Category Archives: General

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…

I’ve long maintained that Tuesday mornings are far worse than Monday mornings, and that holds doubly true on the Tuesday after a Monday holiday. I’m not sure why I’ve always thought less of Tuesdays. Maybe it was that damn religious education class that we were forced to take on Tuesday afternoon, the one that extended the school day well beyond that of those fortuitously-non-Catholic heathen classmates. More than that, though, I think it’s because one expects that avalanche of awfulness that is Monday, so when it comes, it’s never as bad as it seems.

Tuesday takes you by difficult surprise, the morning minutes slowing to a snail’s pace, halting and hesitating and making themselves known in a cadence that usually goes unnoticed on a Monday. Of course since today is the first day of a workweek, it may function more like Monday in that respect. So I’m hoping I won’t mind this Tuesday as much. I’ll save the drudgery for Wednesday.

This post has been brought to you by post-weekend/post-vacation laziness.

It seems strange to be celebrating a man who basically ravaged this country’s native people, so this “holiday” will pass without much notice from me, other than a day of thanks for having it off from work. It’s certainly no reason to skip the weekly recap, so here it is, a bit later in the non-work day.

It began in fine Hunky fashion, with the likes of Matthew Manning making his debut as the Hunk of the Day. A day later, Jeff Grant had his Hunk cherry popped in even finer fashion.

Boston will be coming back here in a big way, as I’m about to drop a few Beantown posts that will round up the last couple of tour stops there.

I’m popping bottles that you can’t even afford, I’m throwing parties and you won’t get in the door.

A Hunk by the name of Leo Sabato makes for a sunny Sunday indeed. And Monday. And every day.

Things got very eclectic here, not just once, but twice.

Hotels and Tours go hand in naked hand.

Vagabond Booty.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour continued, as three more installments of the Tour Book hit the blog:

On the Road/Hotel: Part I

On the Road/Hotel: Part II

On the Road/Hotel: Part III

The (male) Flesh & the Fantasy is all coming back to me now.

And more male flesh comes back again.

Continuing with our exploration of the whimsical and strange posts that have appeared on this site, here are a few more out-of-the-ordinary posts. That means entries without Gratuitous Nudity, Naked Male Celebrities, Male Models, Male Nudity or Tom Daley. But there’s still worth looking at, I swear! In fact, I find them much more entertaining than my ass, or anyone else’s ass, and that’s saying something.

Color me nostalgic.

A favorite bathroom floor experience.

Adventures in Babysitting.

Do I make you porny?

The thrill of recognition.

Heart of gold.

Kitchen mayhem (not of my doing!)

A WalMart Midnight.

Speaking of the midnight hour…

McFly, my pretties.

Hot pause.

The Seagull.

Baseball, baby.

Every now and then I like to veer away from Madonna and Ben Cohen and even David Beckham to post something strange and, in my opinion, wonderful to share with you. (I’ll never have enough Tom Ford.) I consider these one-off posts the spices that go into making this blog a little more flavorful and unexpected. There’s nothing better than a third act surprise. Sometimes whimsical, sometimes funny, and sometimes touching, these entries are just different enough to keep people guessing. Here are a few of my favorites:

The first girl I almost married.

Correspondence with my niece and nephew.

A trip to the ballet.

6th Grade S&M. (I started early.)

It separates us from the animals.

The horse whinnies.

Every once in a while you need a little smudge.

Confessions of a Former Twink.

The moon in spring (and I don’t mean my naked ass).

Rainy day activities.

Campy!

Going commando, semi-inadvertently.

More to come… so come back.

This was the week in which the tide turned. Temperatures plummeted and fall was indisputably at hand. A Super Blood Moon kept things interesting, and I laid low to avoid the insanity and moodiness that sometimes accompanies such a lunar event. (End result: little to no sparring.) I’m embracing the shift, getting back into the kitchen for some roasted spaghetti squash, and perhaps frying up some sage leaves for a butternut pasta dish later. For now, our weekly look-back.

It began by the wrap-up of my Seattle Tour Stop. Shopping played an integral role in that visit (duh) but so did Snowqualmie Falls. It was Laura Palmer and Dale Cooper country, and it did not disappoint. Neither did Seattle.

It was Ally Week, and I gave a few shout-outs to some of my favorites.

It was a week in which I went true blue, literally, going back to my Manic Panic roots, but with a professional (and permanent) twist.

Speaking of favorites, there were a few new Hunks of the Day to enter internet immortality, as ephemeral and fleeting as that may be. Say hello to the shirtless shots of Nico Tortorella, Jack Mason and Jacek Jelonek.

Nick Jonas took his shirt off as well, and flexed his muscles, but he’s already been a Hunk of the Day, so until he does something more he only gets a minor post. Justin Bieber did NOT get naked, and has never been a Hunk of the Day.

This butt-shot got banned from FaceBook, but I reaped the benefits of the ban as always.

A life in motion.

A much-needed break.

The Madonna Timeline returned with ‘Ghosttown.’

A major clean-up of my social media pages, and a new way of utilizing those sites, was put into effect. I feel more joyous already. (Don’t take any of it personally.)

The latest clean-up craze sweeping the world is based on Marie Kondo’s ‘The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.’ From what I’ve gathered, the general idea is to whittle your possessions down to those objects that truly make you happy – or those that “spark joy.” Strangely enough, or expectedly for one as seemingly frivolous as me, I’ve only ever owned things that give me joy. (You won’t find a vacuum on my wish-list.) So utilizing that clean-up method won’t really change my living situation. Besides, I’m pretty good at discarding things that have passed their usefulness or joy dates.

