Category Archives: General

“I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.” - Mae West

Outside the 10^th floor windows of my office, a hawk soars in circles. Carving wide curves in the air, its wings catch the currents and it floats high above downtown Albany. It doesn’t seem to be looking for anything to eat – no scurrying rodent down below, no nest to raid a little higher – it simply glides through the sky.

Without getting too anthropomorphic, it appears to be exulting in the freedom that being a bird entails.

Behind the glass, behind the blinds, I am not the only one who envies that freedom.

That Virginia Woolf moment when all you want to do is throw a party, but your whole inner-world is in turmoil, so you go out and buy flowers because it’s the last thing that might save your sanity – this is not a picture of that. Instead, it’s a portrait of the last big party I had in Boston – for JoAnn’s 40^th birthday. This year we’re reconvening on a smaller and more intimate scale, and Kira will once again help out for the festivities. (At least, I hope she will…)

Spring gatherings always remind me of Gatsby, of nights when the perfume of unseen blossoms fills the air, and the world seems filled with the unfurling hope and promise of summer. In the hours before the guests arrive, we pause and take in the moment. All the preparation and cleaning, all the assembly and finishing – it comes together and there is an hour or two of quiet and peace. Sometimes that’s the best part of a party.

In order to have the best of both worlds, this upcoming gathering is designed to be on the cozier side of things. Very rarely do I get to talk to everyone at a party because there is too much going on and too many people involved. I’m looking forward to breaking that spell.

The dull and the mundane are often overlooked, but they have their stories too. Most of the time they never get told – too unexceptional, too uninteresting, too commonplace to be worthy of a tale. I’m not going to say anything on their behalf, however, as it would be conjecture and half-hearted guessing at best. Weave your own back-stories and make up your own fantasies on how these objects came to be discarded. It is a world of the lost.

Pull me off of my knees! On a Monday morning, my favorite thing to do is lament the passing of another weekend. I think back to those precious moments on Friday, when it all began, when it felt like we had all the time in the world to do all the things we wanted, and the possibility of excitement and merriment and fun was all we needed. I think of a key – the key to a car and the start of an adventure. The key to a hotel room, and the anticipation of seeing what’s on the other side. The key to our Boston condo, and the beginning of a few days away. The key to a heart…

As of this writing, and a full three days of working outside in the yard, my body is about to give out, so forgive me if this recap is lazy as a clam. (Are clams even lazy?) Anyway, we began the week with a few changes. Nothing too major, just a couple of differences you may or may not have noticed, starting with a revamped posting schedule that goes back to a more energetic time. That’s right – the third post has returned.

That makes these recaps slightly more involved, so we may have to jumble the Hunks together, or in nifty little snatch batches, like this one: Tommy Didario, Tom Daley, Kevin Stea, Aaron Valenzuela & Adam Von Rothfelder.

We also have a semi-regular mid-week feature – the Wacky Wednesday post – in which some silliness relieves the drama and seriousness of most of the intent around here.

Attention has shifted to the garden, thanks to some decent weather at long last. It’s catch-up time now, but there’s always a moment for a good gardening lesson.

The birthday of a good friend is a good thing indeed.

Chris Pratt was already a Hunk of the Day, but he gets a special post for taking his shirt off. Same goes for these guys. And Daniel Macedo.

Adam Levine paid tribute to Prince in this amazing way.

I am now a proud member of the Beyhive.

Something about pearls never quite sat right with me.

I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s their overused ubiquity.

Or the fact that they’re all too easily faked.

Or maybe they’re just boring.

Classic, yes, but boring.

I own one real set, and they’re precious to me because they came from Andy.

I’m just never going to be a girl in pearls.

We partied like it was 1999, because it was, well, 1999.

Today is my dear friend JoAnn’s birthday, and when the world around us seems to crumble, she is a bright spot of hope and love. We have a grand history together. A friendship that has sustained itself for almost two decades is something rare and special, and I think we hold each other a little tighter as our journey twists and turns its way along its destined trajectory.

