Yearly Archives:

2015

The Booty Pic That Got Banned from FaceBook

Every time a photo of mine gets banned from FaceBook (and it’s only happened on two or three occasions) I see a surge in traffic on this website, so while on some level it’s annoying that an anonymous nobody can report a photo (doesn’t the basic tenet of being accused of something require that you know your accuser?) on every other level it’s a win.

Here is the offending photograph, a cheeky shout-out to show my excitement regarding the release of Matthew Rettenmund’s fantastic ‘Encyclopedia Madonnica 20’ (which will get a proper write-up in a bit). It’s hard to see this as anything more than a risqué bit of artful nudity, but in the world we live in I guess people would rather see pictures of bloody fetuses or murdered students than any artistic depiction of the unadorned human body. No matter.

Given the quick turn-around of this post, one might think it was just a ploy for precisely this reason, and that I was just waiting/baiting for someone to report it. I can assure you from my ever-loving heart that nothing could be further from the truth. [Wink-wink.] What do you think this is, ‘Justify My Love‘? I’m not making any money off of this.

But I do welcome any and all reports of nudity, because it makes this site what it is. Now kiss my ass!

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For Those That Prefer Justin Bieber Naked…

… this post is probably not for you. It’s merely a moving vehicle to showcase the video of a segway dance that’s steamrolling the internet right now, set to Justin Bieber’s new song. Personally, I’m not a fan of Mr. Bieber, even when he gets nude, nor am I a huge fan of this video. It’s being posted here to see if anyone can change my mind. I just don’t get what the fuss is about. Yes, it’s kind of neat, and no, I could never be half as facile with a segway (I’ve always found them stupid), but what is the big deal? It’s another instance of being let down by the incredible amount of hype and “you-MUST-see-this” hyperbole of the online world. And once again, I fell prey and wasted three minutes of my life watching it, and another four typing about it and copying the link and embedding the bullshit. In other words, I’m just as much a part of the problem. But this remains my blog, and until it changes to FillInYourNameHere.com, you’ll have to deal with it, or leave.

Wow, I guess I’m ornery on weekends too. [Shrugs.] I blame the Bieber.

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Give Me A Break

After several weekends of non-stop traveling for The Delusional Grandeur Tour, I’m taking a break this weekend to gear up for the next stop. Before that, however, there are some posts that need to go up – namely a few Boston stops – including my latest run-in with Madonna. There may be a new Madonna Timeline entry to honor the occasion too (though that has yet to be written).  In other words, I’m just buying some time with this post.

The featured photo here is a scary nod to the bunny that gets exorcized in the new tour book… but that is also to come. For now, the waiting, the anticipating, and the celebrating. Fall is here. My attention turns to the kitchen. My focus shifts slightly inward. My gaze is on the distant horizon of the holiday season. Still, I won’t turn down a few more sunny and warm days if October would be so kind.

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Snapshot

This is one of my favorite photos from my recent trip to Seattle. I don’t know anyone in it, I don’t know what street it’s on, and I don’t even think there’s all that much going on, but for some reason it speaks to me more than any picture-perfect composition of the Space Needle ever could. There are a multitude of stories that could be told here, in a single instant in the lives of several people.

There’s a violin, a messenger bag, a back-pack and a baby.

There’s a leather jacket, a Zara, and a Rack.

There is motion and stillness, movement and pause.

Above all else, there is humanity – waking and walking, wandering and wondering.

It is a beautiful, heartbreaking world, and while not always sure of my place in it, I’m grateful to be part of it.

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Shirtless Nick Jonas: Fit For A (Scream) Queen

Ryan Murphy can always be counted on for piquing interest in a tired television idea, such as he did with his latest ‘Scream Queens.’ Enlisting some of the hottest young stars of the moment (and horror-movie matriarch Jamie Lee Curtis) he manages to do it again (hey Arianna Grande!), but like many of Murphy’s endeavors, (‘Glee’, ‘Nip/Tuck’, the second and fourth season of ‘American Horror Story’) this one looks inconsistent at best.

It has, however, already made its mark in the superficial hunk-obsessed landscape of this blog, with the following GIFs of Nick Jonas flexing and posing and showing off his shirtless body because that’s what you do when there’s a murderer on the loose and you’re a hot guy. No stranger to on-screen shirtlessness, or magazine almost-nudity, or sweaty sex scenes, Mr. Jonas pumps his biceps gamely for this one. Of course, in the second episode he is nowhere to be found, and that sort of strip-bait-and-tease is why I don’t watch much television anymore.

