The cute British swimmer with the to-die-for accent, this is newly-minted gold medalist Adam Peaty, who just sped to his golden destiny in the 100m breaststroke, in which he also broke the world record. Congrats to Mr. Peaty on this amazing accomplishment at the Rio Olympics. The closest I’ve gotten to this sort of thing is the pair of gold Pumas I just bought on clearance.
The day and the month add up to the year, and this post adds up to the week that came before. Summer still smolders, and I’m still not even close to ready for it to end. Enough about that, let’s go back… the only way to do summer right: stall, stall, and stall some more.
Last Friday marked the beginning of the Summer Olympics in Rio, and it looks to be the usual hunk-filled parade of oiled-up beauty and brawn, beginning with this shirtless guy who all but stole the opening ceremony: Pita Taufatofua.
It was a banner week of male nudity – and I’m talking full-frontal male nudes, thanks to a naked Orlando Bloom and an equally-naked Justin Bieber. Not to be outdone, John Cena got nude too.
The bodacious butt of Tyler Hoechlin.
Nick Jonas put on a wet underwear show.
The attic is back, baby, and better than ever. This may be where I spend my fall.
A multifaceted host makes the Hunk of the Day:Â Osher Ginsberg.
The proper garnish makes all the difference.
Losing my Speedo is better than losing my religion. Losing my pants is simply common-place.
Spring Thaw Salvation, for the Delusional Grandeur Tour, because the dream goes on.
Summer must continue, because Tom Ford just gave us the perfect fragrance for it.
A fencer, a ginger, and a male model, all in one: Race Imboden.
More Hunks: Hugo Parisi, Rogan O’Connor, Ning Zetao, & Jimmy Feigen.
There are so many possible Hunks of the Day coming at us (there’s a double one coming up this evening) that I’m forced to open another outlet to feature the stars of this summer’s Olympic Games. The first to be so honored is a veritable triple threat:Â Race Imboden. He’s a fencer, a ginger, and a male model. Ding, ding, ding – jackpot! I know several folks who would be happy to get poked by his sword. En guard indeed.
White hot.
Bright sun.
Summer sizzle.
Leave it to Tom Ford to sneak into the summer fragrance scene with a classic echo of coconut and suntan lotion in refined and elegant form. Soleil Blanc is his take on a white powder beach, and it’s absolutely radiant.
The latest offering from the decadent Private Blend line is a scorcher that subliminally smolders instead of burning intensely. While his Portofino collection keeps things cool and crisp with its citrus heart, Soleil Blanc is a sizzler of a different sort. Coconut imbues the proceedings, but there’s a slight sliver of smokiness to this as well, because summer ripens into such a thing at its apex and again at its end. The most fleeting wisp of musk grounds the proceedings, but it’s barely noticeable. Bergamot keeps everything tidy, and the tinge of amber lends it a warmth that mirrors the hot days.
So many of Ford’s Private Blend line can read dirty ~ in the best and most interesting way ~ but this is one of the cleaner scents. There’s still an edge to it, but this one can go on summer mornings or summer nights and be equally compelling at both ends of the light.
Longevity is a few hours, typical of many summer frags but slightly disappointing in a Private Blend that holds its price-point so high. Still, worth a reapplication and a spin along the shore if you need an extra jolt this season.
Unseen, across the landscape of light, a morning approaches. Unbidden, because there are certain nights you don’t want to end, it presents itself matter-of-factly. There it stands in front of you: the day. Unpretentious, indisputable, and always just a little inscrutable, it awaits further instruction. Which way will you go? Where will you take it? How would you like it to end?
Obscured by the changing lens of life, it looks a little different to everyone. Distorted by the stories we tell ourselves, and the tales we choose to hear, it bends and refracts and ricochets like light. Yet as tricky as it sometimes seems to be, there is something reassuring about the whole scene: a tacit understanding with the day that we will do it together.
WHO ISN’T AN ORDINARY PERSON?
HOW HORRIBLY PRESUMPTUOUS
TO WANT TO BE ANYTHING ELSE.
BUT I HAVE TO TELL YOU.
I’VE BEEN TREATED AS SOMETHING SPECIAL
FOR SO LONG, AND I’VE TRIED MY HARDEST
TO BE SOMETHING SPECIAL BUT I’M NOT,
I’M NOT EXCEPTIONAL, I’M SMART ENOUGH,
BUT I’M NOT BRILLIANT AND I’M NOT SPIRITUAL
OR EVEN ALL THAT FOCUSED.
I THINK I CAN STAND THAT,
BUT I’M NOT SURE IF THE PEOPLE AROUND ME CAN.
– MICHAEL CUNNINGHAM
If you remember where this all began, you’ll find that we have returned to that moment and come full circle. In the beginning was the idea. We have now arrived at the execution. The curtain is going down… or coming up. This is The Delusional Grandeur Tour, and the Rock Star is about to take the stage.
FINALE:
The moments leading up to the performance are both mundane and electric. A school-age Madonna waits in the wings of the stage, her heart starting to pound in her chest, beneath her robe and through her costume, skimpy as it was. She ran through the routine in her mind again, then eyed the black-light she’d set up at the edge of the stage. It was designed to illuminate the day-glo body paint she’d applied to her body, just like she’d seen Goldie Hawn recently execute on television. She would stand there, naked for all intents and purposes, but for body paint and attitude and a few barely-seen pieces of underwear, and she would dance and writhe with gleeful abandon – a virgin foreshadowing of virgin activities to come. She would shock everyone who watched, and be the one they all talked about for weeks to come. She couldn’t explain why it needed to be done. She simply did it. For life. For love. For inspiration.
