There are things you can’t reach. But
You can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god.
And it can keep you busy as anything else, and happier.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
As though with your arms open.
A whole week of September has already gone by, and gone by too soon at that. We are that much closer to fall, when the real work begins. A number of projects are simmering on the creative stove, and before you know it the slippery slope to the holidays will have us all in its incontrovertible rush. That’s much too far ahead to contemplate right now, even for someone who loves to live in the future. And so, a contemplation of the recent past.
A beautiful birthday weekend in New York began with a return visit to ‘Kinky Boots’ and included a balcony view of the city (even from the bathroom), a piss-pot stop at the Plaza, and a bubble bath finale looking out at the Empire State Building.
Balzac gave words to my ball sack.
School started up again for some kids. Poor suckers.
The popular Hunk of the Day feature was in full-effect thanks to guys like Bernardo Velasco, Chris Campanioni, Christian Bok, Robert Ballard, and Aiden Leslie – as well as a couple of classic former hunks like David Beckham and Alex Minsky.
Sparked in part by this post of a school memory, and by the seasonal appropriateness of the tale, this may be a new feature – at least for the moment. Consider it the anti-thesis of the ‘Summer Memories’ series here, here, here, here and here. In these posts, I’ll recall a school memory that has stayed with me three decades and counting. For this first one, a memory of my very first day of nursery school. So traumatizing was it that I remember it clearly to this very day.
No one told me what it was going to be like. If I heard anything about school at home, it was how much my Mom hated it. Why would she force me to do something she herself despised? Aside from that bit of indefensible logic, I also just wasn’t ready to be left without my Mom. I suppose every kid feels like that at one point or another, but I seemed to take it harder than the others, who were already playing and interacting when I walked hesitantly into the classroom.
They tried to introduce me to the other classmates, but I wanted none of it. I ended up bawling underneath a table, afraid I would be torn away from Mom. Another kid, Eric, who would go on to become a football-playing jock, shared his tissues with me. He too was crying, and a bit harder than me. His Mom sat next to mine in the front of the room, apparently the space for parents whose kids were having a tough time letting go. I watched my Mom there, making sure she would not try to sneak out and leave me there alone. I got through it after a few days (though I would repeat the scene the very next year at the start of Kindergarten.) For then, it was sheer terror to be left behind by my mother.
It was the teacher’s son, a small boy with a mop of perfectly straight bright blonde hair, who came over to me and brought me into the social fold. Once he did that, I was fine. In fact, I was rather well-liked, so much so that by the end of the year I was no longer close to him. I didn’t feel guilty about that until this moment. Strange, the way guilt and forgiveness morph over time. We never know how we’ll look back at our behavior. For the most part, at such a young age, I was a pretty good kid. That would change soon enough…
Emblematic of New York, the Empire State Building was at one point the nation’s tallest skyscraper. I remember visiting it when I was a child, stepping into the tarnished brass of an art-deco elevator and rising to the top of the world. In the dim haze of memory, the day comes back as quite gray and drab, and, indicative of all heights, very windy. Other kids were whispering of stories of pennies dropped from such a height falling with such velocity that they would kill someone if they were to land on their head. I never verified the actual possibility of such a stunt, but I didn’t take a chance by flinging any copper into the air.
On my last night in New York, after a decadent birthday dinner at NoMad and a walk back to the hotel in the midst of a gorgeous midnight hour, I filled the tub with bubble bath and settled in for a long soak. Outside, the Empire State Building winked at me from several long blocks away. Outside, a strong breeze blew along the balcony: the night wind that carried the imminent arrival of fall on its shoulders.
A perfect birthday weekend in New York had come to a close. The next day Andy and I would return by train to Albany, and the magic of the city would be another memory, only this one would be anything but drab and gray.
Instead of recapping the week, let’s revisit the entire month of August, as it was too lush to leave without notice. The fact that it’s already September is incontrovertible, but that doesn’t make it any less depressing. For now though, a look back at the month where I began, and everything that led up to this moment.
August marked one of my first trips to Provincetown, and Shirley Horn put a capital ‘F’ in it.
August is also the personification of summer.
August is about lavender, hosta, and lilies.
August is about family and fun.
August is about birthday plans and hotel stays.
And birthday plans come to life.
And birthday suits.
August is about eating well and eating beets.
August is about fun music from the likes of Mika.
August is Broadway.
August can be like a virgin, and like an idiot.
August can be a dead bunny.
