who worked in Crabtree & Evelyn while he pursued an acting career at Emerson. It was as far from a sex club as one could get, and I embraced the possibility of something quieter and more stable as I approached the midpoint of my twenties.
Making my way into the office world, I’d been promoted to a higher-level position, where I was asked to review work rather than do all the research myself. The idea of an office career presented itself, but I was too young to invest in something so safe. Instead, I retained all my wildness, bringing it into the office in my own sartorial manner, joining my co-workers for bar-hopping nights of madness, entertaining overtime Saturday afternoons with martinis and joints and not making it back to the office more often than not. Best of times, worst of times, the usual province of a recent college grad – aimless and hopeful and somehow both too silly and too serious for my own good.
Living in the condo was ideal for a single young man – or a single young man and his boyfriend who occasionally spent the night. It was small and cozy, and entirely too tiny for a party of more than a few, which made the holiday gathering I was planning an absolutely ridiculous idea.
It quickly became the talk of the office, and it demanded Christmas decorations, a fully-stocked bar, and a few viewings of ‘Auntie Mame’. By the time the night of the party arrived, the excitement and anticipation had become a juggernaut of their own – all I had to do was gently tug at the reins of the evening, toss back a couple of cocktails, put on a pair of feathered wings, and open the door for the guests.
That holiday party was, from what little I can recall (and from the many pieces of it that had been told to me over the days and weeks that followed) a wild and debauched night. The guest book from that evening is filled with hilariously drunken ramblings from people I’ve known for decades, along with a number of people I don’t remember in the slightest. Looking through it for the first time in years, I am touched by how young we all were. A couple of people in it have already passed away. One of them – a fellow named John – wrote the following:
‘Alan – I promise you nothing, and in ‘nothing’ I promise you my respect and love. I would never discount anything that didn’t come at too high a price. I’ll never be able to afford you and it has nothing to do with how much I make. Keep being you. Love, John— This was probably more sentimental than I intended – please disregard.’
In ways too numerous and varied to fully and accurately convey, that encapsulates this section of my life, and this party in particular. As I mentioned, we were so young – so very, very young – and in that youth were the twin opportunities of protection and ruin, both waiting to exert their own pull, with all their accompanying traps and tricks and treachery.
For all the fun that was on record and in the memory of others, the only thing I really remember from that night is walking into the bedroom as the party was dying down, finding my boyfriend almost asleep in bed, and wanting nothing more than to be alone with him.
There were two more people who signed the guest book that evening – two new friends who would play a part in the years to come: JoAnn and Kira. We didn’t know then that twenty-five years later we would be taking a holiday stroll together…
For the majority of Bostonians, the tallest building in the city will always be known as John Hancock Tower. When I worked at John Hancock, we would eat lunch in the basement cafeteria of that building, but our actual work location was across the street in a much smaller building on Stuart Street. My job was technically a researcher, which at that time consisted of seeking out information on microfiche, an antiquated form of data storage. (I couldn’t tell you what I was researching because I honestly don’t know.) It was a temporary gig, and at 23 years of age, it was all I really wanted. After a few years of grueling but rewarding retail work, I was due for a change. I also had retail burnout, because for an anti-social introvert like myself, dealing with people on a daily service level was debilitating. That said, my retail job at Structure absolutely taught me how to interact and engage with strangers in a way that college never could, so by the time I walked into Bertucci’s for a pre-interview interview with someone who worked at John Hancock, I could hold my own in a conversation and give the impression that I was a sociable person.
My friend ‘Ben’ (lean in a little – his real name is being changed to protect what he may not want people to know) whom I had dated briefly (and to whom I was largely awful in the wake of previous dating disasters) had been kind enough to keep me in mind when he knew I was looking for a job. He knew someone named ‘Mike’ (also a fake name to protect his own part in this story) who worked at John Hancock and might be able to get me a job in their research department. Ben told me that Mike wanted to meet with me over lunch to see if I might be a good fit.
