Category Archives: General

2020 Begins With A Hazy Vision

“You know, I think I’m in a state of shock…” ~ Madonna, ‘Truth or Dare’

Most years begin with a bang or a whimper.

Most of my life has been the same binary situation.

Either/or, never/always, yes/no, stop/go.

This year comes in somewhere between the two, with a hesitant air of uncertainty. The brighter way of looking at it is as a happy medium at long last. The darker way is as a harbinger of difficult times to come. And there I go down the two-way highway again instead of simply getting off the damn road altogether.

We begin in a multitude of grays. Subtle gradations of shadow, nuanced renderings of light, all the spaces in between the spaces. The stillness and the silence in between the noise. Beauty and madness and sorrowful glee, the mask sheds a tear, and I shed the mask. What will this bold new year bring? What does 2020 have hidden for us? Surprises have always worked better in theory and on paper than in execution. I still remember the surprise birthday party an ex-boyfriend once lovingly, if haplessly, tried to throw for me. It was disastrous all around, as Kira did her best to keep me away from the proceedings and I, thrown by her behavior and strange requests and stalling tactics, grew so annoyed that we ended up having a big fight. I walked away from her to go home and celebrate my birthday alone as she scrambled to find a phone to call the condo and tell everyone I was on my way, ready or not, and I was pissed. Virgos don’t like surprises.

I’m entering the new year with a little bit of hope, and lowered expectations. Better to stave off disappointment that way. Hope can be a dangerous thing. We’ve all been hurt by it. I’m at the age of safeguarding the heart, though in all honesty I’ve been at that age for years, probably before Andy came along. And part of me will always be fortified in the eventual case of hurt. I’m just beginning to see why. At key moments in my life there was no one to protect me, and at every one of those turns a little part of me died. Before the world could take it all, I took up arms to protect myself, and I’ve been safer ever since. We’ll deal with the side effects of such armor later, but to get to that point you have to survive first.

One of the biggest lessons I learned in the past year was how to take things one little step at a time. Instead of focusing on some grand all-encompassing goal and vision, I found it better to break things down into smaller increments, allowing for lots of little accomplishments as I worked toward something greater. It was a way of combatting a tendency toward perfectionism, as well as a way of training the body and mind to engage and act instead of plan and wait. This year I’m aiming to continue along those lines, and while 2020 is a big year for anniversaries of all sorts, I’m starting with this single day, and trying to make every minute of it matter in some way. To take joy in this very moment, in the moment that I write this, in the moment that someone reads it, in the moment that I close the lap-top and take a deep breath.

Outside, the stand of fountain grass is drained of all green, standing stiffly in the wind in shades of raw, stripped pine. The bones, the structure of it all, were still intact. With all that happened in the last year, all the growth and the beauty and the gorgeous straps of tall, healthy leaves, then the slow yellowing and rise of the fluffy seed heads, and finally the drying and decay of the frozen days, it still stood in our backyard. It will remain, beneath all the snow and ice, in the face of whipping winds and plunging temperatures, until I cut the stalks down next spring. It feels a long way off, too far to find any solace in the notion of spring. But the days are already getting longer. There is more light during our waking hours. I will focus on that. Through the storms. Through the chill. Until the light outweighs the dark.

A new year begins.

I know I’ll feel something later. I just don’t know when that’s going to be. I guess it’s a protection device. I hope I’m in a safe place when it happens.” – Madonna, ‘Truth or Dare’

Continue reading ...

The Rollercoaster Year in Review: 2019 – Part Three

{See Part One and Part Two.} The higher the glory, the greater the fall. As lofty as the rollercoaster gets, it usually falls further from where it began. if that makes any sense. There is no such thing as rock bottom. The bottom is always ready to fall out again. Hold onto your hats for the last part of the year, then bid it all adieu. Bye bye, baby, bye bye. 

SEPTEMBER 2019:

Sometimes September is for getting naked.

When Maluma got together with Ricky Martin.

The category is Tom Daley.

The hot dog and peanut butter challenge, accepted.

A dozen years wasted on FaceBook.

Madgical mood Music.

Hot hunky miscellany.

Jude Law in that Speedo.

Beauty balm.

My Dad’s 89th birthday.

Beekman euphoria

Everyone loves a season premiere.

Naked summer reflections. 

Madonna’s Extreme Occident.

