Category Archives: Boston

A Benign Boston Visit – 2

Outside, the rain grew heavier as the afternoon turned to evening, while inside the light was warm, the company was true, and the pasta dinner was on the way. We started with some prosciutto and olives and fennel biscuits. The older we get, the more we seem to appreciate simply being at home. The delights of the city – at least what delights us these days – are rarely found to be accessible late at night, and our bar-hopping shenanigans and clubbing chaos are long behind us. Gratefully, we leaned into the afternoon with some tea, embracing the coziness of these last weeks of winter. 

I made a very simple, light pasta dinner with artichoke hearts and broccoli and freshly-grated parmesan cheese. A bit of butter and cream, along with a small diced onion, added the only flavor we needed, and it was done in about 20 minutes – also ideal for anyone watching their meat intake in this season of Lent. (On Fridays we do fish!)

As the evening marked the anniversary of Madonna’s ‘Ray of Light’ album release, I told Kira we should wind down for the night with a listening session of the whole album. Lowering the lights and operating with only a few lit candles, we settled into the same room in which I first listened to that album way back in 1998. 

It was as magical and mystical as I remember it being all those years ago, and hearing it with a friend made it mean a little more. By the time ‘Mer Girl’ wrapped up the night, the rainy cloak of something approaching healing and solace had wrapped itself around us. 

When next we meet, may the fountain be running, the windows wide open, and the leaves on the trees… 

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A Benign Boston Visit – 1

This will mark the last time Kira and I rendezvous in Boston until summer, as our schedules don’t quite seem to allow for a spring visit. Putting that depressing thought from our minds, we made the most of our time together on a recent weekend in our favored city, trudging through the benign days of a waning winter. Arriving on Friday, I didn’t have a meal plan in effect, and was largely planning on winging it with some pasta and artichoke hearts I’d brought. Upon setting out to procure a few more items, we decided to simply grab a Thai dinner at a nearby restaurant rather than attempt a dinner-making scene at the end of a wearing work week. 

Walking around Boston often means passing by sites and spaces that hold special significance, such as this little section near a park where Alissa’s daughter Sophia once played as a child. The ghosts of youth – mine and theirs – haunt quietly and for the most part kindly these days. They no longer hold the same sad sway they once did, and I no longer consciously work to avoid them, instead allowing the feelings to arrive like waves, knowing they will subside. 

The day’s light is still growing longer, but dusk still descends sooner than welcome, so we hurried back to the condo and a few minutes of a movie before falling asleep. 

The next day Kira treated me to lunch at the newly-opened Sugar Factory in Faneuil Hall. We don’t frequent that tourist-heavy place much, and walking past the many empty storefronts of retail space revealed that we weren’t the only ones. I wanted to give the Sugar Factory a whirl to see if it was something I could stomach with the twins, as they would probably enjoy it. Sweet excess trappings aside, the lunch we had was decent enough, and we didn’t even have room for dessert after the bodacious burger and mile-high club. 

Rain was starting just as the afternoon began to ripen, and we didn’t quite make it home in time to beat it, but a hat for Kira and hood for me mean we stayed relatively dry where it mattered. We walked through the Fairmont Hotel to see their flowers, as the drab and dull winter day demanded some floral cheer… but more on that later. 

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A Boston Tease

A quick and relatively quiet weekend adventure in Boston is previewed here, as Kira and I spent our last weekend in town together until probably summer, thanks to booked schedules and the business of work and life that seems to always be in the way. Our Boston weekends together have provided a bit of a respite for winter doldrums and the general malaise of growing older, and I will miss them in the coming weeks, but we have spring duties to perform, and many happy memories of previous Boston getaways, such as listed below… 

Kira and I first met in Boston during our stint at John Hancock way back in 1998. We hit it off, being of entirely different dispositions and sensing that the other might help enrich our lives, and hung out until I left for Chicago and she moved to Florida, in both cases for men who would not end up staying with us forever. Ten long years passed until we reunited in Boston, and since then we’ve been meeting up and making the most of the city.