The one area where I’ve let things get out of control is social media. Up until now, I’ve allowed all sorts of nonsense to go on my FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram pages. While I can control what goes up here, those pages are open to all sorts of public interaction and comment, and my page is also filled with the views and photos and links of anyone whom I’ve friended or followed.

For some reason, I’ve always erred on the side of allowing just about everyone’s comments to stay up. When they criticize my clothes or hair or body, I let it stand because, hey, this is America, and part of me felt it was more cowardly to delete them or take them down. (The only times I’ve removed comments were when they were about others.) I also remained friends/followers with those people whose posts regularly pissed me off. Whether it was their political stance (there are no reasonable Republicans left, and certainly not any in this Presidential race) or their racist/homophobic tendencies, or their ridicule of Madonna. I let it go because, well, I felt it was only fair to give them their say.

I’ve since changed my mind. While everyone is certainly entitled to their opinions and beliefs, I no longer have to have it on my page. I’m not a celebrity, I’m not a politician, I don’t need to give equal face-time to opposing viewpoints. – FaceBook, Twitter or otherwise. So from this point forward, if I don’t like something on social media, I’m probably going to unfriend, unfollow, or block. This is my way of keeping only those things that spark joy in my life. Of late, much of what I’ve been seeing online is depressing and upsetting, and I want to have fun when I’m delving into social media fluff. It’s escapism for me.

I don’t want to see or hear about political battles from anyone who seriously considers Donald Trump one of its top contenders. I don’t want to see videos about aborted fetuses. I don’t want to hear someone like Kim Davis say sanctimonious bullshit. I don’t want to read ageist or hateful comments about Madonna. Newsflash: I love Madonna. In what way does your joking about her being in a wheelchair or looking like a granny seem like it would be enjoyable or funny to me? So from this point forward, nasty comments about anything I post (especially Madonna) will get deleted, and repeated offenders will be dropped without notice or fanfare. (I also don’t want to see any more horoscope posts. I don’t give a fuck what the day has in store for an Aquarius – I’m not a fucking Aquarius.)

This is less a warning or threat, and more of a simple explanation, without spite or anger (ok, maybe a little horoscope anger). In the new tradition of sparking joy, my social media pages are going to be about what I like and love, and anything that goes against that will be deleted or blocked. (And you are free to do the same to my naked ass as well.)

In the words of a wise woman, “I’m sorry, but this is not a democracy.”

Welcome, Joy. Bring your Happiness.

… 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.

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.

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.

‘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.

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.

Fall, you have arrived. With very mixed feelings we welcome you. Your gourds, your squash, and your pumpkin-fucking-everything. Your pretty leaves, your picked apples, your cozy bales of hay. You snap us to attention with your brisk cool days, your biting breeze, and the way you plunge us into closed windows, even if we’re not quite ready to let this summer go. It was such a good one, you see, and no one wants the good ones to end.

Yet you are seductive and beautiful, especially at first, when we need a reprieve from the heat and humidity. Your early nights, so perfect for sleeping, are the stuff of cricket-chirping ease. Your days, when they are sunny and the sky is blue, are more richly shaded than the brightest summer morning. Yet we know what else you carry, what storms you bring. For that we say welcome with the slightest bit of trepidation. Yes, we still fear you, like the first day of school or the impending arrival of a hurricane. Go easy on us.

Our Summer of 2015 recap continues with August and September – two very eventful months as befitting these particular tick-tocks of time.

It was the summer that I headed out on The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star – my final tour. It began, as all good things do, with Madonna. Thus far it’s seen us through an opening, an entrance, a bunny hop, some Sunset Boulevard, some Joe Gillis, some Norma Desmond, some more Norma Desmond, and even more Norma Desmond. It’s gone to Boston, Cape Cod, Portland, Albany (!) and Seattle, with upcoming jaunts to Washington, New York, and maybe even London before it wraps. This is only the beginning.

It was a summer that saw at least one hottie in a Speedo.

Summer sees beans, not magic beans, but green beans.

Sail away with some summer music.

Summer finds a way in-between.

Summer also found me a publicist.

Summer is poetry.

The sweet scent of Hermes still reminds of the season.

This summer I finally met The Brits. The circle of friendship widens in happy form.

Another Brit, Tom Daley, was not in his Speedo as much as usual, but he did deign to stuff it here.

There were additional Hunks to keep it all hotter than hot: Bryce Thompson, Joe Zaso, Miles Teller, Steven Dehler, Luke Shaw, Ryan Phillippe, Jess Vill,  Sacha M’baye,  Warren Carlyle, Jonathan Duffy, Justin Willman & Jessie Godderz.

It was the summer I turned 40, with some planning, some navel-gazing, some breakdowns, some naked hilarity, some sea pals, and some decadence.

It was a summer of florals.

Introducing Iris Apfel: inspiration, muse, and oh so much more.

It was the summer Madonna launched her miraculous Rebel Heart Tour, and sang one of her best songs in years. (And this weekend Suzie and I hope to see it for ourselves!)

Sometimes summer brings about school memories, shameful or not.

And spewing of shame, there’s this horrid woman.

A jockstrap is fit for any season. As is a Speedo.

Summer is a time to read a classic.

My Dad shares my sign of the Virgo.

My birthday went both heralded and unheralded in myriad ways. It had its special dinners, its secret gardens, a roof-deck brunch, Tom Ford, birthday suits, and solitude. And then it was done.

Kafka & Murakami.

More Ben Cohen.

And still more Murakami.

Farewell Summer… until we meet again next year.