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Balling It With the BoSox

It’s been over two decades since I’ve been to a Red Sox game. Hell, they’ve won the World Series a couple of times in that time span. This weekend, I’m returning to Fenway Park with my pal Skip, and we’re going to take in a game, with a hopefully happier outcome than the last one I attended.

The year was 1993. I had just arrived at Brandeis University, and one of the icebreaker events was a Red Sox game. (Even then, the only icebreaker I wanted any part of was the sound of a martini being shaken.) I signed up for it because it was a Boston event, and my heart was set on spending as much time as possible in the city I loved. Plus, I knew my way around and could navigate in the event that my new classmates needed any guidance. (And when they listened to me, we found our way just fine. I wasn’t as forthright then as I might seem now.)

The game was a snooze. My mind wasn’t on it, partly because no one else seemed very into it (none of them had become as enamored of Boston as me) and the Red Sox kind of sucked. By the bottom of the 7th inning, when they were down by 11 runs (not points, as someone recently corrected me) I’d had enough. Itching to get back in the city and away from the Brandeis pack so I wouldn’t have to join them in returning to campus as soon as the game was over, I excused myself and went shopping on Newbury Street. That will always trump a ball game. Any ball game.

This weekend, I’m going to do it all over again, thanks in large part to Skip, who will imbue the business with knowledge and witty explanations that will be ten times more fun than any icebreaker. (Our ice broke years ago.)

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Smells Sexy Like Ben Cohen

Nobody told me that Ben Cohen had a new cologne out, not even the man himself, and we’re usually relatively tight. (Hey, the guy wishes me Happy Birthday when it’s my birthday!) I have seriously mixed feelings about this venture, however, as much as I am enamored with the man whose pretty face graces the bottle. I don’t know how it was produced, or who Mr. Cohen worked with, so there’s a chance it could be wonderful. Sarah Jessica Parker made her debut celebrity fragrance into something that was both popular with the masses and more than a few perfume connoisseurs, but that is the rare exception. For every lovely Parker, there’s some gaudy and god-awful Britney Spears massacre.

David Beckham has a few scents out there, none of which I’ve sampled. (For some reason I never think to sample cologne when I’m in a CVS.) Personally, I think it’s much safer to simply be the face of the product, rather than put yourself out there as the creator and namesake. (Think Nick Youngquest and Scott Eastwood. Be the face, not the name.) The arena into which Cohen spritzes his stuff is sacred ground, and for someone who worships at the altar of Tom Ford and bows down before Hermes and Amouage, it’s going to take a lot to impress. That is nothing against Mr. Cohen.

To give you an idea of how fussy I am when it comes to fragrance, I didn’t even like Madonna’s ‘Truth or Dare’ perfume enough to purchase it for myself, and I pretty much like everything she’s done. (I’ve got a goddamned children’s book she once wrote as proof. FYI, ‘Sex’ was a much better read.)

But until I try Ben Cohen on for myself (and I am anxiously awaiting a personal invite, ahem), I’ll zip my lips and simply enjoy him wearing it, with preferably nothing else.

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Boston Morning Entry

Our next morning in Boston was gorgeous – we slept in a bit, luxuriating in the air-conditioned bedroom. (“This bed is delicious!” Kira exclaimed.) This was, after all, when temperatures were in the high 80’s. We didn’t want to get up, but there was much to be done – I needed two outfits for Gay Pride and a Red Sox game. Two very different and distinctive events that required two very different hats, literally. I love a shopping excursion with a mission, and the journey is always more fun than the destination. Kira and I began with breakfast at Cafe Madeleine, then took the T straight to Downtown Crossing, that necessary evil for mass shopping options.

Throughout it all Boston was in full bloom. At every step another container or garden was spilling over with blossoms. The Chinese dogwoods had come into their own, swaths of snowdrop anemones rose like delicate cotton-balls, and happy daisies smiled directly into the sun.

We had our usual cup of tea at the bay window looking out onto Braddock Park. It was my favorite time of the day to be in that position – later in the day the sun will stream in through the back bedroom window – for now, it filters in through the leaves of the trees, brightening up the table and the floors. We talked over the events of the night before, then made a loose plan for the day. These were the moments that I always ended up enjoying the most: the in-between times of anticipation and preparation, the forgotten minutes that make up a life. Learning to appreciate these instead of trying to rush through them is one of the keys to happiness.