This would be her greatest show.
This would be her finest moment.
This would be the time when she showed her classmates, her friends and her family who she was.
She would show the world.
The lights go down.
The crowd falls silent.
The music begins…
LOVE IS PAIN
AND
PAIN IS ART!
SHOW ME
YOUR
GRAFFITI HEART!!!
~ Madonna
IF GRAFFITI ON THE WALL CHANGED ANYTHING AT ALL
THEN IT WOULD BE ILLEGAL
IF SCARS COULD GO AWAY
WHAT WOULD YOUR BODY SAY
DON’T EVER HIDE YOUR FEELINGS
A crack in the visage,
like a fissure in an oil painting,
runs haphazardly along the random veining of a heart.
Bits of color peel away, fluttering to the floor
like snow or soap bubbles
or flecks of dried blood.
The artist bleeds like that:
clean and dirty and to-the-death.
It happened kind of early, but maybe that means we don’t have to be subjected to NBC’s wretched butchering of these summer Olympic Games. Pita Taufatofua already won the whole thing with his shirtless entrance into the games, as seen below. Representing Tonga for taekwando, he bears the flag and the suit of some hot loins. His greased-up, oiled-up, slicked-up torso also won him the otherwise-ridiculous admiration of all the commentators. I think Matt Lauer was even drooling. It’s going to be tough to beat this moment, but I’m hopeful Tom Daley will try.
Beneath the glassy surface of the pool in morning, I glide through waves of sunlight, pulling myself through to the other end. The sun is still on the ascent. The day will be a beautiful one. There is no breeze yet, but the water is enough. Beneath my bobbing body, shadows waver, and I dive under again to chase them.
Shadows, rainbows, fortune, happiness, love – there are so many things we chase in this life.
There are just as many things that we try to escape.
Are you the hunter or the game?
Today marks the beginning of the Summer Olympics 2016 in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil!!! The whole thing is supposedly about the world coming together and competing with good-natured sportsmanship (and sportswomanship) but really it’s just an excuse to ogle toned bodies and the fittest people on the planet. Before we get into anyone’s Speedos just yet, let’s have a look back at other memorable Olympic posts, as they are as plentiful as they are visually-delicious.
First up is everyone’s favorite diver Tom Daley. Though the Chinese team reportedly has a lock on the diving medals, Mr. Daley is going to squeeze himself into a Speedo and do his best to bring something back for Britain.
Second, another returning champ is Michael Phelps, who aims to add to his stockpile of gold.
Third, Nathan Adrian, who’s gotten naked in the water not just once here, but twice.
Fourth, Ryan Lochte is always good for some skimpy attire and ice blue hair.
Fifth, Matt Greevers, because both swimming and diving require the best kind of wardrobe.
Salacious clickbait aside, the Olympics have always been about more than man-candy and impossibly fit bodies. They represent a coming-together of the entire world. When those athletes march onto the same field, in solidarity reaching toward perfection, they are united, and for the most part good sportspersonship prevails. I always choke up a little when that opening ceremony arrives at the entrance moment for all those smiling faces, and each country’s contingent walks in beaming, full of pride, and together as one.
In what can only be a publicity move of bold proportions, Orlando Bloom just went paddle-boarding with Katy Perry… and without a stitch of clothing (save a hat, since he seems to be concerned with covering at least one head). A full-frontal shot of Orlando Bloom won’t find its uncensored way to this blog – sorry, folks – but here’s what we can show you, and it’s NSFW enough. Mr. Bloom has already busted out his naked butt in these parts, and to much acclaim, so he looks to recapture some of that nude glory today.
I do my fair-share of disrobing on this site, so I’m all for a little free-willy freedom, especially when water and sun is involved – and for a male celebrity to get so flagrantly naked in public I have only accolades and encouragement to give. ‘Nude male celebrities‘ is a trend that needs to happen more often. Bloom, baby, Bloom.
The proper garnish can make or break a cocktail, and yet it is often one of most widely  I can’t tell you the countless number of times my martini glass has arrived with a hefty chunk of citrus rudely cut into a wedge and stuck on the rim like some parasitic overgrowth.
A wedge of lemon is never right for anything other than a clam bake, and wedges of orange or grapefruit are simply obnoxious. The twist is more than enough, and it’s what any decent bartender will serve when you ask for a particular fruit.
Sometimes, though, more is more – such as in these featured photos from a recent drink at Wink & Nod. A gin-based cocktail, it plays up the peppery notes with a pepper-dipped slice of cucumber, which, when dunked in the drink, adds an effervescent bite, the melon-like coolness of the cuke spiked with the freshly grated spice of the peppercorn. A good cocktail is all about that balance, and the proper garnish.
If you squint your eyes, and ignore the leaf-blowing and power-washing clamor of the neighbors, you can almost – almost – transport yourself to another world, where waves lap at your toes and the sun beats down upon coconut-tinged skin. I haven’t made enough time to simply enjoy the pool this year as much as I have in years past. There’s been too much to do, but the summer is not over, and I intend to re-indulge at my earliest convenience.
The cypress-like stalks of a pair of potted ornamental grasses lend a tropical aspect to the pool deck, their roots shaded and the edges of their pot softened by the trailing chartreuse leaves of Creeping Jenny.
Summer will soon slip away like a Speedo.
We strive to still the time.
Fresh from the attic rejuvenation, the last thing I want to do is bring in more clutter, but it’s still fun to look. For now, I’m leaving the baubles and bangles in the flea markets, where they are better displayed en masse, and out of my house. Having material items in your possession doesn’t make them more beautiful. There are deeper things at work here.
