Category Archives: General

Ahh, October… that time of the year when I have to force myself to like ‘Hocus Pocus’ just to prove I’m gay. 

Within the month that summer departed, there are fall gifts that come to pretty fruition, such as these gorgeous gourds. They speak for themselves.

Where did the month go? Time somehow flies quicker while under the constricts of a COVID world. I thought it would be the opposite, but not having destinations or trips or movies takes away the significant markers that slow and still time, and without such demarcations the more even and consistent activities of work and waking fly by at a quicker clip. It turns out that doing less quickens the way time works. I’m not thrilled with that – time was moving plenty fast before this. Surely there’s a clever mechanism or mind trick that will slow things down. Maybe I will find it in mindfulness. My daily meditation also just moved up to 25 minutes, and nothing is preventing me from adding to that. Fall closes some windows, and opens some doors. On with the weekly recap, and it will be a recap of recaps, as summer ended and fall began. 

Saving all the Speedo posts for the triple-part entry that comprised Summer 2020, it was still difficult to muster much excitement for a season that left us without any proper vacation, beach time, and an open pool for half the summer. Check it out anyway: Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

The arrival of autumn came with a pair of posts: If You Could Read My Mind – The Original and If You Could Read My Mind – The Remix.

Summer echoed, even after it was over. 

Individual behavior. 

Trying to save some of the summer inside.

What does the woolly bear say?

Somber reality.

Why don’t you put your thumb up your butt?

A story-song for fall called ‘Betty’ by Taylor Swift.

The glory of purple. 

The words of a wise woman, remembered and etched in history.

Cider doughnuts for a Saturday morning. 

Deficiencies of people. 

Solving the dilemma of Thanksgiving in a socially distant world. 

Nobody does fall fragrance better than Tom Ford. 

Certain roots run deep.

Autumn by Emily Dickinson.

Autumn
by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

“I ask no favor for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.” ~ Ruth Bader Ginsburg

“For both men and women the first step in getting power is to become visible to others, and then to put on an impressive show. . . . As women achieve power, the barriers will fall. As society sees what women can do, as women see what women can do, there will be more women out there doing things, and we’ll all be better off for it.” ~ Ruth Bader Ginsburg

“When a thoughtless or unkind word is spoken, best tune out. Reacting in anger or annoyance will not advance one’s ability to persuade.” ~ Ruth Bader Ginsburg

“Yet what greater defeat could we suffer than to come to resemble the forces we oppose in their disrespect for human dignity?” ~ Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Spoiler alert: if you haven’t already seen ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’, #1) what the fuck is wrong with you, and #2) proceed with caution as a minor plot-twist is revealed with this post, and it’s my favorite twist in the movie, so go Netflix or stream it or whatever the kids are doing to watch movies these days, then come on back for this one.

Ok, are those culturally-bereft goons gone now? Let’s get on with the brief snippet of profound realization that recently occurred as I was re-watching this 80’s gem. We all see ourselves in certain characters of movies or television shows or theatrical pieces, and that’s how something really resonates with us. Most of the time it helps if those touchstones are with the main protagonist – those are the objects of art that speak to our hearts. Now and then, though, we have to step back and realize we are not always the main character in the story. More of us could use that lesson today, when we all feel we deserve the fucking trophy.

Such was the startling horror that greeted the sudden understanding that in the world of Ferris Bueller, I was not the cool cat known as Mr. Bueller, or the poignant, depressed best friend, or even the down-to-earth glam girlfriend. Oh no. I wasn’t even the scene-stealing Mr. Rooney or his hapless secretary. Nope. In this fictional narrative I was quite clearly, and annoyingly, Ferris’s older sister Jeanie. Sure, I get Charlie Sheen’s tongue down my throat before he went batshit crazy and lost all his hotness, but that’s small recompense for such a nasty character.

Thankfully, it’s not entirely without redemption, as Jeanie provides the breath of relief in the climactic tension-ridden scene of whether he gets caught or not, and she turns into the heroine of the whole thing.