(It’s so much easier to wait for the shirtless screen grabs, and it saves an inordinate amount of time to booty.)

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True Blue, Baby

‘Hey!’

‘What?’

Listen…’

When you’re 40, sometimes you have to do something to jolt your complacent, if contented, life into an exciting new realm. Or, in the case of coloring my hair, an old realm, from long ago (the 90’s to be exact).

Once upon a time, I was big on the hair dye. In a single summer, I went from purple to red to blonde to brown to orange and back to black, so I’ve never been afraid to try a new do. In fact, changing up my hair has been an easy way to reinvigorate my spirit when things start to feel too stagnant. So when the merman craze began sweeping the nation this summer, I was both captivated and challenged by the notion that I might return to such a colorful carriage. Since I’ve never been blue, or aqua, I decided that might be the route to go. No, I decided that it was the ONLY way to go.

The plan went into motion as summer was at its zenith. That meant pool play was at its wettest too, and chlorine and sun are not the friends of freshly-dyed hair, so I made plans for the tail end of the season. I also got in touch with Mike at Complexions, who helped design the color, the cut, and the appointment to make it all happen.

There was only one moment of hesitation on my part: after dying the top of my hair light blond, Mike had to dry it before applying the blue, and as it puffed up like the silken top of a corn cob, I wondered what on earth I had done. But like all moments that have simultaneously thrilled and terrified me, I bristled with the excitement of a new adventure, the wonderful sensation of still being able to surprise and scare myself, even at this mid-to-late stage of the game.

Fortunately, I was in good hands with Mike, and after the blue went on, and then the aqua, my merman dream was soon realized. I looked in the mirror, still myself, but with a tinge of blue, a tinge of new, a tinge of something that reminded me of the guy once mistaken for a clown at Ponderosa. But no more tears.

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Ally Week

It’s been a while since I’ve done a ‘Straight Ally‘ feature, and that’s my fault for being lazy. Well, busy and lazy. And it turns out this isn’t a new ‘Straight Ally’ post, but rather a recap of those that came before in honor of Ally Week. Let it also serve as a call-out for any allies you might have in mind that are worthy of a feature post. I’d like to get back into my interview/profile pieces.

It all began with my friend Skip Montross, who was an important impetus for getting the series started. As such, it was a natural, easy, and fun way to document a singular friendship, as well as looking into its universal components, and the way we operated in a society where gay male/straight male friendships were becoming increasingly common, and interesting.

Next up was fitness superstar Scott Herman, who added some hunkiness to the ally factor. I’m all about a pretty poster boy, especially if the sauce he’s shelling is for equality and acceptance.

Founder of Athlete Ally, Hudson Taylor was an obvious and exemplary choice for a Straight Ally. He’s been dedicating his life to forging the way for equality, especially in the realm of sports.

Along those sporty lines, Ben Cohen has been one of the staunchest straight allies the world has known. His rugby roots paved the way for his social activism, and his very personal tragedy involving bullying has given him a touching credence that makes his work all the more meaningful.

A very big round of thanks needs to go out to all of my friends who have proven to be straight allies over the years. Being an ally doesn’t necessarily mean making a public spectacle of yourself or instituting grand sweeping reform – sometimes being a friend is all you need to do.

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Seattle Post Script

My trip to Seattle began with an octopus dish, so it’s only fitting that it close with the same. This opener at my closing meal at Bar Sajor featured the tender tentacles of that familiar cephalopod, and a tomato salad that made striking use of the purple blooms of borage and orange marigolds as dazzling accents in flavor and appearance (not that such delicious heirloom tomatoes needed any help in looks or flavor).

It would be difficult to say farewell to such a wonderful city, where verdant stretches of beauty expanded ever-outward, where meals were sumptuously simple and fresh, where forests rose and cyclamen bloomed, where whales sang and soared, and where things sometimes felt too dreamy to be true. It was a glorious final pause of summer, and a highlight of The Delusional Grandeur Tour thus far.

Like most places that have been a home to me when I’ve been far from home, Seattle will now occupy a portion of my wanderlusting heart ~ a place that helped me kick off my final tour, and the beginning of my 40th year.

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Seattle Dreamy: Snowqualmie Falls

For any ‘Twin Peaks’ fanatic (as I was in the very questionable 90’s), a trip to the Seattle region would not be complete without a glimpse at Snowqualmie Falls, that iconic waterfall that opened the credits for the David Lynch television series. Regardless of the Lynch love, this waterfall is impressive in its own right, falling 268 feet in astonishingly beautiful form. While no monster by any means, there’s something magical about this scene, particularly in the fall when so much change is afoot, when you’re no longer so sure of your stance in the world.