Sometimes August is about being an outsider.
Sometimes it’s about being scared.
And sometimes it’s about being a kid again.
August is about smelling good.
This August was certainly about the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge.
And last but most definitely not least, August displayed this magnificent menagerie of miscellaneous men, which added to its ranks with the likes of this long and luscious list:
And after all this, I can’t wait to see what September brings.
It crept in with the night, stealthily and silently. The garage had kept it out, in the tricky way it held onto heat, so when I stepped outside onto the driveway the onslaught of cold air was a shock. The first cool day hinting of fall is always a jolt. It’s a bit too soon to be wholly welcome, but we’ve been making the most of the summer days and I’m almost – almost – looking forward to fall. Extreme heat does nothing for me. Well, that’s not entirely true – it can turn me into a raging bitch from hell. I don’t like to be sticky and sweet. But comfortable days, as we’ve been having of late, with some sun and a dip in humidity, set my mind at ease. The cooler temperatures bring the blue of the sky into better focus. This time of the year does that. It will lend deeper color to anything in bloom as well. It’s the consolation for beginning the final trek of summer days. Fall is less than a month away.
The line of demarcation regarding seasons is never as finite as some of us Virgos might like it to be. There are areas of gray matter, of in-between shading, and on the days straddling high and late summer it can go either way. When I’m not afforded the luxury of poolside lounging, I prefer them to err on the side of cool but sunny. Occasionally there is a happy medium, and it’s always too fleeting.
Right now, the goldenrod is lighting up the edges of fields, and the asters of fall are budding. Summer is past its peak, but purple loosestrife and blue chicory are still going strong. We have a bit more time. We have some more summer.
By all sensible wisdom, I should not be happy to have a bunny in the backyard. A single cuddly critter can wreak havoc with the vegetation, in just a few sittings. (It’s nowhere near the massacre a single groundhog can commit in just one night, but it’s close.) This little rabbit, however, is too small to do very much damage, and thus far he or she has been keeping to the weeds, which I appreciate.
While we won’t be inviting the less-than-fearsome rodent to stay anytime soon, we will tolerate its muted nibbling as the season draws to its close.
UPDATE:
Yesterday Andy found our little friend at the bottom of the pool, dead.
I suppose this means one of us is pregnant.
Shit.
Far more than other years, I really don’t want August to end. That goes for the summer as a whole, and this is the first year in some time that I’ve felt so strongly about it. This one has just gone by too quickly. So let’s draw it out a bit, and look back over a trio of Augusts that came before.
First up is August 2010 – for which there were only two saved entries. But I’m quite fond of them both.
August 2011 found a few entries exploring the city of Boston. Much summer magic takes place in that miraculous city.
On the very edge of Massachusetts is where we spent a few days in August 2012 – when a birthday was spent in Provincetown.
Since there was more than the anniversary of my birth going on in the last week, or so I’ve been told, here’s a quick encapsulation of other supposedly-notable posts that shared the birthday limelight.
It was the wee in which I was finally tagged on the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. Having previously avoided the shenanigans, it was Skip Montross who finally named me, and I accepted – well, I sort of accepted. Let’s just say they got the money, and a bucket was involved.
One thing that was not quite ready to kick the bucket was summer, as seen in some hosta shots and stargazing images.
Summer is also a time to get beet up.
My bush brings all the butterflies to the yard.
Off to Market.
Hunks on Parade marched their shirtless wares through the wind-down weeks of summer. Idris Elba proved what the bulge was all about, Matthew Paetz proved that Lea Michele has amazing taste, Noam Ash proved that adorable and sexy are not exclusive of each of each other, Duncan Mais proved that sometimes mere mortals are Superheroes, and Damien Rodgers continued his quest for the Mr. Gay World title.
This was a toilet in Edith Wharton’s summer home. Talk about a big pipe…
Today I turn 39 years old. One more to 40. That’s less frightening than I thought it would be, but we’ll revisit the scene next year and see if I still feel the same way. (I reserve the right to have a nervous breakdown at a moment’s notice.) As already mentioned, I will be spending the weekend in New York, taking in the last performance of ‘Bullets Over Broadway’, brunching at Tavern on the Green, and having a fancy birthday dinner at The NoMad. Just me and my husband.
