Today I take the train into Manhattan, and my first stay at The Out Hotel. A full review will come following that stay (I haven’t decided whether it’ll go up here or on my TripAdvisor profile), but for now we’ll just go with what their website has put forth:

THE OUT NYC is New York’s first straight-friendly urban resort located in the epicenter of gay life – Hell’s Kitchen, steps from Times Square and Chelsea. When you stay at THE OUT NYC, great things will happen. Live your own unforgettable experience with the best of lodging, dining, nightlife and design all in one place – THE OUT NYC.

When one is in town for a Madonna concert, The Out seems the most appropriate place to stay. (I’ve also read rave reviews on the comfort of their beds, so it’s a double win.) As for all this free publicity I’ve been giving places, if you start to see ads popping up on this site you’ll understand why. If you’re good at something, never do it for free.

Here are a few photographs that I took when in Falmouth, MA this past weekend. They are rather unrelated, to each other, and to anything else I had on deck. Since they didn’t fit into any other place, I’ve assembled them here in a Post for Misfit Photos. In many ways, this is sort of where my brain has been of late too, so the haphazard collection is indicative of a scrambled mind I’m trying to make into something sensible. The feature pic is of a quahog. Pronounced ‘ko-hog’, these are big clams that are stuffed with a traditional stuffing and clam mix, then served with some lemon wedges, hot pepper sauce, and clarified butter. Like oysters, it’s the accompaniment that makes the whole thing for me.

The second photo is of a sign and sentiment that I hold near and dear to my heart. I’m not saying that it’s right or fair or the way the world should be, but it is largely true. Appearance does matter, and sometimes the clothes do make the man. The third photo, below, was just something that struck me as slightly suggestive. It’s a gnarled juniper hanging over the sidewalk along Main Street. Something about its curves and crevices lends it an erotic aspect.

The fourth and final photo is simply the sun peering through a tree still holding on to its leaves. In the evidence of its brilliance…

By the sea, the light is always prettier – and by the Cape, it may be the prettiest. The late-afternoon sun, caught in the hours before we save some light for later and turn the clocks back, strikes its golden rays upon the tops of buildings and the bottoms of clouds, igniting them boldly against a sky of cool blue. It’s a juxtaposition that only seems to burn so brilliantly at this time of the year.

On a recent trip to Falmouth, MA, I was wandering along Main Street when this cathedral, and the water behind it, silently called out to me, drawing me closer to the edge, and to a hidden verdant sanctuary beneath a setting sun. I had an hour to kill before meeting my friend JoAnn, and so I took a few minutes to walk off the beaten path and find this little cathedral by the edge of a salt pond. No one was around at the time, and the noise of the street dissipated as I crossed over to another building.

A garden opened up in a small pocket of space and time, nestled amid the stone, between the sky and water, and a squirrel was suddenly screaming at me from the high branches of a tree. I turned to walk away, but he was adamant, clucking at me repeatedly, as if begging me to stay. I paused and walked back, looking out at the water again. What is it that you want, annoying creature? Why have you called me back here?

A cross rose in the middle of the path leading out. I stopped to examine its surface, lichens and mosses colorfully ruffling their way over the rough stone, returning it to the place from whence it came, from where we all came.

Portals and peeks of paths, a skip and a throw across a glittering pond of water, and the sun now drawing back into slumber, retreat. Another eye opens, another way to live.

The light of the chapel glows warm and amber as the outside dusk descends. Inside there is a garden too, something to see us through the winter, in the name of Saint Barnabas.

I am not quite ready for Winter.

It has stood for fifty years, over half a life-time, and it will likely be around for long after I’m gone. We stay such a short time here.