Our first documented holiday stroll took place in 2012, but I believe the first actual stroll was the year before. Either way, it was a while ago, and a happy tradition that has somehow continued despite a few hiccups

When times were tough and we couldn’t do it in person, we did it virtually. 

Some of our times together were literally bloody.

And sometimes we made magic in the city, seeking out adventures in the night, following witches and warlocks, and finding our own mischief to manage.

Holiday strolls form some of our happiest recollections, as seen in our most recent one which incorporated a special guest star as well

As it looks like we won’t be back together until summer, I will look back at this summer jaunt from a while ago, and set our sights on this coming summer – always a fun stance.

Maybe we will rendezvous in Albany again this summer… 

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Snowdrop Swath

Snowdrops, wide swaths of them, blanketed portions of the Southwest Corridor Park like spotty patches of snow. They have always demanded closer inspection, and as I squatted down to take in their beauty, I wondered why I’d never bothered planting them – the perennial regret I have whenever the spring bulbs are in bloom. Summer erases such regret, spoiling me with its color and floriferous excess, so that by the time fall arrives I’m no longer bothering much about something as simple as a snowdrop. Shame on me for such wanton behavior; it’s not characteristic to throw an opportunity for planning away so easily… must look into that. 

These little bulbs were making a very early show of it this year, blooming in the midst of February (I still remember a couple of Boston winters where the entirety of the snow piles sometimes didn’t completely melt until June). And they say climate change isn’t real, well, idiots say that anyway… 

Andy looked at the weather forecast for today and remarked that March may be coming in like a lamb. As long as it keeps its lamb-like qualities and doesn’t pull a lion out of its hat nearer the end of the month, we’ll be ok with the milder switch. 

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Afterglow in Boston

While my favorite concerts by Madonna remain her Drowned World Tour and the Confessions Tour, her current Celebration Tour may rank as a tight number three, and the residual glow and high from that night carried me through the days in Boston that followed. Normally I’d have returned to work and real life the day after such a concert, falling as it did on a Tuesday night, but by some strange auspicious stroke of excessively indulgent planning, I’d taken off three days. Work has been so busy that if I didn’t get a break I might have broken. Sometimes we don’t see such things until we add some distance and then assess what we’re doing. Bottom line: this was a much-needed escapade in the city I know and love.

Boston was busy making its own sort of magic. After a brutal rainstorm event that almost took us out on the night of the Madonna show, only some wind and an occasional shower bothered the city the next day. Between the clouds, there were brilliant peeks of sun and blue sky, and the light painted shifting scenes throughout the afternoon. 

Boston isn’t particularly renowned for its architecture but I find many of its buildings beautiful. Maybe that’s because it remains a home for me, and we always have a soft spot for home. On this blustery day, it retained that beauty, even as it tempered it with typical New England bite. 

As the afternoon unfurled, dusk fell customarily early for this time of the year. January can be brutal here, however, and since we stayed above freezing it didn’t feel so bad. Still, once the light left the sky, I hurried back to the condo for warmth and coziness and a hot bath

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A Quiet Boston Children’s Holiday Hour (Without the Children)

We knew this year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour would be a quieter one, and we welcomed that. The twins couldn’t make it, neither could Simon, and the youngest of the bunch that could appear, Milo, teeters on teenage-dom, so this little tradition may be in need of a name change or revamping in its next iteration. Happily it was still a joyful moment with dear friends gathering in the condo for a holiday ritual that always feels like a warm and bright spot amid the more tumultuous seasonal revelry.

Chris arrived late on a Thursday, so I went over early as well just to get things ready and to spend time with one of my safe people. I’d last seen him at Dad’s service, so I was anxious to make a new memory, and we went about the city for a couple of days on our own before the crowd assembled. 

The next day I met Kira for lunch in Beacon Hill, a bonus get-together following this holiday stroll which had been such an enjoyable romp. Our impromptu lunch of Thai food was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the season, a reminder of what really matters in all the madness. We walked along Charles Street after lunch and checked out a few of the shops, then I made my way toward the condo through the Public Garden. 