Standing there watching the water fall, I was transfixed by the scene. It was hypnotic, holding me transfixed, almost pulling me down along with it as I followed the droplets as they plummeted the length of the 268-foot drop. I thought of sleepwalkers and cults and pied-pipers, and wondered how far we all were from surrendering to the lull and easiness of such enchantments. If you start at the top of the running water, finding a spot of river and carefully watching it run from top to bottom, your eyes follow it at first, then your head goes down, and, were it not for the high wall and guard rail, the rest of your body just might fall along with the water. How many of us would have given in without the guard rails of others?

On this day, I manage to catch myself from falling. Above and slightly to the right of the falls, a train blows its low moan of a horn, where it would have been chugging along unseen if it hadn’t drifted its tell-tale column of smoke in its wake. It’s a scene I’ve seen before – either in book or movie or imagination: the mist of the falls echoed by the passing train – two layers of ethereal fog, and all of us watchers and dreamers caught somewhere between two worlds.

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Seattle Shopping: Up & Down

Thanks to the flagship Nordstrom, Seattle can hold its own when it comes to finding a Tom Ford Private Blend, as well as any of the other mainstream fashion behemoths that populate its steep downtown hills. Yet at the same time, its main claim to fame may be the unique Pike Place Market where only stand-alone original stores are allowed to sell their wares. (The Starbucks there would seem to be the exception, but it holds to the rules as it was the very first Starbucks that ever opened – so no others existed when it opened its doors.)

I’m torn between the fancy duds to be found at glossy establishments like Nordstrom, and the simple flowers that steal the show at the market. (The dahlias below kept me fascinated the entire time I wound my way among the flying fish.) That’s the sort of tension that’s infused my life and made things tricky at times – but it’s a good thing. It keeps me balanced. It’s sugar and spice. Yin and yang. Push and pull. And it keeps me excited.

At Nordstrom, I perused their extensive (and complete) collection of Tom Ford fragrances and bow ties. Across the street, and very much benefiting from its proximity to the flagship store, Nordstrom Rack had rack after rack of the real deal: Alexanders McQueen and Wang, Balenciaga, Burberry, Roberto Cavalli, Dries Van Noten, Emilio Pucci, Oscar de la Renta, Prada, Stella McCartney, Valentino and many more. It wasn’t just a one-off feature either;  there were plastic holders with each designer’s name on it – proof that they were mainstays here. (This is what Kristi Gustafson was talking about when she recently expressed slight disappointment in the Colonie Nordstrom Rack. I have to agree: it doesn’t hold a candle to the Seattle version. Neither does the Boston Rack, for that matter.)

But for all the designer labels and Tom Ford fanciness, my heart was back in the market, where I found a silk robe of fuchsia and turquoise, and a dressing gown of cream with an intricately-embroidered border. Strands of amber and jade called to me, Iris Apfel-like, from another place, and scarves studded with beads and crystals peeked and beckoned from a corner stall. For the moment, the market won out over Nordstrom, rack and all.

I think it was the dahlias…

 

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Blood Moon Recap

Doing my damnedest to avoid the usual insanity that accompanies such lunar events, I’m laying low for a day or two until this zaniness passes. I seek peace and quiet, searching out meditative moments of respite in a reckless day. While that whirls on and the world surveys the cycles of the moon and the stars, let us look quickly back with our traditional Monday recap. (Remaining Seattle adventures to come…)

The summer annuals held on during the last few days of the sunny season.

Even so, summer had to come to an end. It always does, it always will. Luckily, the same holds true for its return.

A last minute summer Hunk held onto the heat: Cody Calafiore.

Fall holds its own enchantments.

Before we go full-fall throttle, however, a last journey for the end of the summer: Seattle.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour touched down in the Emerald City for some good food, a glorious walk in the woods, a brush with hardy cyclamen, a naked view, a pod of orcas, and a damn fine cup of coffee. The rest of the trip unfolds a little later, as does the rest of fall.

 

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Seattle: Ogling the Orcas

At the Port of Edmonds, the morning was crisp and bright. A sunny day, almost too greedily perfect to even wish for on a whale watching expedition in Seattle, dawned as I waited for the boarding to begin. Looking out over the water, I wondered what we might see. It was still and silent there – no wind or waves – and the water was like glass, affording a clear view to the shallow bottom. A dogfish lazily meandered along the bottom, and a crab shuffled sideways before crouching into a tiny crevice.

