Category Archives: General

This bloody Super Moon from a few weeks ago was kind enough to pause as it changed from a ghostly white to a reddish Mars-like hue. It still just appears as a tiny speck, but I caught it as it was beginning to turn into this shade of red, like some blood cell as seen through a microscope. The camera, and my unsteady hand, don’t always manage to get a decent moon shot (other than my over-exposed ass) so this is the best we could both muster. You get the idea.

Around such full moons, I tend to lay low, if possible. There is too much charged air to ruffle feathers than can normally take it, and far less room for mayhem if you keep still and quiet. I learned long ago that it’s sometimes better to hold your tongue than unleash it, particularly at the wrong time. There is power in silence, and power in peace, even when there’s blood on the moon.

It was a week in which we bade October good-bye.

It was a week in which we got dolled up for Halloween.

It was a week in which we gained an extra hour.

It was the week in which we entered November, and there’s no turning back now.

On this blog, it was the week we went back to Ogunquit, starting with a whimsical stop at Spoiled Rotten. Filled with the richness of fall, the town was in glorious color. It went by, as it always does, much too quickly, encapsulated by a brief haiku. The entirety of winter stands between us and our return there… unless I make an oft-wished-for journey to Maine in the middle of winter as part of The Delusional Grandeur Tour.

Seasonal splendor played its fiery part in the past week, as the foliage burned before falling away, and fall made the turn from something merely hinted at to a full-blown descent of temperature and leaves.

This is some seriously scary shit I did not need to see

In the realm of Hunkdom, we crowned Dallas ‘Flashman’ Wade, Dez Bryant, Casey Conway and Colton Haynes.

Halloween arrived, Part One and Part Two of it, plus an added trip down memory lane.

November was right on its heels.

Somehow it’s football season, in the midst of that baseball series, if it is still going on.

It is said that February is the cruelest month, but I always reach my saddest point in November. That’s when things are at their bleakest – the days are dim and dark, the trees are bare, and there’s not (usually) snow to lighten the surface of the world. At least in February there is some light at the end of the tunnel. In November, we’ve only just ducked into the darkness – any light is a long way off.

There are comforts though, in the midst of that cold November Rain. Cozy turkey dinners, the arrival of Thanksgiving, and the beginning of the proper holiday season. A few more sunny days, brisk and biting though they may be. This year, I will focus on those comforts, on the warmth and cheer that we can bring to each other – because it’s always a choice. We will weather the winter together, you and I, like we have always done. In the dozen or so years this website has been in existence, it’s provided some sustaining connection, some cradled and protected nook of community, whether seen or known, and on cold dark mornings it has been a source of safety, a way to feel a little less alone.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I sort of sense you there, in the black, anonymous night (and more than a few non-anonymous folks I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in the flesh) and I am thankful that you have come by for a visit. Your presence has been noted, and appreciated, and has made a difference in my life. Try as I might to convince myself otherwise, we do not live in a vacuum. Our interactions, and everything we put out into the world – whether here or on the street or to the most fleeting stranger – make a difference. It matters.

It’s said that All Hallows’ Eve is one of the nights when the veil between the worlds is thin – and whether you believe in such things or not, those roaming spirits probably believe in you, or at least acknowledge your existence, considering that it used to be their own. Even the air feels different on Halloween, autumn-crisp and bright. ~ Erin Morgenstern

It began with a trek across the street to one of our favorite neighbors, the traditional first stop in our Halloween trick-or-treating adventure. Each year they took the time to turn lollipops into ghosts – each Charms Blowpop or Dums sucker was wrapped in a tissue, then dotted with two black eyes and strangled with a ribbon. In the summer, they had a magnificent rose garden, which I’d visit on my own. As the first stop on Halloween, it was always the most memorable, before the houses began to bleed into one another, and darkness blunted the sharpness of my memory back then. Our Mom would talk with the neighbors for a bit while we got antsy and eagerly made motions to continue on our candy-toting way.

We walked up Pershing Road, not yet minding whatever get-up we had got-up in – plastic masks or blinding hoods be damned. Shuffling along from house to house, it was less about the candy for me and more about the fun. Peering into the lives of other people in our neighborhood, if only for the briefest of looks and portals, satisfied my voyeuristic nature, while the drama of walking along fall roads as evening descended appealed to my soap-opera-like yearning for measured danger.

The candy was a nice bonus, but there were years when I took a few pieces, hid it away in a desk drawer, and forgot about it for months on end. For that one night, my brother and I were bandits in the night, as my Mom or Dad walked a little ways behind us, and that mattered to me more than a sackful of sugar.