She was there for me when I had my first serious boyfriend.

She was there to help me pick out a basenji on a cold January day.

She was there to help me pick up the pieces when my first boyfriend and I broke up.

She shared wild and crazy nights (and days) in Boston, when we were young and foolish and just trying to find love and happiness. (And in a different way, we did.)

She made a welcoming home for everyone, no matter where she lived, and she brought us all together without expecting anything in return for it.

Most importantly for me, she opened her world to a guy who wasn’t always sure of himself, widening his circle of friends and enriching his life. For that, I am forever indebted and grateful for her presence in my life.

She continues to bring a passion to everything she does. She loves – and she loves hard. I can respect that. It hurts a little more to be in the world when you love like that, but she wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would I.

Happy birthday to my dear friend.

My recent FaceBook debacle has resolved itself, but left a very sour taste in my mouth for that whole site. If my account can simply be deactivated because someone says they’re me, then what is the point? The person who was actually using my photos for his profile has been reported by numerous friends of mine, and his accounts are still active, so there is seemingly no justice on FaceBook, but I’ve known that for some time. And speaking of time, that’s exactly what FaceBook has been taking from me for all these years, and only after being deactivated did I realize how much time I was actually giving up – time that could have been used for a third post each day.

In the last couple of years I’ve gotten into a lazy two-post-a-day schedule (except on weekends, when I usually muster three). I’d like to try to return to the three-post-a-day timetable, which means a midday addition that will be light on content and substance, but still substantial enough to merit existence. These may largely be photo posts with little writing, or whimsical videos or silly GIFs that I find entertaining or enlightening. It might be a simple link to something of interest to me, or a quote that I find inspiring. Nothing too strenuous, nothing too deep – just a break for breaking the hump of the day. Like this entry here. Consider this day’s hump broken, and carry on. Cheers for three.

PS – This is, as everything on this site is, subject to change. My focus has been shifting to non-online interests, and I’ve been happier with inhabiting the real world lately. I’ll do my best.

Happy 4/20!

I’ve never been big on the weed. I stayed clear of it completely during my high school and college years, and by the time I felt safe and secure enough to try it, the appeal was largely lost. That said, every few years I’ll take a toke and laugh my way into oblivion (or become so entirely paranoid that I think everyone is trying to kill me – especially bartenders).

One of the first times I tried pot was in a cemetery. I had finished a shift at Structure with my friend Matt and he drove us to a secluded plot for the dead in the middle of a dark summer night. Any fear I had of the space and circumstances was erased in our laughter – and that was before either of us had taken a single drag.

We talked in the way that some guys talk after feeling comfortable with each other – nothing forced, nothing fake, and nothing too extended. We could get deep, but not on that night. That night was just staving off some summer loneliness and replacing it with some summer fun surrounded by some skunky smoke.

DESTINATION UNKNOWN AS WE PULL IN FOR SOME GAS

A FRESHLY-PASTED POSTER REVEALS A SMILE FROM THE PAST

ELEPHANTS AND ACROBATS, LIONS, SNAKES, MONKEY

PELE SPEAKS RIGHTEOUS, SISTER SEENA SAYS ‘FUNKY’

HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE

OOH BABY, IT’S MAKING ME CRAZY

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND, IT’S IN MY FACE’

‘How Bizarre’ by OMC played on the soundtrack to the store that summer. A ridiculous song – even more-so now – but for that night, and for that summer, it all seemed to work. In my silly 20’s, when I was way too serious for my own good, only occasional glimmers of what should have been a carefree time in my life managed to surface. That night was one of them. I laughed a little, then I laughed a lot. My head felt light, and my mood was mellow. Matt was good in that way, and I always had fun around him. One of my first straight-male friends, he helped me get over my fear of heterosexual guys. For the ensuing days of that summer we forged a friendship built on the doldrums of the Rotterdam Mall Structure store, where six-button polos ruled the wardrobe, and the greatest concern was who was going to do all the mopping on a Sunday morning.