I stood there staring, transfixed, when suddenly what I thought was an enormous fish entered my view. It was so quiet there, the sight of its large head, then an even larger body speckled with faint spots, felt surreal. This was no fish, though; it was a sea otter – beautifully flying along the bottom of that shallow portion of sea, its webbed paws flush with its smooth body, swiftly and easily passing along through greenish beams of underwater light. It seemed an auspicious sign that hopefully indicated larger wildlife to come.

The Whale Watch was only a half-day excursion, which ended up being just the right amount of time (it takes about an hour and a half to get to the pod-frequented waters). After boarding, our group headed north to the San Juan Islands, where the orcas are known to swim. On the way, we encountered a humpback whale, which the naturalist on board explained had almost been extinct, and only recently was making a comeback. The sighting, then, was a happy one.

We also saw a sea lion sunning itself on a bright green buoy, oblivious or unbothered by the birds that were also vying for a resting perch.

Then, sooner than expected, and without warning, an orca was suddenly trailing the boat. The dorsal fin careened up and out of the water, then a bit of sleek black body. Its immensity was impressive, its power apparent.

In an instant, I was in once again in awe of everything that this earth afforded: the breadth of beauty and life and the startlingly simple fact of our existence. These beautiful blackfish ~ noble, majestic, powerful, and enormous ~ shared the planet with us, and trusted that we wouldn’t destroy it. It was humbling to see such magnificence – humbling and thrilling. I didn’t get many good photos, both for the fact that they surfaced without warning, and because I was much too intent on experiencing the moment than capturing it.

Grand, other-worldly, and gorgeous, those whales take your breath away. They remind you of your place, and theirs, and how unwieldy humans have become. But I don’t want to mar the re-telling of this tale with political grandstanding and soapbox diatribes. I want only to remember the whales, and the ocean, and the wind, and keep it all cradled in my soul.

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Seattle Pause: Gaze & Reflect

Writing a Seattle recap is hard but happy work, and so I’m giving myself a bit of a breather with this post. It’s important to allow for such breaks when on a vacation far from home. I always try to pack a lot into a little time, wanting to make the most of such precious minutes and hoping not to regret anything, but time to relax and unwind, time to do nothing, is just as important as those moments of excitement and participation.

In fact, I’d wager that the in-between times, nestled between events and dinners and shows, are what make the most fondly-remembered moments that matter. Usually, they take place early on, just after I’ve checked into a hotel. The room is fresh and clean (and maybe there’s a bottle of local honey ale supplied by a hotel as fancy and generous as the Fairmont Olympic) and I stand before the window and let out a sigh of relief and appreciation.

Or maybe it’s a moment in a local store, where hand-made paper is rolled up into colorful bunches of pretty stand-up art. It doesn’t need to come in a frame or a museum, or hung upon a wall or on a pedestal. Sometimes it’s in the simplest of displays, the haphazard collections of whimsy, the groupings of pretty little things.

It can come in the tradition of a pre-dinner cocktail, tucked away in a private corner of a sleepy hotel, where stories far more exciting than yours are waiting to be told, or to unfold, in their own time, in their own way.

The magic of Seattle permeates everything, even these throw-away moments. Pockets of solitude within solitude. Alone but not lonely.

And tomorrow, the whales arrive…

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Seattle Sublime ~ Bloedell Reserve Pt. 2

Rising before the waterfront is a summer estate, reminiscent of Edith Wharton’s summer home. (The well-to-do certainly know how to make a summer showing.) The flowers in here are more cultivated, more perfectly formed – a contrast with the wilder cyclamen and seven sons’ flower I’d stumbled upon earlier. I’m not sure which I prefer. Inside, such boldness is necessary to compete with other man-made ornaments, the colors must be stronger to stand on their own against paint and fabric and dyed rugs.

A bouquet of dahlias does the trick nicely, stealing the focus of the entry way, bold of hue and radial of form.

The house is pleasantly cool, even in the summer sun. I suppose that’s the point of summer homes. With its tall windows, it is bright too. That’s not something that can be said for all houses in the summer – too often they turn dark and moody, smoldering in dusty shadow or stifling with stagnant heat. Here, however, the home works to augment the beauty with its formality and space, casting a spell of order unto the objects at hand. It frames the outside view, reordering things and narrowing the scope of the scene, distilling it into its very best vista.