The weather had been gracious to us, unlike the nasty storm that greeted our festivities last year. It was cold, but there was no rain, such as the deluge that marred the last time Chris and I were in Boston together. We met back up at the condo then headed to an exceptionally-fun dinner at the North End, where we had once had a wild dinner with his Mom a couple of decades ago. When you can talk about time with friends in terms of decades, you know you’re talking about a good friend. 

The next day was the official Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, which has always turned into four or five hours, and gratefully so. Suzie, Pat, Oona, Milo, Tommy, Janet, Mady and Logan soon arrived – we hadn’t been together since an all-too-quick dinner this past summer. A lot had happened since then, but we were still here, still alive, still celebrating the kids who were no longer quite kids, and still not adults, so there was still time. 

Another holiday season had come and almost gone. A Boston night enfolded us in its mystery and calm, strange clouds passing overhead, and the next day Chris departed at the crack of dawn to catch a plane. I headed back home a couple hours later – back to Christmas, back to family, back to what remained of the calendar year. 

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A Holiday Stroll 25 Years in the Making: Part 2

The morning of a holiday stroll usually dawns in quiet and somewhat-surprising simplicity. After building it up in my mind since the last one, it usually feels less exciting than memory serves – not anti-climactic like Christmas, but more seriously resonant, as though there was something slightly somber at work. Spending time with good friends is, after all, serious business – and when you’re friends have become your chosen family, it means even more. 

On the day of this stroll, Kira and I woke early to have breakfast at home – an egg nog bread pudding that turned out to be divinely sinful, or sinfully divine depending on how you like to look at things. (It’s just a regular bread pudding recipe switching out the milk with egg nog – you can cut out some of the sugar based on the sweetness of the egg nog if you’d like, but since it’s the holidays I left it all in – the sweeter the better!)

Walking that off was a requirement, so we headed out on our own little stroll through Southwest Corridor Park, where the holly was showing off its own holiday efforts. 

We procured some food stuffs for the arrival of JoAnn, and on the way back stopped at the lobby of the Lenox Hotel. 

This hotel always reminds me of a happy birthday celebration that Andy and I had in their Judy Garland suite. There was a gift lion we named Lenox in our room for that 40th birthday stay, and a larger version of him now sits atop the fireplace mantle, warming himself as any lion would on a cold Boston day. 

We returned to the condo, supplies in hand, and set about to putting together a bit of charcuterie and this merry mocktail for the three of us to enjoy, as none of us drinks liquor anymore. My how times have changed…

The eager excitement of waiting for a dear friend like JoAnn lent the afternoon a glow of anticipatory delight, and as I saw her approach, Kira went down to let her in. Once we had settled into our seats around the table overlooking Braddock Park, the new Cher Christmas album went for its first spin, and as we listened to the music, we reminisced over our twenty-five years together. The three of us met back in the fall of 1998, and somehow found ourselves in this very same city a quarter of a century later, reunited and celebrating the holidays more like family than friends. Our stroll to dinner felt almost like a foot-note to the giddy magnitude of simply being together and talking again, but it held its own enchanting sway (a green woolen cape added to the traditional notion of a stroll). 

Sharing a history with such good people gives warmth to any season, but being able to be with them for the holidays warms my heart in a way that I especially appreciate this year. A lot has happened since we first started hanging out at John Hancock so many years ago, and somehow we’ve been able to maintain our friendships despite time and distance and all the things life had in store for each of us. 

Our holiday stroll weekend, set once again where it all began, was reaching its end. We were together again – and together we remembered the way life had been – and we could laugh before letting it go.

