He made a big blue splash here in a Speedo by the ocean, and also won the coveted Hunk of the Day honor, so we’re bringing Luke Evans back with this quick Sunday post. A lull in your early Sunday afternoon is a reminder that there’s still a little more fun to be had before another weekend retires.
The wavy ‘V’-shaped formation undulated slightly in the sky as the sun began its descent for the day, then broke up completely in the high winds. The geese will find their way back into their iconic traveling pattern, in whatever mystical method it happens. This is the sky just before winter arrives.
Draining itself of light and color, it will soon grow gray and bleak, mottled with clouds high and low, streaky cirrus or cottony cumulus, and then we will wait it out until spring returns.
The geese, far wiser than us silly humans, will spend their winter in warmer climes. The older I get, the better that sounds.
It was a punch that was present at most of our childhood holiday gatherings. The Ko House always seemed to have a bottomless crystal punch bowl in which a fancy ice ring floated, keeping things cool from the very start of a long Christmas Day all the way through to the evening. At various times the pack of us kids would travel by and dip the ladle in to grab a few more drops of sugary sustenance, dodging adults and disappearing into the background, or so we hoped.
This year I brought back the holiday punch, with a couple of twists. It came about out of necessity, as Andy notified me we had an entire box of Orange Dry soda. In the punch of my childhood, ginger ale formed the effervescent fizz, so the Orange Dry seemed a suitable adult substitution. It also blunted the sweetness, which I did my best to avoid (but really, a punch is designed to be sweet, to go down smoothly).
The tartness was accomplished by a frozen pink lemonade. The current generation isn’t as familiar with frozen concentrate, and I’m not all that different, but for some reason it works in this recipe. I whipped up a batch of the lemonade, and poured a few overflowing cups of it into a bundt pan, sprinkled in a healthy pile of fresh pomegranate seeds and raspberries, then froze it overnight for the fancy ice ring. I also put a bottle of vodka into the freezer (or leave it outside if there’s no room) to cool that down too.
Right before guests arrived, I mixed the pink lemonade, 6 or 7 cans of Orange Dry, a few cups of vodka and a cup or so of triple sec (it’s a big punch for a big bowl), then scooped some orange sherbet on top of it all. The ice ring, knocked loose with some hot water and careful maneuvering by Suzie, floated in the middle of it all.
It wasn’t quite the same as the innocent punch of our youth, but it was close. Its spirit was intact. The memories it conjured were warm and fuzzy. That’s the best one can conjure the older we get.
It was one of the moments that brought my brother and I back together after adolescent turmoil and trouble: our trip to pick up the family Christmas tree. In high school we went our own ways, about as far apart as two brothers could go, but by the time I was spending most of my year at Brandeis, we had grown up a little and were ready to become friends. On an unplanned whim, we both volunteered to go pick up the tree in the mid-to-late 90’s. I still remember the drive, on a bright but wildly windy day, and the twins still ask me to tell the story of how the tree fell off the car before we even got home.
That story came up again, after we picked out the tree (and by we I mean Noah and Emi) and had secured a table by the fire at our old stomping ground the Cock & Bull.
On the ride over, we passed the frozen pond that I drove by on all my oboe lessons. The kids studied their spelling words, and my brother and I searched for Christmas music on the radio.
It was a warm tradition still intact, and I asked the twins to tell us some of their stories. At seven they claimed they didn’t have any, but we all recalled the night Emi went backwards in her chair when we picked up a tree a few years ago. They will have more, much more, to tell one day. They have only just begun.
It’s our fault.
Really, it is.
Any time Andy and I plan a party there is some sort of weather event, so our holiday gathering this year resulted in that pesky snowfall of last Saturday that saw so many accidents. Usually we just bring the rain and wind for our summer parties, but it seems we can conjure the snow as well.
It did make for a more festive scene, however, and one can’t stay mad at such beauty. It fell into the night, and on the following morning the world was lit up in the magical way that only snow can create…
It’s not easy to fill the stylized latex of Superman. It takes the kind of consistent workouts and dedication and diet that I will likely never be able to achieve. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the hard work and efforts of others, particularly when they’re as fine as Henry Cavill. As the big-screen’s reigning Man of Steel, Cavill has pumped up his body to a formidable presence and character of its own. But don’t take my word for it. Go ahead, see for yourself.