The most potent cocktail of them all.

Summer Sunday brunch, family-style.

Sous me.

The Summer Speedo of 2019: Part One, Part Two, Part Three & Part Four.

Confessions of a New York State Worker: my career journey with the government. 

Maybe September.

Beautiful fall day set to music.

A dragonfly visits.

Vision of a starry night.

Autumn enchantment: casting a spell.

Adam Lambert brings the super funk

Another September song.

Hunks and their bulges.

Just like that, I was old.

OCTOBER 2019:

A collection of Octobers.

Everybody in this party’s shining like Illuminati.

Losing steam heat.

Burning the wishes.

Shit just got real.

Selfie reflection.

When I’m wrong, I’m really wrong

I loved cancelling my Planet Fitness membership more than I enjoyed any of the few times I ever went there.

Sorry, I don’t work here.

The Girlie Show.

The Starbucks struggle is real.

Getting into all the Hocus Pocus of the season.

Follow this popcorn seller.

The day I’m going to die.

A gratuitous Dan Osborne bulge post.

Walking through grief together: Part One and Part Two.

Scary insidious

Is this mouse house for real?

Maybe this is where the turn began, I just didn’t see it then. I need a new project.

Our first sleepover with the Ilagan twins

The cozy scents of Tom Ford.

Sexy shirtless gents.

Feather delicacy of Algeria.

Andy’s birthday.

Madonna’s sexual anniversary.

Returning to DC under sad circumstances.

Missing mothers.

The world turned upside down.

A night at the Plaza… not yet.

Those pesky facts of life.

The backyard forest.

Velvet robe and unseen underwear.

Dinner at the Blue Duck Tavern.

October lends itself to poetry.

A friend’s mother leaves this world.

Comfort food: making meatloaf.

Soup for the soul and the stomach.

NOVEMBER 2019:

Reaching for the glued-down penny of Amnesia.

RIP Barney.

Words for November.

Quite possibly I’m simply sick of myself. 

Chris Hemsworth shirtless.

All over Albany.

Terror and wind overhead – the storm inside.

Liam Payne in Hugo Boss underwear.

When you need more than a smudging.

Dan Osborne bulges even more.

A rose full of surprises refuses to be bested by the fall.

Shirtless male celebrities: Part One and Part Two.

Saturday night television.

Savannah redux.

Hanging out with my ass out

Another fine fucked-up kitchen failure.

Get a lick and load of this cream.

Male celebrities in their Speedos and in motion.

Our family trip to Savannah: Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

Kitchen redemption: some amazing enchiladas.

Another record smashed by Madonna.

Words of Colin.

Mexican wedding cookies by Gram.

The briefs were gone by Christmas, but maybe they’ll be back in stock for Valentine’s Day.

Gender Swatching.

Simon Dunn gets deep, stays handsome

Big changes were  in store for this holiday season. Hang on…

The Ben Cohen calendar is always the best.

My first Boston Friendsgiving with Kira.

The days, this one in particular, grew long

Simon Dunn bulges through his Speedo.

A poem for late November.

What child is this and why is he talking to me?

Jason DeRulo’s anaconda in his underwear, as banned by Instagram. (Been there, my cocky friend.)

For all the holiday lovers.

Sporting shirtlessness.

The curtain rises on a whole new slew of holiday traditions.

Giving thanks through poetry.

Thankful remembrance.

Baking comfort.

After she bailed on all of her Boston shows, I took a brief break from Madonna.

Of course, it was a quick one, and we were back in good graces by the time ‘Medellin’ joined the Madonna Timeline

DECEMBER 2019:

Decembers gone before.

Cyber Monday breakdown.

Shirtless men again.

Wait, Shazam is my doppelgänger? Well follow me to a place I know…

When Charlie Brown met Snoopy.

Sugar & booze… well, the sugar at least.

The Beekman Boys do the holidays right.

The easiest pecan praline recipe ever.

This year’s holiday card was sweet, messy, and burnt the fuck out, just like its maker-baker.

Another friend loses her beloved mother, and the world grows dimmer

Beating a storm with teamwork

A host of holiday hunks.

My nine topped out at ass and cock.

Facing loss at the most wonderful time of the year.

The casket that got away in Albany.

Midnight colloquy with owls

I am officially in therapy for all sorts of shit. Watch out. The past is back.