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A Holiday Stroll 25 Years in the Making: Part 1

A quarter of a century ago I met Kira and JoAnn, and as we celebrate and commemorate that happy anniversary of friendship (lifelong friendships are hard to come by these days) it felt like a good time to return to the basics of our holiday stroll. Our history has been well-documented here, and recently I’ve been waxing nostalgic for those early days at John Hancock in Boston, when we were young and foolish and having the time of our lives without even realizing it. Still, I wouldn’t trade where we are today with where we were back then – it exhausts me to even think about all those antics, all that drama, and all the unnecessary tumult of the time. Even then, all I wanted was calm, and meaningful moments with friends. After twenty-five years, we may have finally figured it out. 

Much like Christmas, my favorite part of a Holiday Stroll is usually the night before, when Kira and I convene at the condo to settle in, finish up any decorating and preparation, and find something for dinner. On this night, we made a quick trip to Chinatown for a warming bowl of pho. 

In the past, our evening walks would have wound around a few hotel bars and lobbies, meandering until we returned hours later, chilled and often wet from whatever precipitation decided to fall. On this night, there was none of the above, and we came back early to enjoy our time together in the comfort of home

I gave Kira her presents and we sat down on the couch to unwind. Around us, the Christmas decorations glowed, giving off their warm light and protecting us from the cold and dark night.

As the years pass, and scenes shift in a city as dynamic as Boston, I realize the importance of having a stable home base. It is at these times that the coziness of the condo reveals itself as a destination unto itself. All those endless nights seeking out entertainment elsewhere, searching for the right place to be at the right time – it was always here. 

We put a sweet potato in the oven in preparation of another holiday tradition – watching ‘The Man Who Came to Dinner’, which has an ice-skating scene where the characters eat a couple of ‘Hot Sweets’. Whenever that scene comes on, we stop and head into the kitchen to have our own hot sweet moment. On this evening, we had our sweet treats and spent a bit more time on the couch, letting much of the movie go by, happily lost in regaling old memories and catching up like old friends who have been apart for too long tend to do. When we crawled back into bed for the remainder of the movie, Kira promptly fell asleep before it finished. 

The Eve of a Holiday Stroll is a magical time, and I’ll always pause for a moment when Kira is already asleep, tip-toe out to the living room and sit for a moment in quiet and solitude, looking at the Christmas lights and taking in the calm. JoAnn was arriving the next day for our proper stroll, which we had pared down to a simple walk to dinner… 

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Getting Hancocked By This Group – Part 1

By the time August of 1999 rolled around, almost a year into my first office job, I’d made a name for myself in the research department at John Hancock, and more importantly to my young and foolish heart, I’d fallen in love and was set to leave the city of Boston for the city of Chicago and an apartment with my boyfriend at the time. It was time to move on from that job anyway – the research project on which I was working was entering the next stage, which meant our little group would be splintering off. There were whispers of permanent employment for those who did well and might be interested in such a thing, but that wasn’t me at the time. When asked if I wanted to stay on, I did what you’re never supposed to do: tell the truth. I was leaving, and no one could persuade me otherwise. The heart wants what it wants, and in some ways I was simply scared to stay. Immaturity works that way

Before my last day, I circulated a little velvet book that I asked all my co-workers to sign. Whether they, or I, wanted to admit it or not, we had formed a little work family. We also knew how to play when the day was done, and while our group was filled with all sorts of people from all walks of life, we became part of each other’s lives. Whenever you go through something at such a pivotal time of life, it informs your history, and at twenty-three years old, I was ripe for being influenced. I’ll let their words speak for whatever impact I left on them; they showed me acceptance and inclusion when I’d almost given up on both. 

“Alan, Well to top things off I would like to say “thank you” for I feel honored and privileged knowing that I am the chosen one to set things off. I would like you to know it was a pleasure working with you and sometimes hard but bearable. The advice you gave to me was a big help in some way… I wish you and P— the best wishes in Chicago. You know in a month or two I’ll probably be saying I’m manless but at least A—- is in the picture for now. Alan you are a great friend, a wonderful and crazy person, but most of all you are fun and an asshole and I love you.” – Tamekia