Eventually, we had to move from the table, and with some reluctance – The day is so beautiful here! The sunlight is too perfect! – we showered and got ourselves together for a day in the city.

We strolled by the bee balm, and every shade of pink – in azaleas and rhododendrons and peonies – while deep purple irises called out like pulchritudinous sirens.

Boston in late spring bloom is spectacular.

There’s no place I’d rather be.

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Scorchingly Shirtless Scott Eastwood

Though Scott Eastwood has already been named a Hunk of the Day, these photos are worthy of a third post today. They come from the actor’s ad campaign for Davidoff’s Cool Water. It’s been ages since I’ve worn that icky fragrance (it’s really for high school) and though Mr. Eastwood looks hot and cool, he won’t be getting me to spritz that shit on myself anytime soon. It’s nice to see that he’s got the classic Davidoff closed-eyes/ecstasy-in-mid-splash pose down pat. Now if we can only get him to front (and back) an underwear campaign

By the way, jeans in water? Never a practical choice.

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Boston Night Entry

You wouldn’t know it from the dark rain clouds and dismal temperatures of recent days, but this past weekend was practically perfect. I spent it in Boston (where I’ll be returning this weekend for a Red Sox game with Skip – wait for THOSE blog posts) and Kira joined me for some project work before we hit the town.

She arrived a little after 9 PM, when her shift was up, and we began the photo/video shoot for the new tour. That in itself was fun and riotous (picture me channeling Norma Desmond on the wooden staircase of the condo and you have a pretty clear picture of the insanity than ensued). Once that was done, it was close to midnight (ok, so there was a lot of catching up and talking too) and we headed to one of the few all-night diners that Boston offers. Last time I was in town we happened upon it, and since then we’ve been planning for this night.

Like an oasis in the dark, it rose all bright neon blue and flaming grills and it was just exactly as I dreamt it. (Yes, I’ve actually dreamt of the place.) We had been going to Chinatown when in need of late-night dining, and though this is right next door to it, sometimes you need a burger and fries instead of Peking Duck.

There’s something truly gratifying and comforting in going to a diner with an old friend, especially when it’s tucked deep into the night and few others are around to mar the atmosphere. While working on a new project, I tend to go somewhat insular, retreating to a place that feels quiet and remote. A trusted friend like Kira keeps me in the world, bringing me back to civilization.

Things are said to seem more sinister in the night, but beneath the lights, and close to a cherished friend, I felt nothing but safety and warmth, and the sustenance of a greasy diner dinner.

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‘Sister Act’ at the Ogunquit Playhouse

Who knew a group of singing nuns could be so hellishly entertaining? And who could have foretold that a movie like ‘Sister Act’, while filled with its own musical moments, could make such a deeply satisfying transition to the stage with an entirely new score? The Ogunquit Playhouse is putting on a new production of the Tony-nominated show and it’s nothing short of a revelatory religious experience.

Re-set in the late 1970’s, the music is a pastiche of soul, disco and gospel, written by the celebrated Alan Menken (who was largely responsible for putting Disney back on the musical map with ‘The Little Mermaid‘, ‘Beauty and the Beast’, and ‘Aladdin‘ – all of which have gone on to become Broadway shows.) The show itself takes a moment or two to build, but once Deloris is back in the habit and raising the roof with the rousing ‘Raise Your Voice’ every board and block of the Ogunquit Playhouse vibrates with sheer joy and show-biz salvation.

It turns out that soaring gospel anthems and Latin prayers form the perfect melodic structure for the injection of a disco beat. As built from the ground up by the Playhouse, this production boasts a winning cast, and the two leads are largely why it’s such a stunning success. Rashidra Scott gives a devilishly-good rafter-raising performance as Deloris, injecting the role made famous by Whoopi Goldberg with a dose of glamour and a wondrously-gifted vocal prowess. After understudying the role on Broadway, Ms. Scott brings exuberance and energy to her Ms. Cartier, and displays the absolute voice of an angel – a powerfully-throated angel who can bring the roof down with a growl from the base of her register to a full-fledged peel of her highest note, and everything in between is just as heavenly.