To prepare myself with any and all background information I could find, I asked Ben what he knew about Mike – how they had met, how long they’d been friends, the basic shit – not expecting anything all that interesting. Ben paused, and was suddenly skirting the simple question of how they met. Exasperated, and annoyed (and you might see glimmers of why my relationship with Ben would never have worked out) I finally just blurted out something like, “What?! Did you meet in a sex club or something? How difficult is this question?!”
Ben’s silence spoke incredulous volumes, and for someone who had seemed as basic and boring as vanilla, he suddenly became one small bit less annoying to me. He confirmed that yes, he and Mike had met at a sex club, but it would probably be best if I didn’t mention that.
(There was the annoyance again, as even I understood not to mention such a thing.)
Back in the 90’s, there was a place called the Safari Club in Boston. I wasn’t yet 21 to gain access to, or even knowledge of, the place, and by the time I was old enough and brave enough to entertain such entertainment, it had closed. It was a sex club – a gym/sauna/workout scene that was a merely a front for a place where guys could hook up for an entry fee. Back then, Ben and Mike had met and struck up a… conversation in those hallowed halls, and from that was born a friendship that brought him to mind when I indicated my search for a job.
At Bertucci’s, sitting across from Mike (and probably scarfing down a Silano pizza because they were the best) I nervously made small talk about my employment history (HA!) and a brief description of myself (HA HA!) while Mike sat in soft-spoken elegance and office wear. He was not at all a man I’d have considered a sex club kind of person, an early lesson that it was almost impossible to determine who was a sex club kind of person based on appearance and demeanor. His erudite way of speaking, and a charmingly disarming wit, did not hide his homosexuality, but neither did it reveal it to anyone other than those who had been briefed beforehand.
After feeling me out and likely realizing how harmless I was, he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially that he assumed I knew how he and Ben had met. Since he brought it up, I merely confirmed that I knew. While I was crazy curious, I decided not to pursue the line of questioning that I so badly wanted to pursue. Our lunch ended on a good note, a hopeful note, and a few days later I got a call from Mike with a contact name at John Hancock. From there, I went for an interview and got my first office job.
Currently cozying up to audiences on his ‘Home for the Holidays Tour’, Levi Kreis earns this Dazzler of the Day crowning for a career of entertaining prowess as actor, singer and songwriter. He’ll be performing in Ogunquit, Maine next weekend (lucky OGT!) before heading to the mid-West. Find more tour dates here.
A cacophony of a holiday post is at hand, so if you’re looking for a sensible narrative keep clicking. If you’re looking for a bizarre stream-of-consciousness bit of sprawling kookiness, you’ve come to the right place. In keeping with the twentieth anniversary of this website (meaning that twenty years of holiday posts have been written, half of which are lost to wherever deleted blog posts go. Re-reading some of this shit that’s been posted here makes me realize that’s not necessarily a regrettable thing. Here are a few holiday posts that go back to 2010, such as this one about my favorite holiday decoration or this one about a twisted sleigh ride.
‘The Little Drummer Boy’ still brings nervousness to my heart because of this Christmas morning memory. A sundae treat with my brother and the twins feels far away these days.
We didn’t know it then, but one of our first holiday strolls was born on this snowy morning in the Boston Public Garden. The Holiday Stroll is a precious thing.
A foggy journey through the backroads of December led us to the Cock & Bull.
An outfit inspired by Barbra Streisand herself.
Madonna’s holiday Masterpiece.
This Christmas Eve will mark the first that I don’t get to see this nostalgic view.
This waltz has become one of my favorite Christmas songs.
Our very first Boston Children’s Holiday Hour.
‘Diamonds & Pearls‘ will always be a holiday song for me.
A Christmas frag that brings back happy memories.
One big-ass Christmas ball to block all the nudity.
If Andy sent out Christmas cards, this should be one.
The first time I met Andy’s Mom was this Christmas Eve.
The first and only Christmas tree we’ve ever grown.
15 at 15, which was five years ago.
A moment of melancholy beneath the Christmas tree.
Lastly, the pic below is this year’s variation on this variation from a decade ago.