“Alan, I met you on January 5, 1999, my first day at John Hancock’s ADR project at 380 Stuart Street, Boston. My first job outside (full-time) the home in 16 years. You made me feel good about myself. You taught me to listen to my feelings, and show happy, sad, mad, glad. Your e-mails, signs, posters all showed me the same. Happy, you smile miles wide. Sad, you make faces (pouty) and make it perfectly clear your feelings. It has been a pleasure to know you and work with you. Your kind nature (sending my daughter a post card from Chicago) will take you far. Your love of writing (never stop) will pay your bills someday. You now need to cut the apron strings and fly on your own. Always take care of yourself first. Think before you get involved in a relationship. Best of luck.” ~ Marion

“Alan, I arrived here for my first day of work and met you. Alan, you were hung over from the weekend. Yes this is my first memory of you. Everyone asked, ‘Did you meet the Madonna fan Alan?’ Yes, I did and I’m glad I met you. You became the person I could joke with. Have fun in Chicago. It’s a fun city – you and P— should have a lot of fun. You were able to make this job fun. When you move to Chicago keep that sense of humor. Alan you were a great person to work with and call a friend. Don’t drink too much. Stay in touch, keep being that asshole you are, and never forget us in Boston. We will miss you. I will miss you.” ~ Craig

“What’s up Alan – it’s been super cool working with you. The only thing that wasn’t cool is that I missed your party and missed all that drinking (ha, ha). But on another note you’re a very cool person and I wish you the best of luck in the big Windy City.” ~ Will

“Alan, I have to say I will miss your one-of-a-kind attitude and overall personality… when you’re at your next job if you need to pull out a staple ask someone for a ‘staple remover’ – that’s what it’s called, not a candy opener.” ~ Shawn

“Dear Alan, We pretty much share the same qualities, so of course I am going to miss someone who has the wit, charm, personality and intelligence as myself! I wish you all the best in Chicago! Stay strong! For only the strong survive. Peace.” ~ Reggie

“Alan – How you ever survived a full year of this hell-hole, I will never know! You did it and you’re out – you should be extremely proud of yourself. It was wonderful having you at work everyday. You made me smile, which is hard to do… I rarely cross paths with individuals like you. I like your sassiness and your wit. Keep your head up and your spirit strong. It has been a pleasure talking with you and seeing that smile everyday. I wish we had more time to get to know each other, but I have enjoyed these past few months. If you ever need a helping hand or a listening ear, you can call or write anytime. I would absolutely love to hear from you! I envy your strength and pride, a few of the wonderful qualities you possess. You are wonderful. You have made my job more enjoyable. Thank you!!” ~ Jaime

“Alan, Alan, Alan!! It’s been almost a year now and I still can’t figure out how you stayed so long with such a good writing ability. Use those skills man and you will go very far in life, and hey maybe you’ll even met Madonna! (Did I tell you I have pictures of her house?) We have been through a lot together – Sandy’s belly-aching, JoAnn, Kira breaking the spreadsheet, but those experiences are nothing compared to what you’re up against in the windy city… [whited-out sentence] That was the most dorky sentence I ever wrote. In fact I think I might white it out. Now I bet you’re wondering what I wrote? Am I getting to you. Am I getting to you!!! But hey seriously, good luck and have fun. Send me mail, I don’t have any friends. Good luck.” ~ Shawn M.

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Almost Towering Over Boston, An Office Job Takes Shape

Twenty five years ago I was working in the ADR Research Department of John Hancock Insurance. They needed people to delve into years and years of records to address a class action lawsuit, and that’s about all I was told. It involved scanning microfiche and writing down duplicate numbers and reporting our findings to people at the next level. To this day, I’m not sure what we were looking for or if any of our numbers made any difference, good or bad. All I cared about was that I was getting paid, and had some money to go out and party like I was twenty-three. (A twenty-three-year-old like myself was too busy discovering the city of Boston, seeking out love, and hoping to get past all the shitty things that could and did happen to a young gay man in the 90’s. Simple survival was a feat in an of itself.)