It is easy to imagine being happy when surrounded by such beauty, and it is tempting to believe such happiness exists for everyone other than yourself. At least, it’s been easy for me to imagine that. I always do. That’s ok, though. In the midst of that beauty, everything is all right.

After pausing for a moment inside, the edge of the woods beckoned again, and back within the green curtains of foliage there were jewels lining the soft spongy floor, and they were my favorite portion of a walk overflowing with sensory delights: cyclamen. As luck would have it, their late-season blooming cycle was at its zenith. I’ve tried growing cyclamen in the garden, but the relatively dry summers they enjoy are hit-or-miss, and it seems we’ve always erred on the latter, with our wet and humid patterns. I got blooms once, and that was it. Here, they appeared to grow around every corner – bright spots of pink or white floating like flocks of butterflies low to the ground. It was absolutely enchanting, and I knelt beside them, lost in their charm, trying to capture their beauty for the chill ahead.

The path led beside the water of the Sound for a while, before returning to the enclosed protection of the forest. A few stray rhododendron and azalea blooms dotted the way, but their main season had long since passed. It would be a wonderful place to revisit in the spring.

As I made my way along the path, the trees parted again, revealing a little pond and a Japanese garden.

A teahouse was nestled into the environs, a place where one could easily envision a peaceful life, a tranquil existence. A moment of meditation honored the lovely landscape.

Stands of Japanese anemone punctuated the greens and browns with their pink blossoms, centered with eyes of bright gold.

And still more cyclamen, daintily scattering their softer hues along the decomposing carpet.

Near the end of the journey, a formal reflecting pool caught the trees and the sky and the beauty of the sunlit day like a mirror, doubling the image with underwater accents of bright green algae. It was an appropriate and symbolic time for reflection, and I sat on a bench and once again wondered at the perfection of the world, especially of nature, when left to its own devices.

Yet the ferry would wait for no man, and I needed to return to the water. My chariot would not turn into a pumpkin, but nor would it wait for a straggler.

Up next: watching the whales…

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Seattle Sublime ~ Bloedell Reserve Pt. 1

Reportedly a favorite haunt of Martha Stewart, the Bloedell Reserve is one of those places that I secretly assumed would be a favorite moment of my Seattle trip, but whose anticipation I didn’t want to stir too much. (Too many movies and theatrical events have been ruined that way.) There was no need to worry, as this experience surpassed anything that ever took place on a stage or in a theater.

It began with a walk in the forest, and this forest is unlike anything the Northeast has to offer. Trees rocket into the sky, disappearing into the sun, ending beyond where the eye can see, in what I can only assume is some heavenly plane so grand mere humans couldn’t witness it.

The heart manages to simultaneously ache and soar when surrounded by such beauty – a glimpse of the sublime not saddened by any solitude, yet somehow pining to share it with another. I guess that’s being achieved now, but I did not know that then. The tricks of time and travel and subsequent writing.

A walk in the woods does much for the soul, and the founder of the Bloedell Reserve was very much aware of it. In fact, part of the reason for keeping it open to the public was to share the emotional health and happiness achieved after spending some time in the folds of the forest. A brush with nature and beauty has always proven a balm for most troubled moments, and it was this tranquility that I had traveled across the country to find.

Mossy stumps of fallen trees and wide swaths of ferns rolled off the soft, meandering path of bark mulch. Sunlight filtered through the lofty boughs of conifers, tiny moss spores and fairy seeds of fantastical tales drifted though the slanting rays, carried on the lightest puff of a breeze. This was magical land – lush, rich, tender and teaming with life. Just a few minutes into my walk, and my load already felt lighter, my heart fuller.

A pond, still and quiet, provided a place for a few ducks to rest and frolic. It reflected the blue sky, and the shadowy underside of leaves from a tree overhanging the water.

This is a world of transformation, where fallen logs become pathways or parts of more magnificent tableaux, where the minute and the immense happily co-exist beside one another.

Elements of the vertical mesh with the horizontal, trees rise out of other trees, and moss grows fat on almost every surface, not limited by any mythically-required northern exposure. The effect is gorgeous, and quite new for someone accustomed to the smaller scale and harsher climate of the Northeast.

At the edge of the forest, signs of humans.

A worn bench. A manicured lawn. A cultivated hydrangea.

In sunlight the color is almost obscene after the muted palette of the woods.

Then, appearing before the waterfront, a house: mirage-like and incongruous, and yet perfectly part of everything that came before, formal grooming and all…

Up next: the summer house…

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