Tree-trimming melancholy.

This is easily my favorite holiday tradition now

The calming crunch of biscotti.

Steve Grand selling underwear in his underwear.

Finding the next Madonna Timeline

The best preparations sometimes come crashing down

Hometown hero wants to make movie magic again.

A mixed batter.

A Hambone Holiday with Suzie.

The second go-round with this song because it’s so good.

Holiday Stroll 2019 with Kira.

Even more Holiday hunks.

Christmas Eve memories fading

The Boston Children’s Holiday Hour 2019: Part One and Part Two.

A comprehensive Merry Christmas retrospective.

The anti-climax of Christmas

The Hunks of 2019 in one convenient link-filled post. 

Continue reading ...

The Rollercoaster Year in Review: 2019 – Part Two

The year crested in may ways during the high summer months, as is often the case. Most of our happiest moments fell during the stretch from May to August, so enjoy them now. They are fewer and further between once the fall arrives.

MAY 2019:

Adding some spring to my step.

The weekend everyone went to Boston: Part One and Part Two.

Zac Efron gets nude and shows off his ass.

Met Gala 2019.

A quiet nine-year anniversary.

And a bang-up anniversary recap.

Balls, balls, balls.

Annual Broadway weekend with Mom.

Madame is on the move

Channing Tatum naked.

My turn as a Carpool Mom.

‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ on Broadway. And ‘The Cher Show‘ for sparkle.

How I turned down the road rage. For the moment.

JUNE 2019:

A Yellow Dress Debuts in Boston: Part One and Part Two.

The flower clock begins its countdown to a new project.

Jason Momoa shirtless.

A few new spins on an old tradition: Boston baseball. 

A kick-off to a family summer.

Summer fun with the Ilagan twins.

 Summer love in bloom.

BroSox Adventure 2019: Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.

Madonna on the horizon

Decades into a storied career, Madonna releases her gutsiest record ever: ‘Madame X’.

Hot hunks.

Summer song: ‘Sit Down’ by James.

‘Borrowed Time’ by Madonna joins the timeline.

Signs, signs, everywhere signs.

Flowers.

Superhero hunks in their flesh

We like it best doggystyle.

The gay parade.

Massacre of the Madame X masterpiece.

Courting summer.

Summer fizz.

Boston summer day in Saigon.

Boston summer night in Saigon.

JULY 2019:

Shirtless hunks heat up.

The turkeys across the street.

Delta Dawn in Provincetown.

Connecticut Idyll: Part One and Part Two.

When summer gets to be Too Much.

Rib rubdown.

Seeing Faye Dunaway before, and apparently after, she went ballistic. 

My naked ass on Instagram.

A man sandwich: Jake & Tom.

I’ll be the king of wishful thinking

Painting a project.

Upon a teasing.

A summer read.

Painting a Press Release.

A watercolored interview: Part One and Part Two.

The Future.

The infamous tale of how Pier 1 Imports refused to sell me a pillow

Nineteen years with this guy.

Stretching with Roger Frampton.

Pool breathing

Summer hunk break.

The robe of falling flowers.

Florals for fragrance. Groundbreaking.

Once Upon A Watercolor: the new project.

AUGUST 2019:

If Nick Jonas has a Dad bod, call me Daddy. 

Taylor the Archer.

The underwear merchant in his goods

Beauty & evil intertwined

A gratuitous post of Chris Evans and his ass.

The voluptuous fig.

The Beekman Boys left my skin soft as a baby’s bottom.

Bopping around to this summer song.

The families you choose

Why do I even bother with these gift wish lists?

The days were gently tinted lavender pink, lemon and lime.

Madonna’s birthday.

‘Batuka’ joins the Madonna Timeline ranks

Sexy Simon Dunn on full display.

Betty Buckley just keeps on getting better

Hunky bulges.

My birthday suit for #44.

My real birthday suit.

‘Faz Gostoso’ from ‘Madame X’ shows Madonna in party mode. 

A love letter to Betty Lynn Buckley.

Kids today.

Finally, a fig or two.

I’ve been working for the state of New York for 18 years.

Boston birthday adventures: Part One and Part Two.

Continue reading ...