It was my first office job, and after working in an orchid greenhouse, a hospital cafeteria, and a store named Structure, I embraced its regular hours and laid-back requirements. Showing up on time and simply doing what you were told to do puts you ahead of the majority of people in my experience. Not being a complete dick helps too, as does some wit and style. All in all, I learned what an office was like, and it quickly became clear that it wasn’t so much the work that mattered as it was the group of people with whom you did it. Being a nameless cog among many nameless cogs was a strange and surprising comfort to me; standing out takes a greater toll than anyone who doesn’t often stand out could ever understand. 

Our office was not in what used to be known by all as the John Hancock Tower, but right across the street in a much smaller and nondescript building. While our work was done there, our lunches were mostly taken in the expansive cafeteria in the basement of the main tower, and we also had access to the observatory if we wanted to show the city off to any visiting friends or relatives. Working for a company so emblematic of Boston didn’t thrill me anymore than working for a retail store did, but it did make me feel like I was genuinely part of the city at last. And slowly, I made a few friends, and impacted the dull office that had never seen the likes of someone like me… 

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A Boston Office Party

My first office job, as a research analyst at John Hancock Insurance, may have been procured through a chance meeting at the local sex club, but by December of 1998 I’d won the hearts (or minds) of management over, had made several new friends (some of whom I’m still quite close with) and started dating a sweet boy who worked in Crabtree & Evelyn while he pursued an acting career at Emerson. It was as far from a sex club as one could get, and I embraced the possibility of something quieter and more stable as I approached the midpoint of my twenties. 

Making my way into the office world, I’d been promoted to a higher-level position, where I was asked to review work rather than do all the research myself. The idea of an office career presented itself, but I was too young to invest in something so safe. Instead, I retained all my wildness, bringing it into the office in my own sartorial manner, joining my co-workers for bar-hopping nights of madness, entertaining overtime Saturday afternoons with martinis and joints and not making it back to the office more often than not. Best of times, worst of times, the usual province of a recent college grad – aimless and hopeful and somehow both too silly and too serious for my own good. 

Living in the condo was ideal for a single young man – or a single young man and his boyfriend who occasionally spent the night. It was small and cozy, and entirely too tiny for a party of more than a few, which made the holiday gathering I was planning an absolutely ridiculous idea. 

It quickly became the talk of the office, and it demanded Christmas decorations, a fully-stocked bar, and a few viewings of ‘Auntie Mame’. By the time the night of the party arrived, the excitement and anticipation had become a juggernaut of their own – all I had to do was gently tug at the reins of the evening, toss back a couple of cocktails, put on a pair of feathered wings, and open the door for the guests. 

That holiday party was, from what little I can recall (and from the many pieces of it that had been told to me over the days and weeks that followed) a wild and debauched night. The guest book from that evening is filled with hilariously drunken ramblings from people I’ve known for decades, along with a number of people I don’t remember in the slightest. Looking through it for the first time in years, I am touched by how young we all were. A couple of people in it have already passed away. One of them – a fellow named John – wrote the following:

‘Alan – I promise you nothing, and in ‘nothing’ I promise you my respect and love. I would never discount anything that didn’t come at too high a price. I’ll never be able to afford you and it has nothing to do with how much I make. Keep being you. Love, John— This was probably more sentimental than I intended – please disregard.’

In ways too numerous and varied to fully and accurately convey, that encapsulates this section of my life, and this party in particular. As I mentioned, we were so young – so very, very young – and in that youth were the twin opportunities of protection and ruin, both waiting to exert their own pull, with all their accompanying traps and tricks and treachery. 

For all the fun that was on record and in the memory of others, the only thing I really remember from that night is walking into the bedroom as the party was dying down, finding my boyfriend almost asleep in bed, and wanting nothing more than to be alone with him. 