He was shirtless and wet here.
He was shirtless and working out here.
He was shirtless and naked here (with apologies for the redundancy).
He was shirtless and bulging here.
He was shirtless and hairy here.
He was almost shirtless and sweaty here.
Some song memories have yet to be made, and yet to be written. This is one of those songs that, someday, may mean something important and special to someone. For now, it’s on the cusp of meaning something, much like we are at the cusp of something greater on this website.
Things are brewing.
Ingredients are coming together.
The slight semblance of a recipe is appearing on the horizon.
A plan develops.
A plot appears.
A map rises from the dusty parchment.
I have another project that must be done.
This is the most exciting part.
This is the time before the beginning.
This is…
A multitude of thanks to Nick at the Kilted Bros. for bringing this to my much-needed attention. Here are a few teaser shots from the Ben Cohen 2018 Calendar (which may or may not be sold-out by the time you order yours here). Mr. Cohen has returned to fine form just in time for the holiday season, and this calendar is a dream come true for fans around the world.
For more of Ben Cohen’s glory, check out this epic post.
A little extra hair will be especially helpful in what looks to be a rather frigid week of weather ahead. There are Christmas memories to keep us warm, and I’m making new ones every day as I step away from documenting it ad nauseam here. Let’s meet back here on Thursday – until then, a recap.
And a recap within a recap, with this look back at previous Holiday Strolls.
Of course, there was this year’s four part stroll: Holiday Stroll 2017 Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four.
The ghost of Holiday Cards past.
This year’s Holiday Card.
A rather limited number of Hunks of the Day included James McAvoy and Ed Speleers.
On this blog we’ve always celebrated the hairy and hirsute, whether it be Ben Cohen or Matt Lister, or in this happy development Mr. Harry Judd himself. A recent ‘Full Monty‘ gig, and his ‘Get Fit, Get Happy’ project have provided fertile ground for photo shoots like this. A cold Monday morning deserves something hot.
Do not be mislead by this year’s relatively tame Holiday Card. If you want to find my edge, and more obviously my coin-slot, look no further than my Instagram account, where my ‘Top Nine’ collection is a clear indication that gratuitous nudity is still the quickest way to Instagram adoration.
As amusing and ass-centric as these nine photos may seem, they’re really not an accurate representation of what I post there. You are much more likely to see a cocktail shot than a cock pic, or a plate of food over a slice of ass. There’s something for the booty and the mind, at the same time.
“I don’t ask you to love me always like this but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside of me there will always be the person I am tonight.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Cheers, mofos. Taking a page out of ‘The Great Gatsby’, this year I aimed for class instead of trash. Not every Holiday Card brings the kind of image that offends across-the-board (much as I wished it would), so for 2017 I’m trying on a quiet close for a relatively quiet year. Without further hubbub and ado, here is the Holiday Card for 2017:
As for the behind-the-scenes story on the making of this one, it’s pretty simple. It was shot in Boston, where I installed the mantle of Christmas decorations in the weeks before the actual holiday. I haven’t shot a Holiday Card at the condo since 1999, I think, and I’d been wanting to return to the setting for some time. Last year’s card was almost set in the condo bedroom, but I didn’t want to risk bloodying the silk headboard. After the drive from Albany to Boston, a change into the fancy garb you see here, and an authentic cocktail, I took a series of timed shots, checking sporadically on how they were turning out, and was done in short fashion.
It was one of the easiest Holiday Cards I’ve done, and I was patting myself on the back when I returned to Albany the next day to upload them when I noticed that my fly was open in all of the photos. Too late (and too lazy) for a re-shoot, I was forced to use a side profile and call it a day. Sometimes the universe makes editing and selecting easier than anticipated. (More than one person said they would have preferred the open fly shots, but I’m not here to please.)
Happy Holidays, from my fly to yours.
Not all Holiday Cards can feature me spreading my legs and giving quasi-birth to a baby meant to symbolize the sweet baby Jesus himself, so this year is a bit of a fluffy filler. Its non-controversial simplicity is designed rather unintentionally to get me back on all the fridges and holiday card collection displays that found last year’s card too much. (And all this time I thought people loved the big JC.)