Her counterpart, the equally-divine Jennifer Allen as Mother Superior, reigns with an iron fist but a heaven-sent voice. Her Act Two number ‘Haven’t Got A Prayer’ delivers moments of comedic gold shot through with a self-doubting pathos. It gives her character the empathetic pull that drives the tension, and ultimate resolution, of the relationship between her and Deloris.  Taking us along on the fascinating transformation of a woman toiling with inner-turmoil and her own faith, Ms. Allen has the less showy role, but as she jockeys for power and respect in different, and just as compelling, ways, she forms a sparkling foil for Deloris. They challenge each other, and turn out the better for it.

Having missed out on the original Broadway run (which starred the amazing Patina Miller, who went on to seduce audiences, and a Tony Award, in ‘Pippin’), I was pleasantly surprised to see that this musical went deeper than the film, highlighting the friendship and genuine bond between the women (particularly in the moving title song) as well as the internal fight within Deloris herself – in which her show business dreams battle with her angelic guardians.

By the end, Mother Superior echoes one of the first beliefs of Deloris: “All things being even, here’s what I believe in – Nothing matters more than love.” Hokey, perhaps, but truer than any religious dogma that was ever uttered. When you put it to music like this, and let it pour forth from the vocal instruments of such a talented cast, the results are transcendently spiritual. ‘Sister Act’ is one hell of a good show, and I’d wager the Big JC himself would be tapping his foot to it too.

{‘Sister Act’ runs until June 21, 2015 at the Ogunquit Playhouse.}

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Return to the Pleasure Quarters

The night is black

And I am excited about you.

My love climbs in me, and you ask

That I should climb to the higher room.

Things are hidden in a black night.

Even the dream is black

On the black-lacquered pillow,

Even our talk is hidden.

– Geisha song

This is a culture in which hedonism, sensualism, and the art of the erotic, not at all the same as sex, were uninhibitedly developed in very sophisticated ways. In the floating world of the geisha, it was love, not sex or sensual pleasure, which was taboo. ~ Lesley Downer, ‘The The Secret History of the Geisha: Women of the Pleasure Quarters’

The whole thing was a game. Like any game, you had to play it to the best of your ability and you had to stick to the rules; but in the long run it was not to be taken too seriously. And whatever went on in the licentious night-time dreamworld of the Yoshiwara was always forgotten the next day. It never infected the world outside those enchanted walls. That tradition carried over into the world of the geisha. Mystery was of the essence.

It was all show biz. But in the floating world, nothing could continue unchanged for long…

To play at love was one thing, really to fall in love quite another – and in the supercharged world of the geisha it was always a danger…

Often the only solution was death.

~ Lesley Downer, ‘The The Secret History of the Geisha: Women of the Pleasure Quarters’

How cruel the floating world

Its solaces how few –

And soon my unmourned life

Will vanish with the dew.

~ Saikaku Ihara

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A Recap With A Nude Adam Levine

June is here! Glorious season in which summer returns, filled with roses and sunshine, signifying the end of the school year, the start of vacation, and all that is right with the world. We begin with… cold and rain. Whatever. Let’s look back over the last few sunny days in which we fast-forwarded to the onslaught of summer.

It began in a depressingly demon-like way, with this post about child molester Josh Duggar. It’s hard to bounce back from a story about a guy who molested his own sisters, and whose parents covered it up and then went on to preach about how sinful the gays are, but we’ll try.

And what better way to try than with a trip to Ogunquit, where the cares of the world seem to melt away like lemon drops.

It was a quiet and sleepy visit, exactly what we were looking for, and it gently restored us to our senses.

The lilacs were in full bloom, fragrantly blazing a delightful trail from nose to nose.

Shh, don’t tell!

Somebody certainly seems to enjoy a pearl necklace.

What a beautiful pansy and…. AAAAAUUGHHHHHH!!!

All good things must come to an end, but there’s a full summer to be had before we return.

Take this, doomed Duggar brood – the Hunks are coming back to reclaim this space.

A tick, a tock, a moment on the T.

Summer is on the way. Have faith.

And last but not least, Adam Levine’s naked ass. Yup, a very nude Adam Levine shut down the month of May in most winning fashion, with nothing but his bare butt.