There were two more people who signed the guest book that evening – two new friends who would play a part in the years to come: JoAnn and Kira. We didn’t know then that twenty-five years later we would be taking a holiday stroll together… 

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How A Sex Club Helped Me Get My First Office Job

For the majority of Bostonians, the tallest building in the city will always be known as John Hancock Tower. When I worked at John Hancock, we would eat lunch in the basement cafeteria of that building, but our actual work location was across the street in a much smaller building on Stuart Street. My job was technically a researcher, which at that time consisted of seeking out information on microfiche, an antiquated form of data storage. (I couldn’t tell you what I was researching because I honestly don’t know.) It was a temporary gig, and at 23 years of age, it was all I really wanted. After a few years of grueling but rewarding retail work, I was due for a change. I also had retail burnout, because for an anti-social introvert like myself, dealing with people on a daily service level was debilitating. That said, my retail job at Structure absolutely taught me how to interact and engage with strangers in a way that college never could, so by the time I walked into Bertucci’s for a pre-interview interview with someone who worked at John Hancock, I could hold my own in a conversation and give the impression that I was a sociable person. 

My friend ‘Ben’ (lean in a little – his real name is being changed to protect what he may not want people to know) whom I had dated briefly (and to whom I was largely awful in the wake of previous dating disasters) had been kind enough to keep me in mind when he knew I was looking for a job. He knew someone named ‘Mike’ (also a fake name to protect his own part in this story) who worked at John Hancock and might be able to get me a job in their research department. Ben told me that Mike wanted to meet with me over lunch to see if I might be a good fit. 

To prepare myself with any and all background information I could find, I asked Ben what he knew about Mike – how they had met, how long they’d been friends, the basic shit – not expecting anything all that interesting. Ben paused, and was suddenly skirting the simple question of how they met. Exasperated, and annoyed (and you might see glimmers of why my relationship with Ben would never have worked out) I finally just blurted out something like, “What?! Did you meet in a sex club or something? How difficult is this question?!”

Ben’s silence spoke incredulous volumes, and for someone who had seemed as basic and boring as vanilla, he suddenly became one small bit less annoying to me. He confirmed that yes, he and Mike had met at a sex club, but it would probably be best if I didn’t mention that. 

(There was the annoyance again, as even I understood not to mention such a thing.)

Back in the 90’s, there was a place called the Safari Club in Boston. I wasn’t yet 21 to gain access to, or even knowledge of, the place, and by the time I was old enough and brave enough to entertain such entertainment, it had closed. It was a sex club – a gym/sauna/workout scene that was a merely a front for a place where guys could hook up for an entry fee. Back then, Ben and Mike had met and struck up a… conversation in those hallowed halls, and from that was born a friendship that brought him to mind when I indicated my search for a job. 

At Bertucci’s, sitting across from Mike (and probably scarfing down a Silano pizza because they were the best) I nervously made small talk about my employment history (HA!) and a brief description of myself (HA HA!) while Mike sat in soft-spoken elegance and office wear. He was not at all a man I’d have considered a sex club kind of person, an early lesson that it was almost impossible to determine who was a sex club kind of person based on appearance and demeanor. His erudite way of speaking, and a charmingly disarming wit, did not hide his homosexuality, but neither did it reveal it to anyone other than those who had been briefed beforehand. 

After feeling me out and likely realizing how harmless I was, he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially that he assumed I knew how he and Ben had met. Since he brought it up, I merely confirmed that I knew. While I was crazy curious, I decided not to pursue the line of questioning that I so badly wanted to pursue. Our lunch ended on a good note, a hopeful note, and a few days later I got a call from Mike with a contact name at John Hancock. From there, I went for an interview and got my first office job. 

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A Rosy Ending & A Holiday Beginning

This post will aim to recapture the collection of Friendsgiving adventures that I just had in Boston, while giving one sneak peek of the holiday fun to come in that grand city. Up first, is this rose bush, still blooming in the middle of November, and still giving joy to passers-by like myself who pause to stop and take in its beauty. Any flower brave enough to put on a show at this late date earns my admiration and respect, and roses in November pack a different kind of punch

My reunion with Kira provided the perfect spot of warmth as we kicked off the holiday season. Our little Friendsgiving tradition is somewhat new, and not quite an annual thing. When we can manage it, we manage it. This year was one of the luckier ones. 