The Rollercoaster Year in Review: 2019- Part One

A message for 2019, directly from me: get the fuck out of here yesterday. I’m in no mood. I have no patience. And you have tried me with all sorts of fuckery. As of this moment, I officially have no more fucks to give. Now let’s look back at this bad boy of a year and do our best to move beyond it! That warrants a dreaded exclamation point.

JANUARY 2019:

It began with a bang and a circus, and I had no idea what a fitting start that would be. 

There was peace if you sought it carefully. 

A birthday and a coveted pencil.

Pietro Boselli’s naked ass.

Sliding my ass into a onesie.

Bringing sexy back, Part One and Part Two.

Mary Poppins returned in fine form.

This still brings tears to my eyes, in the all-too-rare good way. 

A glimpse behind the curtain at the inception of a new project.

Brother can you hear me?

The passing of a favorite poet.

Madonna’s Secret Garden.

Zac Efron shirtless.

Tree cemetery.

Whaling in Oklahoma, in Boston.

Hunky odds and ends.

A mocktail hints at ways to come

‘Spamalot’ galloped to Proctors.

The art of the abelskiver.

Boston winter respite: Part One and Part Two.

Quirky brunch. An experimental meal ends in success.

James McAvoy naked.

FEBRUARY 2019:

Ahh, the months of February.

Jake Gyllenhaal nude.

Text me.

Super jock post.

Adam Levine’s shirtless climax.

Chris Hemsworth shirtless in motion.

Adam Levine’s nipples.

Best life hack of the year.

Iris eyes smiling.

My roller-skating days.

Zac Efron’s bulge.

My friendly Valentine. (Broken wings.)

Valentine music by Madonna.

Shirtless Shawn Mendes. And the Shawn Mendes bulge.

Boston warmth in winter.

The very first time I rescinded a Hunk of the Day for being so awful.

Tom Ford’s ‘Beau de Jour’.

Beneath a winter sea.

Summoning the sun.

Mike Rickard’s ‘Out Loud’.

A gratuitous Nick Jonas post.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s underwear package.

Oscars 2019.

Madonna & Lady Gaga.

Meditation.

A Japanese hot pot.

Pat the puss.

 

MARCH 2019:

All these Marches.

Do you feel the magic?

This American life.

Sexy suckers.

Let there be Light, Madonna-style.

Gratuitous underwear guys.

Friends & lovers.

Sexy (naked) Ass Wednesday post.

Shirtless Sunday studs.

Celebrating Skip’s birthday.

A boy babysitter.

The little prince (and I still need to find someone who can make me that coat).

Madonna’s ‘American Life’ gets a proper timeline write-up.

Hot half-naked ginger guys.

Adam Levine nude for his birthday.

A song that inspired two posts.

Spring cleaning, summer coming.

The 30th anniversary of Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’. And my crotch pays homage.

Savannah approaching.

Absolutely some regrets.

Desperado.

The naked footballer.

Beekman Boys beauty.

Let’s dance... you can do a little two-step!

Chris Evans owns America’s ass.

No one got me this robe and now it can’t be found. Another one of life’s little fuck-overs. 

APRIL 2019:

Full-frontal male nudity by Cristiano Ronaldo of all people. 

A duck crossing caught in Saratoga.

Rob Gronkowski sniffs Zac Efron’s Speedo, and it’s on video.

Naked in my bed.

Chromatic colorbleed.

Madonna’s ‘Forbidden Love’ brings back the dreamy soundscape of ‘Bedtime Stories’ and that poignant time in my life. 

More of Shawn Mendes shirtless.

Suzie had no idea who Diana Vreeland was. Scott would be so disappointed. 

Broadway plans with Mom.

Don’t look back, don’t ever look back.

Newsflash: Walmart sucks.

When and where men get shirtless.

A new Madonna can now begin.

Summer by Louis Vuitton never panned out. 

Making your first-born cry like the baby he was. Yeah, boy. You sit on that thing and you like it. 

Boston about to bloom.

Family Easter.

A trip to Savannah with Andy.

Artful and shirtless.

Continue reading ...

A Post-Christmas/Pre-New Year’s Recap

Sandwiched uncomfortably in the midst of this holiday season, made especially disruptive thanks to Christmas and New Year’s falling smack-dab in the middle of the work week, I’m posting this recap a day early, as Monday and Tuesday will be filled with year-end recaps. So many recaps, and mostly of stuff I could not care less to repeat. Here we go – one last weekly one for the year.

