A perfect July weekend comes to a close, and I’m still hanging onto memories of all that I did (lounging by the pool, reading, watering the gardens) and mostly what I didn’t have to do (anything else.) It was [sigh] practically perfect. And like all things that good, it had to come to an end. But other weekends are bound to follow, and exciting things are already on the way, so let’s take one quick look back before we go forward into fabulousness.

Justin Bieber showed his naked ass in the manner to which I’m usually accustomed, and it was better than most people envisioned.

Ben Cohen looks just as sexy fully-clothed as he does in his underwear, so this post may leave you feeling torn.

A threesome-themed post with Mr. Cohen and David Beckham. Who wants to be the third?

It was a week spent mostly by the pool, and that was a very good thing.

Cuteness on high.

Barrett Pall entered the elite two-time Hunk of the Day club, and quite deservedly so based on these photos, while Mariano Ontanon made his Hunk debut.

I want to smell like this by the end of July.

Is this guy the sexiest math teacher in the world?

Madonna has left me with many a summer memory. Here are more than a couple.

The variety of Hunks of the Day proved extreme, as we vacillated between a sexy straight guy casually fronting for marriage equality in the fine form of Joe Santagato and an openly-gay dancer from across the pond, Robin Windsor, between a straight go-go-dancer in Hollywood, Jeff Tetreault, and the openly-gay internet phenomenon Tyler Oakley. Oh, and UFC champion Conor McGregor.

The most important development of the week, however, came in the form of the first glimpse of the Final Tour. It’s what I’ve been working on for the past few months, and the reason why things here have been light and hectic and somewhat less than what I hope you expect. That’s all about to change. The reveals are about to arrive…

Summer can be sticky, but we haven’t had enough of it yet to start complaining. Still, the humidity of the last few days has begun to feel oppressive. The sky wants to let loose with a storm, but the air is holding onto every drop of moisture as though afraid to release it now. Perhaps air knows something sky doesn’t, that to let go of itself at this point would prove far too perilous than trying to hang onto what little it has. Sooner or later we all get a little desperate.

This past Sunday I finally had the chance to simply float in the pool. Up until now, I haven’t had the opportunity or luxury to do so, in spite of all appearances otherwise. Those whose lives appear the most effortless are often paddling double-time beneath the surface. Just don’t call me Howard the Duck until I get lift off.

Groups of three.

One single post.

Easy way out.

Love is lavender.

What a prick.

Hunky Tom Goss.

The prostitute’s meal.

Choi Ho Jin.

To the lighthouse.

These Instagram dreams.

More Ben Cohen.

And David Beckham.

A July recap.

Though there is no summer vacation for us coming up, I finally finished the bulk of project work this past weekend (and clocking in at 232 pages it’s one of the grander works I’ve created). After downloading it to the printer, I spent much of yesterday by the pool, alternately pruning the overgrown backyard cherries and reading on a float. The latter was the more fun of the two, but the former needed to be done. It was the first time I’ve felt relaxed since serious project work began three month ago. Now we settle into promotional mode, but first the weekly look back.

Let’s begin with another back – Britain’s Best Bottom, Darius Ferdynand.

Pruning was a major theme of the week, literally and figuratively.

July – past, present… and future.

The smoking-hot Alexander Ludwig made his debut in the Hunk of the Day feature.

Yes, July is in full-effect.

Channing Tatum gave good face.

Pool Party of One, times two.

My Fourth of July memories needed a little help.

My brother needs a little help too.

Beautiful and damned.

Where the men get sweaty and naked in the name of ESPN.

“There was one of his lonelinesses coming, one of those times when he walked the streets or sat, aimless and depressed, biting a pencil at his desk. It was a self-absorption with no comfort, a demand for expression with no outlet, a sense of time rushing by, ceaselessly and wastefully – assuaged only by that conviction that there was nothing to waste, because all efforts and attainments were equally valueless.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“I shall go on shining as a brilliantly meaningless figure in a meaningless world.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“I had traded the fight against love for the fight against loneliness, the fight against life for the fight against death.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“There was a kindliness about intoxication – there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“The notion of sitting down and conjuring up, not only words in which to clothe thoughts but thoughts worthy of being clothed–the whole thing was absurdly beyond his desires.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“Routine comes down like twilight on a harsh landscape, softening it until it is tolerable. The complexity is too subtle, too varied; the values are changing utterly with each lesion of vitality; it has begun to appear that we can learn nothing from the past with which to face the future… so we cease to be impulsive, convincible men, interested in what is ethically true by fine margins, we substitute rules of conduct for ideas of integrity, we value safety above romance, we become, quite unconsciously, pragmatic.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“He was handsome then if never before, bound for one of those immortal moments which come so radiantly that their remembered light is enough to see by for years.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

“I’ve got a streak of what you’d call cheapness. I don’t know where I get it but it’s oh, things like this and bright colors and gaudy vulgarity. I seem to belong here. These people could appreciate me and take me for granted, and these men would fall in love with me and admire me, whereas the clever men I meet would just analyze me and tell me I’m this because of this or that because of that.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful And Damned’

For most of my childhood, we would spend the Fourth of July at a family friend’s house, where a number of Amsterdam’s finest would assemble and celebrate in grand fashion with lots of food and drink, and a comical re-enactment of Lincoln giving an address from a second story balcony. I didn’t understand much (if any) of the humor to those performances, but judging from the laughs and groans they must have been ribald and bawdy, and something I’d totally appreciate today. Back then that was the yawn-inducing portion of the day for us. More exciting was the freedom to roam an extensive yard, and play games like tug-of-war and softball. While the latter did nothing for me, the former afforded a tantalizing glimpse of a few formal garden beds.

Spires of blue delphinium backed by meticulously manicured rows of privet caught my eye, while rows of cucumbers and squash wound their tenacious tendrils around anything in their path. One of the joys of my childhood was stumbling upon someone else’s garden. They always seemed nicer and better than my own, in the way that a salad or sandwich always looks better when made by someone else.

I’d rather have spent the day dawdling in the garden, hidden from the crowds behind walls of leafy green, secreted away among the loud chattering of black-eyed Susans and pink petunias. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t get my brother or Suzie or anyone else we happened to be hanging around to stay very long in such seclusion. They did well with the company of others, entranced by the action of competition, while I was better off on my own.

Escaping from the throngs of sweaty revelers, I stepped into the quiet of the house. In the entrance hall an ornate vase held a bouquet of delphiniums. I stood there in the darkened coolness, studying the flower forms and the composition of the bouquet, grateful for the solitude. Away from the screams and laughter and nonsense, it was my own first step towards independence.