It began with this preamble, which also featured roses, because everything comes around again in the end. 

With a backing soundtrack by Shirley Horn’s ‘The Main Ingredient’, our Friendsgiving weekend got off to this delicious start

This will mark the first holiday season without Kira’s sister and my Dad, and the last year of hurt and misunderstanding paved the way for healing and solace

Mysteries of fall were in the air, and the strong but welcome presence of sunlight also made for many shadows.

We found pockets of peace and calm, the way we always do, and celebrated our reunion at a dinner at Reunion.

Our wild nights ring differently now. We wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A proper Friendsgiving brunch brings a few friends together.

All in all, this was a lovely reconnection with a dear friend, fittingly made during a Friendsgiving weekend. I don’t know what Thanksgiving with the family will look or feel like, and so I am especially grateful that this Thanksgiving with chosen family has happened. 

We’ll end this with a special sneak-peek of my partner for the upcoming Holiday Stroll weekend in Boston, and beyond that is our almost-annual Boston Children’s Holiday Hour (which will very soon be excising itself since the children aren’t children anymore). This may very well be the last of its kind, and we will be endeavor to make it that much more special because of it. 

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Friendsgiving 2023: A Friendsgiving Brunch

Sunday dawned in sunny fashion – more spectacular than November has any right to be – and we had an early brunch date with two other dear friends – Anu and her daughter Riley (my spirit animal). It was a last minute addition to our Friendsgiving weekend – and a very happy one at that. Riley was looking at three of the schools that I considered in my college search: Boston University, Boston College and Tufts. A legendary trajectory indeed. We had a lovely brunch at Mooo… in Beacon Hill, taking our time to catch up before sending them on their way to BC. 

Kira and I walked back through the Common, but turned out of it before the Public Garden. The sun was strong; we’d been lucky with the weather the whole weekend. I’m not sure our hearts could have withstood any rain or clouds. Sometimes the universe eases up when you need it the most. 

Here is some music fit for a Sunday morning stroll, as much as for a Saturday night lounge session, and one of the only artists who can span such a marvelous spread is Shirley Horn, who has provided the soundtrack for this entire Friendsgiving weekend. Here’s looking at you!

We stopped to look in at the recent-revamped Four Seasons Hotel overlooking the Garden. Designed in whimsical fashion by Ken Fulk, it looked like a promising environment for some future holiday fun. We still have our Holiday Stroll reunion to look forward to in a couple of weeks – something we haven’t been unable to pull together since before COVID. How much has happened in those years… and how much we still had to share…

Suddenly it was a mad dash for Kira to make her train in time, and I was back on the Massachusetts Turnpike, already missing my friend. A Boston weekend had ended much too quickly. The memories, and these posts, will have to sustain us. 

 

 

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Friendsgiving 2023: A Wild Night Now

As we near the final portion of our Friendsgiving weekend adventure, we return to the preamble that started it all: a pause in our walk back from a reunion dinner at Reunion. At this juncture, Kira and I had made our way into the sumptuously-lit environs of the Mandarin Oriental on Boylston. The lobby was adorned in its customary elegant splendor, with a fireplace flicking white flames into the air, but stepping outside of tradition, we bypassed that space for a quiet and or intimate second floor sofa, where we took a load off our feet and paused for brief respite. 

A slow jam then – and super-slow at that – to commemorate this stop. Obscure hotel hideaways are my favorite part of any city adventure. There is something intoxicating about being half-hidden from the world while sharing a moment of rest with an old friend. It always goes to my head. 

Our wild nights now consist mostly of such moments, followed by the hurried scuttling through windy weather to reach the warmth of the condo. There we light candles, listen to Shirley Horn, sip tea, lounge languidly on the couch, and give silent thanks for not wanting to be wild anymore. 

This particular night was not that different from any other in our long history of Boston nights – we followed the tea with a viewing of an old movie – ‘Mildred Pierce’ – and then it was time to sleep. Shirley sang us through to the morning, and the melancholy arrival of Sunday, always too soon.

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