Christmas Eve came and went without fanfare, and I couldn’t be happier that it’s done. It was largely ruined for me and the less said or thought about it, the better. 

The Boston Children’s Holiday Hour was also shaded differently this year, but it was still enough to warrant two parts.

A comprehensive Christmas retrospective, not sure why…

Maybe we will cancel Christmas next year.

You know things are off when Sylvia Plath supplies the Christmas quote.

Now onto the purgatorial lull.

A holiday mocktail to make all your dreams come true

When the boughs don’t break and the cradle still falls.

Pistachio cookies to close out the seasonal gluttony. 

Here I lie naked before you

Hunks of the Day included James Lock, Kevin Baker, Jonathan Tucker, DJ Ruckus and Jason Michael Snow.

Continue reading ...

The Final Shirtless Sunday of the Year

We’ll get to a weekly recap a little later today, then the big yearly recaps begin tomorrow. For now, this Sunday morning is one of our last “regular” posts for the year. There’s no sin in being “regular” despite my penchant for fighting it. Too often we are told we need to do something to set ourselves apart from everyone else, and there is a certain value in distinction. Making that an end unto itself, however, diminishes the power behind an authentic grab at staking an identity for yourself. I know a few people who are doing their damnedest to avoid the standard life of all that’s “regular” in an effort to matter. Because we all just want to matter to someone.

I’ve fallen into that trap as well. Quite a few times, in fact. Every party, every event, every dinner and show – we do our best to make ourselves memorable. We don’t want to be part of the pack, a mere member of the herd. We want to be known, even if it’s just among a select few.

When given the choice between a pair of jeans or a pair of hot-pink pants emblazoned with yellow and turquoise flowers, I will almost always choose the latter. But there is that almost, and it’s an almost that matters more than the usual. Without it, there is no distinction. There is no variety. There is nothing to make the hot pink pants pop so gorgeously.

Even this post, in which I’ve said basically nothing, when I wasn’t saying things that were completely confusing even to me, is a “regular” post. It’s not a recap or a nostalgic recollection or a brand new project announcement or a Tom Ford fragrance review – it’s just some guy droning on about how being part of the mainstream isn’t so bad after all. Especially when a pair of pink pants is waiting in the closet, and a bare-naked blog post is waiting in the pre-populated wings.

Continue reading ...

When the Boughs Don’t Break

There is a place of rarefied air where the pine cones dangle, untouched by human hands, unbothered by human hearts, unfettered by human bonds, and even the human eyes that bear witness from afar cannot truly reach these ornaments of nature. Not in time anyway, not before they can do their best to disperse the next generation of hope. Against the bluest winter sky, because some winter days still afford a backdrop of blue, the pine tree soars splendidly into spires of perfect form.

I’ve often wondered at these places we will never reach. So much of our planet is like this, yet we seem to not understand the humility of such circumstances. No one wants to believe they are so small, so insignificant. We still hold onto the idea that one person can truly change the world. And who knows, maybe one person can. But the vast majority of us won’t come near to making such cosmic noise. No matter how much we yell. No matter how dangerously we destroy. No matter how many people we love.

I think of my Astronomy professor at such times of rumination, he of the ‘Custom Slaughtering;’ sign on his office door, the one right next to the ‘Until Morale Improves, the Beatings Will Continue’ sign. Like certain serious scientists, he seemed to have a philosophical take on the world, coming as it did from the point of view who regularly considered our microcosmic place in the universe. Eschewing fashion completely, and even cleanliness to a certain extent, he seemed perfectly content to merely exist, as if he knew the secret to living the best life wasn’t in making meaning of anything, but rather of realizing that there was no meaning in any of it, so why bother with the nonsense? Whenever I find myself getting bogged down in the details and minutiae of life, I think back to his wild hair and ratty garments, and I understand that our time here is too short to be bothered. Strange, coming from me. My whole life seems the antithesis of that. And it’s cool if you believe that.

I’m going to float up to those pinecones and ask them what they know, what they’ve seen. It’s more than me. It’s more than all of us. If I were them, I’d never tell.

Continue reading ...

Frozen Lull

The icicle waits and watches the innocent below.

To melt itself into a dagger is an art.

Tricky thaws lead to sharp paws.

It will scratch your eyes out.

If it doesn’t impale you first.