“I think if human beings had genuine courage, they’d wear their costumes every day of the year, not just on Halloween. Wouldn’t life be more interesting that way? And now that I think about it, why the heck don’t they? Who made the rule that everybody has to dress like sheep 364 days of the year? Think of all the people you’d meet if they were in costume every day. People would be so much easier to talk to – like talking to dogs. ” ~ Douglas Coupland

When you dress in relatively outrageous attire on a regular basis, a day like Halloween is like a breather. It’s a bit of a relief to see everyone else finally put as much care and concern into making an impression as I try to do on a daily basis. For that reason, I usually sit Halloween out – or if I do go to a party or event, I tend to be considerably subtle about it. (A hooded cape is the most you’ll usually get out of me.)

For those who want a bit more, here’s a sampling of what I wear throughout the year. These are various get-ups for holiday cards, grocery shopping, work, and the day-to-day hum-drum existence of a casual blogger. This is why I’ll be in sweats and a t-shirt today.

PS – Don’t even think about ringing my doorbell.

Here’s a warning I really did not need:

“Please do not FEED or otherwise attempt to rescue my CHILD.”

Is this the most disturbing thing you’ve seen today? I’d rather a real child was in danger than see this atrocity. I will not sleep well tonight, or ever. Previously, only bunnies gave me pause. Now I have to reassess my view on clowns. Thanks Obama.

Burning leaves carried on the wind, the smell of smoke both a warning and a comfort. The dry words of Henry James, a most-dissatisfied writer by many accounts, were recalled to my mind. ‘The Turn of the Screw’ and its haunting mind-fuck of a tale somehow became part of the day. A brittle walk into November, over a carpet of dry moss and dead leaves, not usually a thing of dread, suddenly turned darker. That gray light of mid-fall, muffled and dim and sad enough to suck the joy out of the brightest countenances (of which mine is certainly not one) descended as the day advanced.

Shadows deepened and the birds grew quieter. The bustling of the chipmunks and squirrels died away, the fear of the nocturnal hunters had set them into hiding.

Goblins appeared in the gnarled trunks of trees that had seen more years than I had. Exposed roots, like the knuckles of ghouls, grasped the ground and sought something more – escape or surer-footing perhaps. The forest casts a strange spell in the fall.

A stand of ferns had turned a ghostly pale yellow. They would fade and fade until they disappeared completely. In the woods, in the fall, that sort of thing happened. They went missing. One day a toadstool was resplendent in speckled salmon, the next it was gone. Torn from its foothold by some hungry marauder or felled by a hard frost, it was impossible to tell – it simply ceased to be where it once was. Holding onto a space in the forest, no matter how small, is tenuous stuff. Even the most ferocious raptor can be pierced by a bullet. That cuts both ways, though, and the forest takes back hunters and wanderers- the trespassers and the lost – with equal recklessness.

A fallen apple, like fallen grace, stilled in momentary beauty, would soon rot, and all the world around it would crumble too. The winter loomed ahead.

For many years, fall was the season of doomed romances for me. They blossomed, mostly in my head, from the simplest and smallest of gestures, then grew – fed by desperation, an insatiable need for love, and a desire for companionship – before erupting in raging flame, burning those closest to me, singeing those in furthest proximity. Like the season itself, their beginnings were beautiful and kind, cozy and warm, but they soon turned cold and bare, empty and barren, as hollow and destitute as a faded, rotten jack-o-lantern.

When I was very young, long before I knew the heartbreaks that would unfold for me, I used to walk in the forest in the fall. The smell of leaves – still fresh, not quite wet with decay or rot – was invigorating, the crunch of them, enmeshed with coppery-hued pine needles, a happy accompaniment to a solitary journey. Dappled sunlight, brilliantly illuminating the flaming tree leaves still held aloft, lent the woods a lighter feeling than the dim green of deep summer.

That false lightness, however, is deceptive. When the fall day turns, sooner than it does in summer, the forest changes. It happens quicker than you expect, too, falling with sudden grace, but not quickly enough for you to notice right away. It’s a more insidious way of lowering the shades – not enough to eradicate the light, not until it’s too late.

This is when the ghosts of Hester Prynne and the Headless Horseman come to my mind. The breaking of a twig, the rustling of leaves, and any change in the wind signals danger. Fall adds the impending weight of winter to any load, no matter how far off it may be.

When next we recap things, it will be November. If that’s not enough to set a chill into your time-stopping hearts, I don’t know what is. Where did the days go? Where did the time fly? Where was I in the last five days? Let’s re-examine what went on here.

It was a week of Hunk requests, and Roman Reigns reigned as the week’s first Hunk of the Day.

Some of us celebrated Andy’s birthday (I gave him the gift of time – in an hourglass).

The Liberal Party swept through Canada, riding on the sexy coat-tails of newly-elected Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. Everyone keeps saying that he is the sexiest PM, but I have ask: what exactly is the competition? I mean, can anyone name one other sexy PM?

Sex. Just Sex. (Ok, and Erotica.)