I’m still waiting for my heroine moment I guess.

PS – Call me Shawna.

This is the time of the year when the woolly bear caterpillar supposedly reveals what sort of winter we are going to have. I’m not sure how much faith I place in such folklore – this smells vaguely of that groundhog nonsense where no one can make heads or tails of anything other than in February there will always be several more weeks of winter, the specific duration of which is going to be whatever it’s going to be, and there’s no creature on earth that’s going to predict or change that. 

As for the particulars of how one tells what sort of winter this fuzzy little thing is predicting, go google that shit. I’m not your show-shaman. And what good will coming of knowing whether the winter is going to be mild or harsh? It’s going to be winter and it’s going to suck. Boom – there’s your woolly wisdom, and the folly in trying to tell the future. 

(Of course, if you are a soothsayer who can read such fortune in the bands of a caterpillar, by all means shoot me some advance warning. It’s nice to be prepared, even if one doesn’t entirely believe such nonsense. We hedge our bets here.)

More photos from lost posts of wet suits, with ghostly taunting from a pool on the verge of being closed. I remember the water being so warm all season – a shortened season perhaps, and all the more pleasurable for it. Fleeting joys for summer boys. 

I tried to get in at least once on every possible sunny day, and I was largely successful. An afternoon float, coupled with a meditation, marked the end of working-from-home sessions – a lovely demarcation that will have to live solely in the meditation realm from here until next spring, and what a long journey that seems right now. 

That said, I’m not entirely sad about the situation. Summer was actually pretty decent to us. The plants on the patio are testament to the heat and sun we had. Long lines of sweet potato vines dangle all the way from the canopy to the ground. An angel’s trumpet plant towers high in the sky, still dripping with its gorgeously-scented blooms. And pots filled with ferns have grown up and out, unfurling their fronds in lush tropical splendor. 

We will hold onto this visage until the first hard frost, and the memories well into the winter. But I know these plants are tired, and the rest of the garden needs a rest as well. As long as we can try again next year, it’s ok to take a brief nap. We’ve earned it. 

And so summer ends, as quietly and unassumingly as it began, which feels fitting, and fittingly a little sad. The world isn’t having its best moment. It’s not the time to celebrate, and that’s usually what summer is all about. Did we find ways to locate the joy of the season? I think we did, but it was much different from every other summer we’ve had. It wasn’t always easy to lose those traditions, or cut those ties, but there were valuable lessons in that. On with the final part to this summer recap. Tomorrow, fall comes…

With the pool finally open, we could indulge in all its moods. 

The sun was still playing. 

Play it loud. 

Don’t mock this margarita. 

Twenty years ago I looked like this.

Summer dramatics.

Trickster in motion.

The day I turned 45 years old. 

Vintage birthday suit. (Because everybody looks better in the past.)

Autumn peeping rudely into August.

Summer buzz.

24 on 24.

Regal return.

Ravaged like a virgin.

Sun of a flower.

There is no in-between.

A recap and a pause.

The lost posts… at least one of them. 

Standing against Trump. 

Downtown Albany oasis.

Like a dog for chocolate. 

American life. 

A shallow pool season.

These figs came from our own backyard.

An evening meditation, portending things to come. 

Dad turned 90. 

This school photo didn’t exactly hide my gayness. 

Socks and robe. 

Someone said it better.

Somewhere in the middle of red and blue is purple. 

Summer wore us all down. 

A sweet birthday peek.

A birthday in Boston – our first joint trip out of town since March. 

Birthday bulge. 

Boston birthday conclusion. 

Birthday pajamas. 

When it’s no longer enough to be neutral. 

The blare of the trumpets, sounding still. 

Morning meditation.

Summer Speedo.