It feels like all icicles are just waiting to strike.

Probably an unfair bit of intent and baggage to saddle on such an unwitting, if armed, entity.

Winter takes its prisoners regardless of their intent.

Ridged and rippled, the ice takes its form from the wind.

Like the waves of a pond.

In the hand, it is slippery.

Of course it is cold too.

A cold that burns.

A cold that cuts.

A cold that renders the heart still.

Its beauty matched by its inherent threat, ready to pierce at a moment’s notice, when it’s absolutely necessary.

When it’s time for battle.

When it’s time for war.

When it’s time…

Continue reading ...

The Recap Before Xmas Mayhem

This is the week it all happens, and on a Wednesday no fucking less. It reminds me of Antonio Banderas and his ex-wife: that’s one of life’s little fuck-overs. Dick-size notwithstanding, we continue on with a recap that doesn’t feel very much like Christmas with all this cock and fuck talk, but what did you expect? Are you new? On with the recap…

This post got fucked up big time

A trio of divas, none of which I got to see.

Berrylicious.

Get a load of this Woody.

Sometimes it’s good to go from hard to soft.

A pink car Christmas.

The Holiday Hambone Hullabaloo.

A song for gazing at the stars from the gutter.

One of the lone bright spots in this holiday season was my Holiday Stroll with Kira. I expanded it into several parts because I didn’t want it to end. See Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and the Last Part

These holiday hunks got undressed for your viewing pleasure.

Bred of the ginger.

Hunks of the Day included Simu Liu, Adam Scott, Josh AllenKumail Nanjiani, and Mike Chabot.

Continue reading ...

You Do Christmas Your Way, I’ll Do It His

This holiday season has more switch-ups in it than any in recent memory, and I’m on board for all the changes. That’s a startling change-of-pace for this Virgo, who up until now did his best to hold desperately onto tradition and history. Throwing those albatrosses to the wind and mixing metaphors with wild abandon, I’m trying out the new and saying to hell with the old. Hence this gingerbre(a)d man, who is bringing out the be(a)st in me. You’re gonna hear me growl. (Come back tonight for a fun recap of the wretched week!)

Continue reading ...

The Wonder of Woody, The Magic of Movies

Currently making his cross-country way back to the Northeast, Woody Woodbeck is returning to his hometown (and mine) to engage in a multi-pronged heroic enterprise: taking care of his mother and reopening the shuttered cinema in Amsterdam.

I vaguely remember him from school; he was a grade younger and back then age was more of a divider than almost anything else. More memorable were his on-air turns for Fly 92.3, followed by his successful move to California where he would end up producing a number of Bravo shows. One on of his visits, I ran into him in the old Barnes & Noble bookstore in Colonie. He was kind, mentioning something I had written and being extremely generous with his praise. I was more in awe of him and the way he had charged out of Amsterdam to follow his dream.
We are all rooting for this hometown hero to make good in the place from where he came, and anything that touches Amsterdam touches my heart, so I’m definitely pulling for him. This is one instance where we can actually have an impact, as he’s set up a GoFundMe page to tackle the lift of reopening the cinema.

There’s a lot going on around the section of Route 30 where the cinema stood, so it’s rather a shame that we don’t have a place to see movies anymore. Driving to Albany or Schenectady is a lot to ask, especially in these nastier months to come. Having a cinema right there would make dinner and a movie an Amsterdam event again. Our hometown deserves that. Here’s the full story in Woody’s own words:

Growing up in Amsterdam, NY had its ups and downs but the one thing I remember is a very large sense of community.  Everyone knew everyone, lots of family ties, and love for the events that brought everyone together. The city was first founded in 1885 but has a history dating back to 1710.  Currently the city has about 20,000 residents and sits along the Mohawk River in Upstate NY. This city has an abundance of history and was once home to Cabbage Patch Dolls and Coleco. Needless to say it’s a city with some character.  

I got a job working at the movie theatre when it first opened as “Norma Jeans” in 1995 and the theatre was booming.  The lines around around the building front and shows sold out weekend after weekend. The atmosphere there was something special and once again I had a new blended family in my life.  Though I was in radio at the time, working at the theatre sparked the want to work on a larger platform of entertainment. It was truly something special. After graduating in the Class of 1999, a lot of us went our own ways but somehow when something brought us back together…we were like family all over again.  I moved to California to pursue a dream of working in Television and have always been supported by my hometown. Since moving to California, I’ve been back and forth to visit and whenever I came home it was like I hadn’t left. Familiar faces, tremendous spirit, and lots of love & support. 