That stays true to my traditional route of keeping birthdays relatively small. I was never one for big parties to commemorate the day, preferring smaller gatherings and destinations off the beaten path (hello Beaversprite). Some years it was only me and Suzie and my family. To this day, I tend to keep to the same format, quietly going about the day as if nothing much was different. (Some years I may have kept things too quiet; the few times I worked on my birthday I found myself rather depressed as I walked downtown Albany alone on my lunch hour. After that I would take the day off, even if I kept it simple.)
This year is an out-of-town year, like when we went to Provincetown in 2012. And while I’ve never been the biggest fan of New York, I’m sure there are ways they can show the birthday boy a good time. Tom Ford’s flagship store on Madison Avenue for example…
The Trojan Renaissance is in full effect every Saturday morning, when the Troy Farmer’s Market spills into the street with a colorful collection of fruits and vegetables and all sorts of other goodies. Andy and I made our first trip to this place a couple of weeks ago, and it’s almost time to revisit it. The fall should be especially lovely with bushels of squash and winter vegetables coming up to ease the trek into cooler weather. For now, the sun is still shining brightly, the heat can still be intense, and the sunflowers are coming into their August own. I’ll let these photographs do the rest of the talking.
I won’t pretend I didn’t consider doing it naked – for about one mortifying second – but I opted for more clothing when executing my version of the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. Thankfully, Dan Osborne went totally starkers, and seeing his backside bolt after getting doused is one of life’s greatest gifts to the gay male population. You’re most welcome.
Bonus butt shot for the true bottom believers:
For weeks I’d been keeping a relatively low-profile, careful not to like any posts mentioning it, vigilant not to reference or comment on it, and I was just starting to feel a bit of relief that no one had tagged me to partake in the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. Then Skip Montross called me out. I was hoping it would be someone I could dismiss or ignore, but when a friend you genuinely admire does it, you answer the call in one way or another. The cause was good too – donations for The ALS Association, which works to fight Lou Gehrig’s disease – so even if you want nothing to do with this silliness, you should check out the ALS Donation page and see what you can muster. As for my take on the challenge, watch the video below.
Everyone knows I have no problem getting wet (see pool pics here, here, here, here… well, you get the idea) so the idea of pouring a bucket of ice water over my head was not really a big deal. Besides, Tom Ford (!), Adam Lambert, Henry Cavill, Neil Patrick Harris, David Beckham, Adam Levine, Dan Osborne, Joe Manganiello, Oprah Winfrey, Andy Cohen, Cristiano Ronaldo, Martha Stewart, Ashton Kutcher, Donatella Versace, Justin Timberlake, Chris Pratt, James Franco, Hudson Taylor, Jesse Metcalfe, Novak Djokovic, Ryan Seacrest, Lance Bass, Chord Overstreet, Jamie Dornan, Josh Groban, John Barrowman, Eddie Redmayne, Chris Hemsworth, Keith Urban, Nick Bateman, Zac Efron, Matt Damon, Benedict Cumberbatch, Matt Bomer, Josh Hutcherson, Ben Foden, Nick Jonas, Chris Evans and countless actual friends of mine had already done it. I would be in good company. Yet doing what everyone else is doing has never been my thing. It may have cost me a hundred bucks, but it was worth every penny. And since I didn’t actually do it, I didn’t have to challenge anyone else. (At least, that’s my interpretation, and I don’t intend to change it. I doubt Madonna would deign to get doused anyway.)
Yes, I know, my birthday is technically only supposed to last one day (August 24 for those out-of-the-loop) but since when have I hesitated to make the most of an occasion? By this time next week it will be over and done, so let’s make the most of the anticipation. I prefer to celebrate the future rather than the past. That said, I’ll be a good sport and indulge in this look-back over the past few days on this blog.
Let’s begin with the boys – the shirtless boys – who kept things smoking in spite of the rather cool-spell we’ve had of late. Say hello to Charles Dera, Parker Gregory, Willie Gomez, Kerry Degman, Damien Rodgers, and Ezra Miller.
Gay serial killers aren’t always fun, but they’re always remembered.
A scrumptious summer recipe utilizing crab, lemon, and capers.
A sneak-preview of school memories, which may just spark a new series.
And speaking of a series, one of the more prolific and popular on this blog – the Madonna Timeline – came roaring back to life in honor of the lady’s birthday. It was time for ‘Like A Virgin‘ wherein I recalled what it was like to be touched for the very first time.
I picked a major bone with this self-professed lost soul, who wrote a ridiculous post on the gay man as Peter Pan. Just call me Captain Hook.