Founder and Artistic Director of Boston’s SpeakEasy Stage company, Paul Daigneault has been presenting incredible theatrical events since 1992. Currently, the company is putting on a timely production of the exquisitely charming Tony-award winning musical ‘The Band’s Visit’, directed by Daigneault. SpeakEasy Stage has boldly been offering compelling theater, including a number of queer-theemed production such as ‘Jeffrey’, ‘Love! Valour! Compassion!‘, ‘Take Me Out’, ‘The Inheritance’ and ‘Fun Home‘. I’ve seen several of these and they were each outstanding, as was their production of ‘The Bridges of Madison County’. For decades of bringing substantial and important theatrical work to the stage, Daigneault earns his first Dazzler of the Day feature.
Confession: once upon a time I wore a dickie.
Not ironically, not alone as a sexy costume, and not out of losing a bet.
(For the young of heart, mind, and body who may not know, a dickie is just the collar of a button-up shirt or turtleneck and a few inches of the surrounding fabric, designed to go under a sweater of something else to give the illusion of another layer without wearing the full shirt or turtleneck.)
It was the holiday season of 1995 and I was working the nightmarish shopping rush at Structure (today people may know it as Express Men, or just Express, if either is even still in existence). From my mall-eyed inexperience at the time, it felt like a dream job, but even I got bogged down in the insanity of the holidays, and working retail in December is not for the faint of heart. Dealing with the mad rush of customers is one thing, trying to keep the floor stocked and filled with merchandise was another – and both had to be done in quick and voluminous fashion. This could be sweaty and uncomfortable work.
We were supposed to wear Structure sweaters, which were hot enough on their own, but I had to be extra-festive, wanting to add the look of a red turtleneck to accent whatever red was in my sweater. The solution, without having to sweat like Whitney Houston, was to be found in the dickie. Where I managed to locate a dickie at that time evades memory – was it Jordan Marsh? Filene’s Basement? Woolworth’s? All these places date me, as if the dickie didn’t already, and all were in Downtown Crossing in Boston at the time. Whatever wayward place had it, I fell for the antiquated style idea and got my hands on not one but two (one red as mentioned, and one in a gold lamé for even extra-extra-festivity).
Look, this was a dark time. I was only just learning the basics of fashion, a little of what worked for me, and a lot of what didn’t. Like clip-on ties and costume jewelry, it was a novice’s foray into something that never should have existed in the first place.
I wore it only once, at the store, because I felt like a fraud. And I was paranoid that someone would notice and point out that I was wearing a dickie. Couldn’t get one in my mouth but had one around my neck – the irony and shame of that was enough. (The one in gold never saw the light of day, and I think that was for the best. Much to my eternal disappointment, gold lamé didn’t suit me.)
PS – It wasn’t until this year, 2023, that I finally noticed that Eddie was wearing a dickie in ‘Christmas Vacation’. I had been too obsessed with the eggnog glasses in that scene to notice, but upon seeing that, I knew I had to come clean.
Wow – dickies and coming clean. It really is almost Christmas.
Maintaining this unpopular holiday opinion, I still abhor a snickerdoodle cookie.
Perhaps known best for her role on ‘Ted Lasso’, Hannah Waddingham also has a killer voice, which is showcased on her holiday special, ‘Hannah Waddingham: Home For Christmas’, currently streaming on Apple TV. Waddingham has been dazzling audiences for her entire career, with scene-stealing stage turns in ‘Spamalot’, ‘Into the Woods, ‘The Beautiful Game’ and ‘The Wizard of Oz’ – hence this spin as Dazzler of the Day.
Whenever the holiday season threatens to overwhelm, and at some point – or points – it always does, I find it helpful to pause and examine the smaller moments, the simpler moments. Toward that purpose, I look to nature, which can be found almost anywhere, even in the deepest of downtown areas. At this time of the year, particularly in a year as warm as this one has been, there are still berries and fruit and even a few flowers left, such as seen on these cotoneaster shrubs.
