This shameless and lazy social media cross-pollination post is only to gain more followers and friends, but when one is so transparent and honest about it, some of the sassiness gets blunted, no? Here is my please for you to follow me on Instagram or Twitter. Here is my ask for you to friend me on FaceBook. On all three, I’m a little more candid and up-to-date than I am here. Raw. Open. Hard-core. And you thought it couldn’t get any more naked…
Nipper appeared to be the dog at the end of the rainbow, but as we approached it became clear the rainbow ended somewhere else. Did you ever try to find the pot of gold espoused by folklore? I always knew such talk was nonsense, but as a child when I saw a rainbow hovering near the end of my street I decided to give it a go. I bounded down the road and into the field that led to my school. Across the clover and the unmown grass, I sprinted and gave chase to the elusive pastel bands of color. As fast and as far as I ran, almost halfway to McNulty, the rainbow remained constantly ahead, always out of reach. It faded even as I tried to hold my focus on each color. I’d look away for a moment, then back, to try to catch it in its escape. It began to only appear when I shifted my gaze, and soon I couldn’t find it at all.
It’s been far too long since we’ve done a proper Ben Cohen post, but with his 2018 Calendar now on sale, it’s time to welcome him back to the fold of fierceness. Shot by Leo Holden of Snooty Fox Images, the calendar looks to be full of great photographs and inspiring images. Mr. Cohen has been an admirable Ally to our community over the years, and for the superficial purposes of this blog he’s always been a reliable source of eye candy. Still, it’s extra nice when your idols bring a genuine set of moral concerns with them whatever they do. Especially if they’re doing it in their underwear. Thanks to Ben Cohen for bringing us into another year. Get your calendar here.
Tomorrow we crown the next Triple-Time Hunk of the Day. The votes are in and there was an indisputable winner who took the lead early on and kept it (thanks to a kind retweet for his many fans). As I mentioned in the original post, a little promotion goes a long way. In case you missed out, here’s one more brief look at the contenders, because they’re all worthy:
Nick Adams – triple threat of the Broadway stage
Griffin Barrows – adult performer and model
Simon Dunn – Olympic athlete, activist, and model
Philip Fusco – model turned underwear entrepreneur
What a strange fall it’s been. The light has been… queasy. I don’t know if that makes much sense, but I do know I’m not about to explain it. I know what I mean. On a recent afternoon, before the world went cold so late in the season, I stood outside as dusk descended. The last light of the day lit up the clouds in shades of amber and salmon and mauve. Slivers of lavender ran through the filament of the sky. The raw and random outlines of weathered pine trees stood silhouetted by the dying sun.
It had been a rainy day, but before the light went to sleep it would have its moment. Raindrops fell from the tips of leaves still confused by the extended warm weather. The spiky seedpods of an enormous castor bean plant looked even more ominous as light continued to drain from the day. I quickly clipped a few of the ones that had dried to a dark brown. They’d already begun splitting and spitting out their seeds, so I hastened indoors to save some of the precious cargo.
That’s the other part of fall – saving things for the future. Putting stock in what will come up next year.
Some see a flower, some see a crucifixion, I happen to see the wizened face of a lion.
This questionably-monikered Thanksgiving Cactus began blooming a couple of week ago, which is why I’m considering it more of a Halloween cactus at this point. Such a strong pink is more apropos for that holiday rather than the amber and autumnal hues of Turkey Day anyway.
Did anyone else catch that ’60 Minutes’ piece on the Millennium Tower in San Francisco? The high-rise building is sinking a few inches per year, and starting to lean as well. For those of us not paralyzed with fear at such a height, it seems lofty living is a desirable, if expensive, goal. The older I get, the more afraid of heights I grow, so I’m good with crawling around the lower levels of this planet with all the other human ants.
Sometimes, though, we yearn to fly and soar as high as we can go, and looking up at the tops of buildings and cathedrals and skyscrapers has always thrilled me. There’s something to be said for a bird’s-eye view of the world. When I was a kid, I used to climb a very tall evergreen in our backyard. The higher I went, the more exhilarated I felt. A little terrified too, and at times I would cling to the sturdy trunk and close my eyes to calm myself before carefully climbing back down.
I’m better at more reasonable perches, such as the two-and-a-half story vantage-point of our Boston home. (I say two-and-a-half because the first floor is actually above street level by quite a bit, in the brownstone tradition.) From there, one has a decent view of the street, and the John Hancock Tower. If you lean out the window a bit and strain your neck you can also glimpse a bit of the Prudential Center.
It was here that I spent a single night last weekend to prepare for the holiday season events. There’s the annual Holiday Stroll with Kira, and the relatively new Holiday Children’s Hour with Suzie’s family (and hopefully a few other kids to keep Milo and Oona company). Both have become happy holiday traditions which I’m hoping to keep going. Since I won’t likely be in Boston again until December, I had to decorate, do some laundry, and get a few things together beforehand. It was gleefully anticipatory work – my favorite sort of work – and I loosely plotted out possibilities in my head. ‘Tis almost the season…
We turned back time like Cher could only imagine, and now the nights come earlier than ever. It’s only going to get worse until December 21 or so, and we better get into the holiday spirit to lift that kind of darkness. Thankfully, I’m already in holiday planning and preparation mode. If I get enough done in advance, I can simply lounge in silk pajamas when things get really stressful. A look back at the last week…
Halloween came, and thankfully left, without incident.
A shirtless Chris Hemsworth post in honor of the return of Thor.
A shirtless Locky Brownlie post.
Hunks of the Day included Scott Evans, Michal Mike Vavin, Joe Delaney, Nick Hawk, and Brad Bradley.
This one goes out to the unremarkable and the extraordinary. To me and you.