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The Sun Rises on the Summer Season

Whether or not I can summon regular installments of the ‘Summer Memories‘ series I half-heartedly started a few years ago remains to be seen, but that is my intent to keep things fresh on the blog. Summer burns both music and memories into one’s consciousness, searing such indelible moments into the mind due to a combination of heightened temperatures and heightened emotions. It’s a deliciously heady time, thanks to the sensual delights of sun and water, fragrance and light.

Water and light have formed the critical crux of many a summer moment. I can still remember an oppressively hot weekend in New York City when the simple sound of running water seemed to cool everything down. Most of the hotels were booked (and this was before the median night cost $350) but a little place in Chelsea still had a room available. It was an interesting few floors – typically cramped, with a shared bathroom down the hall, and a strange little room on the second floor, which had an open-top hexagonal aquarium/terrarium in the middle of the space. I’d never seen such a set-up before, both an architectural piece and a place for a pet, with seemingly no other point for the room’s existence.

Goldfish swam languidly in the expansive tank, and I crouched down to peer in at them. Somehow, some light managed to penetrate the alleyway behind the building, filling the space and reflecting the iridescent scales of the fish. The sound of the tank’s running water, and the bright oasis in the middle of the city, soothed me. Summer, and the heat bouncing hard off the cement and the buildings, can be trying in New York. This moment made it all right. During my weekend there, I’d pause whenever I passed the second floor, rejuvenating heat fatigue and calming frayed nerves.

That’s the beautiful conundrum of summer – so much gorgeousness, so much heat, so many attempts at cooling off. It makes the head concoct all sorts of strange scenarios, such as stalking. It also affords moments of respite, high above the city. There are walks to more water, and music that is giddy and innocent, or imbued with an underlying darkness. It’s the season of the sun… even if we’re not quite there.

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Adam Levine’s Naked Ass

Adam Levine drops his towel and gets completely nude for these screen caps from his new video ‘This Summer’s Gonna Hurt Like a Motherfucker.’ Well, no one said ass-play was ever easy… Mr. Levine has taken his clothes off here before but for a strategically-placed pair of lucky hands. This time it’s on video and in motion, captured here for posteriority.

 

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Tick Tock on the T

Every now and then when I’m riding the T in Boston I’ll catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dirty glass across the subway car. It used to be a youthful guy with a backpack, then it was a young man with a Jack Spade bag, and now it’s just a middle-aged man in a simple black t-shirt with a few more lines and wrinkles, even in the forgiving dirtiness and filtering scratches of the subway window. The digital numbers of the advancing clock glow red between station announcements. The squealing joints of subway cars screech their moans and miseries around each trying turn. We sway as the train swerves slightly, jostled but not mindful of much: the ennui of the commuter.

Next to me is a young man with a hat that holds longer locks of hair. He reminds me of my friend Chris when he was younger. I’m suddenly aware, as happens only once in a while, of the passing of time. I remember visiting Suzie in Ithaca and meeting Chris and the other roommates. We were so young. It was twenty years ago. There so suddenly, like the arrival of a subway train that seems to take forever then is gone in a flash, the relentless rush of it all feels overwhelming. We hurl so quickly to our next destination we don’t realize how fast we are going.

I look around at the people lost in their cel phones, connected to their earbuds and disconnected from the world in front of them. They see but cannot hear each other. They glance but cannot listen. And I am just as guilty.

A small part of me panics at the notion of how quickly it’s all passed. Mostly, though, I marvel that I can still be in the same location after going so many places.

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Returning to the Realm of Hunkdom

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a Hunk of the Day due to the Ogunquit recap of the last few days. (It’s the only way I have of extending the vacation, so I’m going to indulge.) Now that it’s finally over, we are back to our regularly-scheduled shirtless smut. Yet rather than dive in with a fresh face right away, let’s have a quick look back like we did a week ago at some former Hunks who have brightened this blog with their flawless bodies and supposedly scandalous nudity.

Tom Daley is always good for a bit of Speedo exposure, and a suit that barely contains his good stuff. It’s also almost Speedo season, so let the games begin.

The very first glimpse I offered of Nick Jonas was in his Hunk of the Day crowning a couple of years ago. That was before he took his shirt off and all hell broke loose.

It’s been ages since ‘Dawson’s Creek’ was on the telly, and to be honest I never watched it then either, but James Van Der Beek has survived the Hollywood machine and maintained a presence in La-La-Land, thanks in part to hot shots like these.