Just a few months ago, my mother had a massive stroke after having a double knee replacement and I flew home immediately to be at her side.  While home, the outpouring of love that my family received was tremendous. People came to our aid, offered up rides back and forth to see her since my mom doesn’t have a car, making meals for me, etc.  It was truly something special and still is. Over my multiple trips home there was something I kept hearing from everyone I saw; “Did you know the theatre closed? We really miss it. We have to drive pretty far now to see a movie and there really isn’t much else to do with our families locally.”  

So I decided to post a picture on social media in front of the theatre asking the question; “Should I reopen this theatre?”  The post instantly went viral! We’ve been on the news, radio, newspapers, etc. Everywhere I went after posting that picture, members of the community came up to me showing their support to me reopening the theatre.  So that’s what sparked this journey. In addition to moving back to NY to be closer to my mom and help take care of her as she isn’t set to make a full recovery from her stroke, I want to fight to reopen the theatre for our community.  To some the theatre may not seem like much but to this community it means something much more. 

So let’s do this together.  Please spread the word, share the link, encourage a conversation and of course….MAKE A DONATION TODAY!  Thank you in advance. Much love from myself and Amsterdam, NY! 

Continue reading ...

A Banner Year for Berries

Something in the summer and fall must have set the ideal conditions for ornamental berries, as this December there was a proliferation of all sorts – beauty-berry, holly-berry, almost every berry. They came into their own and set the sky aflame when suspended in mid-air. In the photos here, I believe it was a hawthorne tree that provided the dramatic fire vs. sky scene.

For some reason, I’ve never quite cottoned to the idea of growing berry bushes for ornamental purposes, mostly because the payoff and the show came at the tail-end of the season. By that point I needed a break and the long slumber of the garden was a welcome rest. That’s one reason I don’t think I’d fare well in a monotonous climate without room for dormancy. A spell off is necessary to recharge the batteries, to realign what’s important. And to refresh all the energy needed to create all these berries. Making fruit is one of the most draining things a plant or tree can do.

In Boston, there are a couple of beauty-berry bushes in the Southwest Corridor Park that have matured in the last few years, and their gorgeous showing of bright purple berries in October is delightful to behold. I’m still not quite in enough adoration to reserve space for them in our yard, but having them in Boston is a treat. It’s the same sort of home-away-from-home planting that gives me great enjoyment from afar – like a magnificent magnolia tree, or a clump of spiderwort in full bloom. Glorious to see in their brief show, but not worth the majority of time they spend simply taking up space and storing up the energy needed to put on such a show. For now, I watch from a distance.

Continue reading ...

Diva Triumvirate

Cher was just in Boston.

Celine Dion was just in Albany.

And Madonna was just in Philadelphia.

I missed them all.

And I’m ok with that.

This is a brave new world.

How to survive without the aid of an icon?

Follow me and I’ll show you the way…

Continue reading ...

A Very Grand Recap

While winter approached, Steve Grand kept this website warm and toasty with his new line of underwear, Grand Axis. Enjoy these promotional photos that went along with it, and then have fun clicking on the links of this double week of recaps, since some may have missed last week’s. 

It began in hot form with this shirtless holiday hunk post

My #TopNine were pretty evenly parsed between my ass and my junk

A last-minute plea for Tom Ford, in case you still haven’t gotten me anything for Christmas.

Turkeys gathering

And we wonder why people get bent out of shape at this time of the year.

Contemplating loss during the holidays. 

Yoga & the workday.

The casket that almost got away.

A conversation among owls at midnight.

Fuck yeah I’m in therapy. You would be too if it happened to you.

A melancholy holiday moment

As Kira and I celebrated this year’s Holiday Stroll (easily my favorite holiday tradition that’s still intact) we took a look-back at the ones that came before

My baking evolution continues with this batch of biscotti. 

One of these posts I’m going to do ‘The Twelve Days of Ass.’ Until then, you only have this. 

The week ended, or began, as so many have ended and begun, with a linky Madonna post to celebrate the eventual return of the Madonna Timeline. 