To the people who go to work without complaint, who force a smile when all they wanted to do was stay in bed.
To the girl who cries when the lights are out.
To the boy who cries when the lights are on.
To my friend Ann, who loved Bon Jovi more than anything once upon a time.
To my first girlfriend and my last boyfriend.
To the dreamers and the ones who dare.
To the ones who can’t but try anyway.
To the guy who mugged me for my International Male coat.
To the guy who punched the guy who mugged me.
To the old man who made me dragon hair candy at the top of a Hong Kong tram.
To all the guys I’ve loved before.
To the night I stood on the ledge of a building at Brandeis and wondered if seven stories was enough.
To those who wake up every morning, re-wrap their wounds and go on with their day.
To the boy who has the courage to wear his saddle shoes every day.
To my eleventh-grade English teacher.
To the day after a party, that glorious mess, that sleepy muddled way of making breakfast for the friends that stayed over.
To the summer when all my brother and I did was swim and pick flowers for Mom.
To the times when my Dad tells me he loves me.
To the night I looked into my husband’s eyes and saw the future.
To the birthday when I got to visit a beaver.
To all of us who get on the roller coaster, throw our arms in the air, open our eyes and scream for glee and glory.
Lockhart Brownlie has been a Hunk of the Day here not once, but twice. This isn’t quite his third, but it goes some way toward establishing that as his next goalpost. He seems to be going by Locky these days, as you’ll see on his super-fun YouTube page. Check him out there – he’s even better in motion.
I don’t do public service announcements.
But for those about to make jackasses of themselves by arguing with the ticket-taker at the movies because you’re so sure your movie is happening now instead of an hour later, this one’s for you.
Turn Your Clocks Back One Hour.
Adam Peaty has been featured here as a Profile during our Olympic madness (set to return this winter!). This brief post shows how amply he fills out his Speedo, especially in the crouched position, ready to pounce. Perfect for the middle of a sleepy Saturday.
It really wasn’t all that out-of-the-ordinary or strange, when you consider it in the pantheon of outfits I’ve worn over the years. A ceremonial Indian wedding coat, adorned with a few sequins and some sparkle, and some beadwork around the neck. A bright marigold-orange silk, paired with a loose pair of turquoise pants. I’d worn it to one of the Beaujolais events a few years back. On the rainy day we were traveling to Amsterdam to check out my brother’s new house, it seemed a fine choice.
Andy and I pulled up to the house, and I texted my brother to help us with the potted palm I’d brought to warm the place. We entered and were dutifully impressed by the results. My brother had worked hard on the house, and he and Landrie welcomed us in as the twins ran rambunctiously around.
We talked home decoration and I offered what little guidance I could. They had already done quite a bit, and the living and dining rooms were mostly complete. We sat for a drink before getting ready for dinner with our parents.
As we were leaving the kids looked at me and asked why I was dressed like this. “Like what?” I asked.
“In a dress,” one of them said. “It’s weird.”
For one brief moment it stung, just a little.
“Aww, you hurt Uncle Al’s feelings,” Andy explained gently as we went out into the rain. But by then there wasn’t much hurt left. This was how kids talked. I understood they didn’t mean anything by it.
I just hope the rest of the world will be as forgiving as me.
This is always the chilliest month. True, January and February bring the coldest temperatures and the roughest weather, but by then we’ve had enough time to acclimate ourselves to the freeze. This year especially, the first few days of cold weather will be a shock to the system. We’ve gone soft with the spectacular October we’ve had.
That velvet curtain seems to have come to a swift close, and like some cosmic thermostat, the temperature seems to have been put back to right. It may be appropriate and typical, but that doesn’t ease the jolt that these first few truly fall days has given.
The wet leaves on a sidewalk remind me of walking back to my dorm at Brandeis after dinner. I may have eaten with a friend or two, but somehow I’d end up stopping at the library, or they would head in another direction, and I’d make the last part of the walk by myself. The sun had long since fallen, and the false lights along the way were no match for the darkness. A stand of trees surrounding my dorm rendered the street lamps mostly powerless anyway.
On the darker days, when the world beat me down, when I flailed in desperate attempts to understand the physics involved in mapping out an astronomy project, I’d return to a black and empty dorm room. That first year I lucked out: my roommate had quickly found a girlfriend and spent much of his time with her, so it was basically like living in a single. I cherished the solitude. Still, as I looked out the third floor window of my room, at the pine tree fanning its needles in the faint glow of moonlight, I wondered how long it might be before solitude turned to loneliness. On those evenings, I’d let Enya play in the background while I tucked into bed, waiting for the light of day to make things better.
I’LL WAIT THE SIGNS TO COME.
I’LL FIND A WAY
I WILL WAIT THE TIME TO COME.
I’LL FIND A WAY HOME.
MY LIGHT SHALL BE THE MOON AND MY PATH, THE OCEAN.
MY GUIDE THE MORNING STAR AS I SAIL HOME TO YOU.
November always starts in the same desolate fashion.
Yet there is hope. The earliest snowfalls lend magic to the gray forest.
The cold days give way to cozy nights by candlelight and fire.
A promise of holiday enchantment; a winter wonderland waiting to rise.
This isn’t much more than a gratuitous post of a shirtless Chris Hemsworth, on the day that he returns to the big screen as Thor. His last solo movie still holds special meaning for me, not so much for the flimsy storyline, but for the way we entered the theater. Skip and I are planning on doing it all over again (minus the sketchy beginning). In the meantime, here’s some more of Mr. Hemsworth (with better hair than in these shirtless pics). And here he is naked in case you need just a little bit more Thor. (And here is his bro Liam for those who prefer that.)
