Category Archives: General

We tease a fair amount of gratuitous male nudity here, and several naked male celebrities, as well as shirtless male celebrities, and we have our own standard ‘Male Nudity‘ clause of sorts (we are completely behind it). Today’s post bucks those patterns a bit, as the first swim of the season is documented, and the only nakedness is that of the trees and gardens. 

As I swam through the warm water (Andy went on a heating binge and fired the water up to a toasty 85 degrees, to match the weather a couple of days ago) I marveled at how bare and stark the surroundings felt. Accustomed to the lush and verdant foliage that typically backs the views from the pool, I was struck by how different it looked this early in the season. 

The trees were just beginning to leaf out, tentatively sprouting a bit of bright green, and still shy from the winter, and the spring nights that can still plummet. The weeping larch was the furthest along, with its Zone 2 hardiness throwing caution to the April wind. Spring charges toward summer, and suddenly I want it all to slow down. 

When I was studying the oboe, I had a very good teacher. In our first lesson I don’t think I played a note – she had me feel and understand my breathing in a way that would inform my entire life. She taught me the importance of breathing into my stomach and making full use of my lungs, as well as how to relax into that breathing (it look most of that lesson because my entire body and mind were so decidedly and determinedly NOT relaxed). She also taught me all aspects of oboe-playing, including that infamous task that only the truest players dare to attempt: reed-making.

Unlike the clarinet or saxophone, the oboe is a double-reed instrument, meaning it uses two pieces of reed bound together through which the vibrations are made to produce the slightly nasal-like and unmistakable voice of the oboe. Making the oboe reed is an exercise in patience, determination, skill and a bit of luck. As a teenager, I didn’t come naturally by these traits, and so it was that reed-making became one very important lesson for me.

As I stood beside my teacher at the first few lessons, we worked on the basics, which were more or less getting me out of the infantile training I’d received in 5th grade band class at McNulty school. The plastic oboe and pre-manufactured reeds I’d been using there were a joke at every other place where remotely-decent music was being learned and played, and as I realized how unprepared for the rest of the world I was, she began guiding me and showing me how to improve. 

On the high-backed knob of one of her chairs, a mass of colorful strings was tied, and it caught my eye before anything else. I would come to understand that those were reed strings – each one a sign that a reed had been made, or attempted – each one a testament to time and trial and occasional triumph. Reed-making was an infuriating process that took much to merely approximate mastery of the craft, but I did my best. 

My teacher taught me how to soak and cut the raw cane pieces (ordered from France, where the best cane originated apparently), then how to coat the thread in beeswax before binding the cane together and attaching it to the cork-bottomed ‘staple’, and finally carving it into playable form with a carefully-sharpened knife. If it sounds like there is much room for error, there absolutely is, and for a once-perfectionist like myself, failing at over half of my attempts was soul-crushing at first. 

Eventually, I got the hang of it, and could pound out a few reeds in a single sitting. My collection of thread grew, so that soon I had my own mass of colorful strings tied to a chair, pointing to the lessons I was learning. Later, I would discover that perfectly decent and passable reeds could be purchased already-made, but by then I’d come to appreciate the work and time and effort that went into making your own. It was an appreciation of craft that my teacher instilled in me early on, and it’s something that has stayed with me. It formed a way of acknowledging and savoring those moments when so much work and so many details went into a work of art, such as an oboe concerto, and made me pause in gratitude. 

What was once a Thanksgiving cactus, then a Christmas cactus, and once a Halloween cactus, is now an Easter cactus, as the pictured plant has decided to grace us with these blooms starting over Easter weekend. Not mad about it, as we need the charm and color when everything outside is still not yet awake from its winter slumber. Plus, I needed a picture to accompany this weekly blog recap, so let’s get on with the show…

A great quote by Helena Bonham Carter kicked off the week.

A fantastic LGBTQ+ fellowship opportunity.

Pink daisies for the soul.

Ilagan family fun spanning the generations.

A Barbie moment.

A surprise crocus.

My, my my… death by a thousand cuts.

April showers, March flowers.

The night I went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

The hushed interim of a Holy Saturday.

A quick and unremarkable Madonna Timeline.

The classic Easter photo, for everyone who loves to see me being tortured (and my God there are so many of you). 

A double decade of butt-baring revelations. 

Dazzlers of the Day included Oliver Holecek, Alex Testere, Andreas Wijk, Kelsea Ballerini, and John Robert Bowers.

Happy Easter!!

Everybody’s favorite photo of me (especially adored by Suzie) is traditionally brought out for this day, and what you see here is a very memorable visit with an Easter Bunny that can charitably be described as terrifying. It’s a testament to the power of taste that purple tulle hasn’t become as traumatizing as it clearly should have been in my life. Happily, I’ve long since tamed these Easter Bunny traumas in my own ways, most notably at this unexpected run-in with the creature at a brunch in Boston. We have made our peace, and the world has been righted for a day. 

Enjoy your Easter Sunday!

There is a hushed solemnity to this sacred pocket of time between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, as if much of the world waits with bated breath for something miraculous to happen. Not to mix religious metaphors, but it’s a purgatorial sort of place, located somewhere between sorrow and hope –  a common and fertile space where humans reveal whether they’re on the side of cynicism or optimism. 