Adorning herself in scarlet berries, Nature betrays her own form of seasonal celebration. Pockets of landscaping and corners of hidden yards reveal these treats if one bothers to look. I seek them out, searching for the tiny breaks in the day that they provide. It’s worrisome that it hasn’t been cold enough to move along the scene, and though that speaks to a greater danger, I’m going to be grateful for the sight, in the same way I was once happy to see roses in December.
Designer and owner of the charmingly sexy Pillow Top shop in Provincetown, MA, Michael DiMartino has been creating designs for the self-proclaimed ‘Queer Pop Home-O Shop’ in an effort to bring art into our everyday lives and objects. Currently the shop is offering some fantastical wrapping paper, which everyone needs right now, and the designs are delightfully queer-friendly. DiMartino earns this Dazzler of the Day thanks to inspiring whimsical designs with a sexy edge – the ideal juxtaposition for good-hearted holiday fun. Visit The Pillow Top website here for more information, and some dazzling home goods.
Look at ‘The Gilded Age’ teaching me that a horologist wasn’t at all what I thought it was!
{Note to self: revise that unfortunate section on the resume circa the mid 90’s…}
Feliz Navidad! As an homage to the dramatic telenovelas in which characters find themselves in ridiculously-over-the-top situations and love entanglements, Kira and I did our best to keep straight faces (even harder for me) through this nonsensical series of photos. We’ve been play-acting our way through a scandalous series of blog posts for years now, and it’s always fun to get dramatic when real-life has shitted on us drastically enough for the year. This is an escape – as so much of my time with Kira has been – and a very welcome one. There’s also a very important lesson here, one which took me entirely too many years to learn: the lesson of being a completely-ridiculous ass-hat and being ok with it, because there is no such thing as being perfect.
That lesson always proves painfully elusive as we try to make every holiday season the best holiday season, competing with childhood nostalgia, impossible-to-recreate days of the past, and a world that no longer seems to hold the most basic tenets of compassion and empathy the least bit dear. There’s a little more to that than I care to explore in this post, so I’ll focus on the acceptance of imperfection, as that’s where I need the most work.
Every Christmas, I set out to finish my gift-shopping early, to devise a decorating system and scheme which allows for maximum enjoyment and minimum work, and to have meaningful connections at some point with the people that matter the most to me. And every Christmas, I falter and come up short.
Every Christmas I also intend to strip things back to basics and return to the original meaning of the season, and every season I largely fail at that too. This year, I’m doing a bit better, mostly because I’ve given up on making it perfect. I’ve limited decorating to my Mom’s new home and the condo for our Holiday Stroll and Boston Children’s Holiday Hour. I banged out this Holiday Card in a quick one-stop-shot with Suzie. My shopping’s still a bit of a mess, but I just need to organize what I already have and figure out the rest.
There’s always going to be some unexpected drama that pops up – usually on the day of an office holiday party or on the eve of Christmas that leaves someone sore – and there’s always going to be the unavoidable let-down and post-Christmas-morning depression that reminds us the past is almost always best left in the past. Rather than fight it, which often only leads to more upset, I’m going to do my best to embrace all the quirks and set-backs of the season, to go with the flow and endeavor to be flexible and easygoing instead of digging in and being obstinate, even and especially at those times when principle and truth seem to matter. At Christmas, none of that shit matters. Eat the cookies, drink the egg nog, and tomorrow we may diet.
This merry mocktail is the drink of the season in these parts, and it couldn’t be easier to make. The most difficult part is the rosemary syrup, but even that is simple – it just takes some time to cool down in the fridge overnight. Mocktails are becoming more and more available, as those of us who choose not to drink are no longer being ignored. During the holidays, it’s especially important to have something like this on hand if you’re throwing a party or gathering. You can always add gin or vodka to it for those who want something stronger. For me, the rosemary syrup is all the kick it needs (don’t omit the cloves as they make all the difference).
INGREDIENTS:
METHOD:
Combine juice and syrup and shake well with ice. Pour into cocktail glass and add seltzer. Garnish with sprig of fresh rosemary.