Requested Hunks like Tyler Posey make me feel old.

Knee-deep into fall, the turn has been made. The past is in the past.

Austin Armacost had his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

Never one to let another guy get all the ass-glory, David Beckham put his best bottom forward.

But when it comes to banging butts, the edge has got to go to Kayne Lawton. Sorry David.

Hotel primping.

I’ve already declared this The Year of the Soup.

Soup it up, baby. We have a long road ahead, and we need all the inner-warmth we can find.

Another request for a Hunk was honored in the appearance of Teddy Sears as Hunk of the Day.

Coming up this week is a quick recap of our latest Ogunquit jaunt, and a few other surprises for the Halloween season… until then, one more shot of Kayne Lawton.

The snow was not necessary to let us know that the turn into fall had been executed a while ago. It flickers and fades in the memory, receding further into the past. No longer is it possible to pretend that it hasn’t yet happened. There are a few more warm days to come, I hope, but the chill has set in, and the heat that the earth holds through early autumn has just about dissipated. Once it goes, it’s very difficult to get it back again, and we likely won’t have that all-enveloping warmth until next June. That feels like a long way off.

On Sunday, when the first few snowflakes fell, I’d made a tour of the yard. It had been a couple of weeks since I was last out. The fallen annuals and desiccated, brown ferns depressed me too much. In addition, I’d been sick, and traipsing around in the cooler weather did not seem like a good idea. Besides, I’d already seen the devastation that the arrival of fall inflicts on a garden. It starts with the ostrich ferns, particularly in such a dry hot summer. They were on their way out months ago. Now, they are long gone.

The leaves of the coral bark Japanese maple tree are just beginning to light up, and as soon as they turn yellow the brackets of their red bark will form a magnificent pairing. The traditional Japanese maples will burst into a brighter scarlet, and when they catch the dying sunlight they will burn like the most glorious fire.

The lady ferns have held on, and will slowly go a ghostly pale-cream shade, much like the lighter leaves of the Solomon’s seal have already done. This year the leaves of the hydrangeas have gone straight to burgundy, an interesting combination with their pink umbrels which continue the show. I cut them off and brought them inside before the hard frost.

Northern sea oats are in their seed-headed glory, nodding their dangling architecture in the slightest breeze, swaying and gently shimmering in whatever light the day affords. They’ve gone an earthy tan color, but even that will glow in afternoon sunlight. One of the best, and most surprising, color shifts occurs on the feathery leaves of the weeping larch. It looks so convincingly like an evergreen that the switch to a bright copper hue is startling, and always a shock. A beautiful, fiery, final clarion that will have to be enough to ignite the memory until its soft wintergreen starbursts signal the arrival of another spring.

The garden breathes slower now, preparing for its annual slumber. The days sigh, giving way to the nights. There will be other ways to find warmth now.

Yes, it snowed here yesterday, Ho hum, hum-drum, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. Too early for that kind of nonsense. Way too early. Thus, we do our best to keep things hot just a little bit longer.

Today is Monday, but the real blues hit tomorrow.

Ben Todd was incendiary in full-color, and black-and-white. 

Stal and vamp, vamp and stall.

Simon Dunn had his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

Show us your tackle, indeed.

This will never be a political blog, unless it involves hunky politicians like Martin O’Malley.

Madonna: at close range (at least, the closest that I’ve ever been).

By request, Randy Orton was another Hunk of the Day.

Eat here at your first opportunity.

One of the more polarizing Hunks of the Day in recent memory is Frankie Grande.

This Speedo Trio was a triple-threat of sexiness.

Separately, they were pretty hot too.

The only good thing about the sinus cold that is ravaging me from the neck up is the fact that it waited until the end of this year’s trip to Ogunquit to strike. Thank you, thank you, thank you for that small favor. (Other years have not turned out as fortuitously.) Unfortunately, that meant going into work with a countenance that was decidedly less than happy. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a wimp when it comes to sickness – after a childhood wracked with asthma and lactose issues, I can take a bit of sickness and discomfort without much complaint. However, when I do get ill, it’s no joke. And yes, I’m a little testy, but never wimpy about things. Needles and blood tests and hospitals never scared me. Hopefully we won’t get to that point. I’ll stick to a steady regime of Zicam and hot green tea made with boiled water infused with fresh ginger coins. Tastes as delightful as it sounds!

In the meantime, I promise to do my best in getting back on track with some updates regarding recent Boston and Maine trips, and some magical Madonna moments as well. The Delusional Grandeur Tour isn’t slated to resume until next week’s ‘Book of Mormon’ performance at Proctor’s, so there’s some time for recuperation. I am determined to let nothing derail this tour! Ok, the second exclamation point in as many paragraphs is a clear indication that I’m not right! Oh God, there’s a third. Heading out to find my mind…