For someone who has traditionally reveled in the anticipation of everything, I never found much solace or joy in the Saturday before Easter. Maybe all the anxiety and stress of serving so many masses during Holy Week had my mind too wound up to lower its guard and relax, especially when the biggest Holy Day of the year was yet to come. Church was always fraught with that discomfort and strain. I tried to focus on God and what constituted the true lessons and meanings of all that scripture, all those stories, but in the end it was just me and my social anxiety trying to get through being part of that black-and-white-clad parade of altar boys and priests. 

A pause, then, in this spring of 2023 – a pause before Easter, a pause before resurrection, a pause before any miracle. A pause to determine whether we will stay in the dark or move toward the light. There is always that choice. I want to believe we would all try to be better, but I’ve seen the hurt and harm humans can do to one another. No amount of faith or believing can counter the utter lack of humanity with which some people have been left.  

It’s been a while since I’ve returned to the church in my memory bank. There are no great or horrid secrets lurking there – whatever tragic fate befell so many other altar boys never touched me. Whispers of it remained elusively on the periphery of my experience, and maybe the danger lurked closer than I knew, but no abusive horrors informed my altar boy years. Instead, it was the dogged and consistent strain of anxiety of facing a church filled with staring faces that wreaked its havoc. Every Sunday I would dread the mistake or mis-step that would lead to the ringing of the bells at the wrong time, or a missed cue to bring the priest the gospel, resulting in frantic snaps of his fingers beneath his flowing robes. I wanted to please the priest, I wanted to please my parents, I wanted to please every person in the pews, and I wanted to please God. That’s a lot of emotional pressure on a kid whose baseline nature was not naturally pleasant. 

Every once in a while I will talk in my sleep, and Andy will catch it, then wake me and relay whatever nonsense I’ve been mumbling. The other night I was apparently screaming, “I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!” and then opining, “Who gave us Cocoa Puffs?? What are we, nine?!”

It didn’t end there. I went on to say, “What am I gonna do with all these Cocoa Puffs?!?” which is where Andy woke me with this: “Put them behind your ears!”

As you can imagine, our bedroom is wild in the wee small hours of the morning.

The upcoming ‘Barbie‘ movie with Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling is either going to be magnificently awful, or awfully magnificent, and I can’t quite tell from the trailer. See it below and judge for yourself, then go find the Barbie selfie generator and go to town like I did. 

Beach me off, indeed. 

My friend Thomasa posted this the other day, and the words of Helena Bonham Carter rang beautifully true. I’ve long since believed everyone produced their own works of art, simply in going through life, and most of that beauty goes unacknowledged and unappreciated. We don’t give ourselves enough credit, and anything can be done with a certain element of artistic flavor. The perception is the key, and the intentional mindfulness of making every moment into a possible moment of art is always a noble effort. 

“I think everything in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone, and how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in, and all your dreams. The way you drink your tea. How you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel. Life is art.” ? Helena Bonham Carter

A life-changing eggsperience happened Friday night, and I’m still reeling from the revelation. Typically, I love to surprise people, and I love to surprise myself. (The surprise party is a different animal entirely, but that’s another story for another post.) This weekend, I was completely floored, so scroll down and let’s recap the week as we move into April. 

Jung Kook X Calvin Klein. 

The return of spring, the return friends. 

Power of the pussy.

A patch of snow on the ground.

The saddest song for a rough week.

My niece and nephew turned into teenagers last week.

A letter to Noah on the occasion of his 13th birthday.

A letter to Emi on the occasion of her 13th birthday.

Retreat of a lamb.

The magic of Muscari.

Another visit from the Jehovah’s witnesses, caught on camera.

After 20 years, the full-frontal money shot. 

A stark start to April.

My mind was blown by an egg, as was 47 years of blissful eggnorance.

A gratuitous post with a naked Chris Meloni. 

Dazzlers of the Day included Jessica Kirson and Alice Oseman.

The April showers didn’t wait to arrive, as they took this first morning of April by full-frontal assault. These photos were taken a day or two ago, back when we remembered what the sun looked like. Today it is but a memory. Cue Betty Buckley. 

I’m in a frisky, funny, cheeky, any mood today – woe to those looking for something earnest or heartfelt. This place is for the ferocious and cockfelt. Search the archives and ye shall find. Let’s race toothpicks to the sewer drain. Don’t let the clown get you. 

Celebrating the 20th anniversary of this website, this seems as fitting a time as any to reveal the long-rumored full-frontal money shot at last. Certain visitors have been patiently awaiting this day with eager anticipation, at least they were several years ago ~ age and click-bait have tempered that fevered pitch, but there are still some who wouldn’t mind a peek at the twig and berries. 

So stay with us, scroll down a bit, and revisit some fun links that follow – this will be the sort of day that becomes its own holiday of sorts…

This day has long been a fun one here, and there are always a few newcomers that get snagged and reluctantly admit their full-frontal folly. 

Despite the click-bait of it all, there are still sights to be seen, and even a full-frontal tease (oh hi, Chris Evans) usually provide more eye-candy than typically gets posted here. Such as in this Zac Efron full-frontal piece. 

Further teasing by David Beckham, Ben Cohen, and Nick Jonas. And more than a bit of Tom Daley too. 

My very own sex scandal took place on this date in 2015.

A twist on the full-frontal shot, courtesy of ‘Sex’. There’s a certain satisfaction in a little bit of pain. 

Happy April Fool’s Day everybody! You know I love ya.