RINGMASTER STEPS UP, SAYS, ‘THE ELEPHANTS LEFT TOWN.’

PEOPLE JUMP AND JIVE AND THE CLOWNS THEN STUCK AROUND

TV NEWS AND CAMERAS, THERE’S CHOPPERS IN THE SKY

MARINES, POLICE, REPORTERS ASK WHERE, FOR, AND WHY

PELE YELLS, “WE’RE OUTTA HERE!” SEENA SAYS, “RIGHT ON!”

MAKE YOUR MOVES AND STARTING GROOVES BEFORE THEY KNEW WE WERE GONE

JUMPED INTO THE CHEVY, HEADED FOR BIG LIGHTS

WANNA KNOW THE REST? HEY, BUY THE RIGHTS.

Eventually our laughter subsided, and the car grew quiet. Insects sang in the spooky air and summer squeezed itself around our heads. If I’d only known then how wonderful those moments were, if I’d only known how happy I was and how my worries were so trifling… But I didn’t know. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe that’s what protected me and kept me safe. Maybe if I had a sense of security, I might have been too reckless, if that makes any sense.

We talked for a bit in our relaxed state, talk that was both silly and meaningful. It felt fraught with import, but for the life of me I can’t recall the details. I guess it doesn’t matter – the important part was that it bonded us in a way, strengthening our friendship and adding a chapter in our shared history. I didn’t know what it was like to have a straight guy friend, and Matt didn’t know what it was like to have a gay friend, so we found our footing together. Those tender steps mattered more to me than romance, even if I didn’t quite believe it then.

HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE

OOH BABY, IT’S MAKING ME CRAZY

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND, IT’S IN MY FACE…

There’s something to be said for having a routine.

There’s also something to be said for throwing routine out the window.

This post will hopefully do a little of both.

You may have come to expect a Hunk of the Day in the spot, as this is usually the reserved time an place for that popular feature, but I don’t like such predictable plots, even if they afford some sense of surety in a world gone increasingly mad. The good news is that the Hunk of the Day is not going away anytime soon, it will just shift around a bit. It may also not be an everyday thing – I never claimed it was the Hunk of Each and Every Day.

For spring and possibly beyond, I’d like to switch things up and inject new life into this blog. It seems that it’s a common wish every few months, and that’s been keeping things fresh and engaging to me, but after thirteen years of this, I give in to ennui and autopilot. The only way to keep me on my feet is to do new things, try out new formats, embark on new projects. This is as much a diary as it is a repository for my work, equal parts of revelation and creativity. Hopefully it’s a wee bit entertaining as well (even if most of you like to see me fall flat on my face – it’s ok to admit it).

I’m starting to think of this like those islands that form personality in ‘Inside Out’ (please don’t watch that movie without tissues handy). The first time you see some of those islands fall – Friendship Island, Honesty Island – it’s heartbreaking, and hard to let go. Only after going through the hard stuff do you realize that other islands have formed in their wake. Better islands, more beautiful islands – the islands that will see us through this wild and crazy life together.

This is my afternoon post for a Monday. There is no shirtless Hunk. There is no Madonna. There is just us. That’s pretty exciting. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was the week that I went to Washington, DC and came back a free man. My complete banishment from FaceBook – for supposedly pretending to be someone else and using a name that was not authentic – formed the brunt of my big news of the week, but on more careful contemplation it turned out to be one of the best things that could have happened. Especially as the gardening season is about to begin and I need all the daylight hours I can get. Onto the other days that came before…

The muse is Madonna.

The beauty is Tom Berklund.

The hope is a crocus.

The majesty is Matheus.

The shadow is pretty.

The beginning is extravagant.

The hunk is Frankie Z.

The man is Mr. Wilson.

The warrior is ready.

The tour is bloody.

The question is valid.

The song is for Sunday.

The designer is naked.