Henry Cavill is the former Hunk of the Day in the featured photo of this post, and this last pic as well. Previously the bulge-tastic Mr. Cavill proved just how super a man he can be in these nude pics.

Finally, lest Tom Daley get all the Speedo-clad glory, here is Matthew Mitcham’s original Hunk of the Day post. After all, it’s almost time…

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Springing Forth From Ogunquit

Our time in Maine had come to a close, but with it I was holding the calm and restorative peace the town always produced close to my heart. As the unofficial start to the summer season, Memorial Day weekend could not have been more perfect – weather-wise, food-wise, and soul-wise. We arrived to a lovely gift from our fellow Ogunquit-lover Eileen – a gorgeous piece of pottery and a heartwarming note of welcome. Along with the scent and pleasant visage of lilacs everywhere, it felt like the whole town was once again open for merriment.

Newly-planted flowers were already bursting with blooms, while returning perennials finally felt warm enough to begin their show too.

One of the most important things for this Dadbod in the making was the food, and this trip provided a number of delicious meals, including the one picture here from Five-O. it began with the most amazing octopus dish – fresh, tender, and perfectly grilled, it sat on a bed of fiddle-head ferns and was so good it turned Andy into a new octopus fan. The chicken that followed, on a creamy bed of mushroom risotto, was nothing short of miraculous. Don’t even get me started on the olive oil and orange cake that I splurged on for dessert. My pants still have not forgiven me.

Along with the food, there was no shortage of entertainment on hand, starting with a phenomenal set (and personal lap dance) by Hedda Lettuce at Maine Street. My thighs are still tingling.

There was also the magic of the Ogunquit Playhouse, where ‘Sister Act’ was raising the roof with a glorious production.

It’s there through June 21, so get your tickets and book your room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn now.

The weather was so perfect, the weekend flew by too quickly, but even when it rains that’s the way it goes. Ogunquit is magical in that respect. Maine is a state of mind. Maine is the way life should be.

Until we meet again…

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An Initially Unwelcome Surprise

Spiders usually scare the shit out of me. Almost as much as house centipedes (truly the ghastliest of all creatures put on this great good earth.) Yet every once in a while, when a spider is cute and small enough to not pose a threat, I’ll think of ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and not scream like a baby when I see one. That was the case when this ghostly little arachnid surprised me as I was taking photos of a ruffled pansy. I didn’t see it at first, so intent was my gaze upon the colorful petals, but just as I was leaning further in to snap the shot, I saw it walk forward a bit.

Startled more than scared, I took another photo and watched as it did a little dance. Backlit by the sun, it was an almost translucent white – hopefully no one identifies as some poisonous thing that could have killed me with a fang-transmitted dose of venom. And if you do, please don’t tell me. The best part of a spider is everything I don’t know.

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My Pearls Are My Life: Not For Sale

Sometimes the perfect blog post title can be found on a tag in an antique store. Such is the case here, where a mannequin posed with the titular phrase. A bit of punctuation tweaking and suddenly things took on a deeper meaning. Blacksmith’s Antiques is filled with such hidden art, and some startlingly spooky items as well. Dolls like these are creepy on so many levels, I don’t understand how our children aren’t more disturbed. There is an eerie beauty to their dilapidated state, though, and a sadness that hints of neglect and age and the passing of time and innocence.

We all suffer similar effects, even if they’re mostly internal. I don’t know anyone who could stand to face a Dorian Gray-like portrait that told a physical tale of what they were thinking throughout their life. Let it be writ on the fading visage of these dolls rather than anything else.

Here is where we discover whatever happened to Baby Jane. Here we see who was afraid of Virginia Wolff. Here is the embodiment of soiled dreams and dingy nightmares, the stuff of hourglass sand and every thing that ever had a price tag attached to it.

The past can be a sad and scary place, and even happy moments can’t last forever. Time conquers and takes all, including the most trifling memento.

Time devours the present and prepares its great gaping mouth for the future. Emotionless, it swallows us up, and the only thing to do is give in to its relentless march, easing into its unyielding formation.

When you make your peace with time, all else falls into place.

It is the land that flows by the river, and the world that spins by your ear, as a pair of dancing mice sings a sweet song of youth.

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