Let’s have our annual linky look back at some of the Holiday Cards that have come before. (Can you believe I’ve been doing this shit since 1995? Thank God some of those years prior to the digital age have been lost…) Too bad not all of these are as easily vanquished.
As for this year’s card (which was be posted tomorrow morning), I went back to basics and opened my fly.
And coming tomorrow the Holiday Card 2017…
Another Holiday Stroll with Kira is in the shopping bag (busted wide open along the seams because Kira doesn’t know to stop stuffing things in). We traversed our city while keeping things close to the condo, from an opening roasted chicken salvo to a closing Sunday dinner of dim sum. For the whole story, check out the most recent posts if you haven’t yet had a chance:
It was a good weekend, and a reminder of the power of holiday traditions, no matter how new. At seven or so years, this is one that I hope sticks around.
We slept well following all the walking we did, slumbering after we finished most of ‘The Family Stone’ was done. In the quiet of the night, I pad silently out to the kitchen for a glass of water, looking out across the street to the row of houses that has all the Christmas lights displayed. In a few weeks, after the holidays have finished, the street will be quieter, but if there is snow it will be brighter. There are drawbacks and benefits to both. On this night it is cozy enough, and I savor the moment. The next day will extend our Holiday Stroll, but it doesn’t begin until brunch at 11, and until such time we rest and relax and take our time waking. Buffering such luxuries is why I like to be prepared and unrushed.
This cheeky peanut thief greeted us as we walked into Sunday morning on Braddock Park. Not content to scrounge around in the little garden square, he haughtily stood on his hind legs and brazenly posed until I got the perfect shot. Everyone wanted to be part of this Holiday Stroll. We made our way into Back Bay and a sinfully excessive brunch at Club Cafe.
Eating until beyond our hearts and stomachs were content (Kira went back to the buffet three times to my one, not that anyone was counting) we were then ready to walk it all off again, which we started to do with a visit to the SoWa Market.
On the way, we stopped at this Christmas tree stand which we always seem to pass at some point during our stroll. A welcome feast for our noses, the evergreens and pines filled the space with their pungent holiday scents, completing our sensory enjoyment and capping the weekend with a familiar fragrance memory.
When we arrived at the market, there was some Winter Festival happening, but the line wrapped around two blocks and I don’t do a line that wraps around anything, so we passed by and picked up some items at Bobby from Boston.
(We did not pick up these wooden choir boys.)
We made our way through Chinatown, where I thought we might find Kira a reasonable substitute for a green dragon-embroidered robe she had seen at the market. Alas, the Chinatown shops of just a few years ago have closed or moved, and the shell of retail options left us bereft of any such robe. We paused in a few sad spots, but the main thing for sale was food. It had been a couple of hours since our brunch, so who were we to deny the pull of that? A couple of years ago we had a dim sum moment on one of these strolls, and we were happy to try to recreate that magic now. It worked only minimally – you can never do the same thing twice, no matter how fierce, and it was a futile exercise in trying to recapture what was once such a novelty.
We wound our way back through Downtown Crossing and into Faneuil Hall, where we were just in time for the lighting of their grand Christmas tree and a promised ‘special light show’ starting at 4:30. Dusk was falling and made the perfect backdrop for the tree. Mariah’s Christmas classic started up and the lights began moving. I haven’t been the biggest fan of Faneuil Hall since I actually moved to Boston many years ago, but it holds a special place in my heart at this time of the year, and despite the crowds and stupid tourists, there’s a bit of magic that creeps into my most jaded assessments of the place. We stepped carefully over the cobblestone walkways and ended up at Government Center, where we had, in the final hours of our Holiday Stroll, the unique and unexpected delight that I’d been hoping but not specifically planning for.
I’d read about the skating rink here, but forgotten about it – and never really thought much about visiting. We happened upon it en route to the T-stop, and though I should have been on the Mass Turnpike if I was going to make it home at a reasonable hour, the excitement and charm of a little make-shift village and shops was too magical to resist. Kira has been wanting to skate for some time, but that’s just not my scene. I promise her a cross-country ski trek in January, perhaps in Vermont. For now, we watched from the sidelines as our Holiday Stroll concluded with a cool blast of Boston whipping by our chilled cheeks.