Hunks of the Day included Dwyane Wade, Neil Jones, Mike Colter, Louis Ferrigno Jr., and Ronan Keating.

 

Continue reading ...

Call Me Water Lily

A few weeks ago I started seeing a therapist to work some things out – a few of which, I soon discovered, went back decades into the past. I should have done this a long time ago, but I simply wasn’t ready. For the last year or two, however, I felt myself stumbling along this path, toward a place of greater understanding and peace, even if the ways I was going about getting there were wayward and, let me finally say it, wrong. It took a few instances of lashing out to realize that I had masked some foundational fissures from childhood up to now with various substitutes for love. Sometimes it was easier to wear those masks, and in certain situations and areas, those masks were so convincing I managed to build up some authentic courage and self-confidence in the process of all the pretending. That can only get one so far, however, and when some of those masks crumbled, I was left vulnerable and afraid. It’s a feeling that has haunted me since I was very young. Perhaps that’s why I’ve tried so desperately to escape – in words, in wardrobe, in whimsy and wanton abandon. In the guise of what you see and read here. In this very post, at this very moment you are reading it. I’ve just begun to look back in a meaningful manner. There are many memories I’ve conjured here, many posts which revisit eventful days of the past, but I never delve too deeply because on some level I knew how dangerous that could be. That said, sometimes in order to get over something you must go through it – the pain, the fear, and the muck of one’s history, one’s life. I’ve started that dive into the treacherous pond of therapy, and though it’s taking an emotional toll, it feels very much worth it. I just need to make it through these next few weeks.

When I was a little boy I loved water lilies. I’m not sure why – we didn’t have them anywhere near our yard, and the only ones I saw flew by at 65 miles an hour as our car passed some tantalizing water feature while heading across the country on a family vacation. My mother had grown up with access to ponds that had water lilies, and she told me about lily pads and their flowers, so they ended up feeling magical, like something out of a myth or fable, and ever out of reach. Their homes – those glorious ponds teeming with life seen and unseen – embodied summer and, in a larger context, childhood. Drawn to water, probably because we were too often landlocked, my brother and I were fascinated by seas and oceans and rivers and lakes and ponds. Even the smallest stream or brook held enchanting allure – the gentle gurgling of the water cast like some irresistible spell. A pond dispersed a different sort of charm.

Ponds could be placid and tranquil, smooth and clear as glass when the atmosphere was still, barely a ripple on those sultry, tranquil days. But dive deep and suddenly all sorts of murky possibility could be turned up. It was possible to make a pond in your own backyard if you wished, provided you had enough space and power. You could fill it with water and let nature take hold. You can plant water lilies (water gardens are gaining in popularity with each passing year) and soon those lilies will take hold, sending down roots into the dark pond bottom, before sending shoots back up to the surface. Soon you’ll have water lily flowers in the heat and sun of summer, and the lily pads will expand outwardly, providing a perch for frogs and toads and turtles. A couple of cattails might take hold at the water’s edge, or perhaps a stand of pesky loosestrife that you’ll have to watch or eradicate. All in all, it could be a very pretty scene, but if you hadn’t been careful in the beginning, if you hadn’t made sure that there was an adequate basin with adequate nourishment, and no cracks or holes, then you would have to revisit it later on. Could you leave well enough alone and hope that enough layers of detriment had landed over the years to bury whatever mistakes lurked in the deep? Could you let it all go, allow it to remain buried and hidden, and go on with blooming on the surface? Yes. You could. And you might get away with it. You might escape the scary stuff of the depths, dark as night. Your pond might survive and thrive, and no dragonflies would ever sense your secret sorrow. But there is danger in that. You run the risk of having one of those beautiful water lily roots reaching into a poisonous patch of what you thought was in the past, and once it taps into such darkness it will send it up to its flower buds, stalling them in their growth, stunting their bloom, aborting their promise of beauty. There’s nothing sadder than a bud that is stillborn, especially when it comes from the root.

My therapy has begun in similar form, as if I have just taken a drill to the bottom of my life pond and begun dredging up all the things that looked and felt so perfect a few scant months ago, only to discover the mess and the flaws that went unaddressed and unadorned. It’s not pretty, and I tried for so long to make everything beautiful that at first it’s a bit overwhelming. But I need to get through it. I need to make it through the muck and make sure I can live with what’s at the bottom of my pond.

Continue reading ...