We have made it to July in the recap, and within this lovely celebratory summer recap we finally shift into the portion where we finally open the pool! In honor of that happy event, here’s a summer remix slip into the seasonal musical repertoire with Dua Lipa’s ‘Levitating’ (and some help by She-Who-Was-About-To-be-Exiled). Because this summer wasn’t all bad, and glimmers of sunshine and carefree happiness signify the season when a song like this suddenly brings you to your feet.

Just another John.

I love a surprise from inside. 

Does this blazer go with gray hair?

Twenty years ago I met Andy.

Our low-key double-decade anniversary.

The first tomato harvest.

Backyard babies.

Best album of the summer, by far.

This Project of the Past was actually the most recent creative project I’ve done, so we only had to go back a year. But what a difference a year makes. 

23 minutes. 

Losing a dear friend. 

Two decades ago…

Big Ben Cohen beauty. 

Henry Cavill’s guns blazing. 

The Rose of Sharon.

Wet privet.

Entering August.

Sunday morning soul.

That naked Luke Evans scene. 

Summer sometimes needs a reboot.

The wisdom of the rubber duckie.

After the storm, beauty.

Revisiting these hunks.

This Madonna moment will leave a scar.

Summer fragrance with a tale of Aesop. 

Black Speedo, black underwear.

A cup of sunshine.

Summer wisdom.

To be gorgeous.

When the fire burns in summer. 

#BidenHarris2020.

Summer hair, don’t care.

Missing the ritual of popcorn.

Summer pauses, and rests in a robe. 

Happy summer memories. 

Mr. Sassy.

Speedo experimentation. 

Savoring Saturday.

The tomatoes were perfectly representative of 2020.

Turning a Sunday setback around.

Just because there were no parties doesn’t mean there’s no dill dip. 

Michelle Obama is the best FLOTUS in my lifetime. 

When truth hurts.

I didn’t do this… alone. 

A break of hunkdom. 

This is how I swallow.

{One more part to the summer recap is on the way…}

Traditionally, summer is a time of travels, parties, and sunny adventures.

This year, that all took place mostly in our minds, and the power of imagination is what kept us going. A regular schedule of mindful meditation made it mostly manageable. Largely, though, this summer was spent in suspension: waiting for the pool to be opened, waiting for a sense of normalcy to return, waiting for a pandemic to end. Only one of those wishes came true.

Summer was usually the time we got back together with everyone, gathering about the pool and grill, inviting friends for dinner and weekends and impromptu get-togethers when the day looked to be especially brilliant. All of that was absent this season, and there was something very sad and doleful about it. Staying safe meant staying socially isolated since March. For the introvert in me, it wasn’t a difficult lift, but it turns out I am much more social than I realized, and the continued isolation took more of a toll than expected. We made do with social media networks, even as politics made them more miserable than usual.

The most notable things that set this summer apart was how quiet it felt. There are a couple of songs that will be featured in later parts of this recap – for now, let’s inhabit that silence, embrace the quiet, and lean into the stillness. Here’s what happened in the first part of the summer… 

A starry beginning to the season of the sun.

Father’s Day 2020.

A summer song that already feels so far away.

Try some, eat one.

Music by a childhood friend. 

The hydrangeas didn’t seem to mind that the rest of the world was falling down around them. 

A reliable old pal.

Breaking through concrete.

A brief goodbye. 

Ending perfectionism without violence.

Pride in the face of hate.

The battle for blue.

Project of the Past.

Summer Sunday rain.

Mango salsa.

The fruit and meat of life. 

Woodland wonder.

Lindens lost.

The mood is magenta.

Lavender.

Star booty under construction.

Back to hunky basics.

Sunday self-care.

Hot pink wilderness.

The saddest look of the summer. 

Petunia panache.

A summer head trip.

Verdant stillness, dreams of green.

The new Rufus Wainwright album is stellar.

Once upon an empty pool.

Empty pool shirtlessness.

A wintry-themed Project of the Past.

Keeping cool without a pool.

Mask-maker of dreams.

Zac Efron’s new body. 

Don’t duck it up. 

Summer by Tom Ford.

Balloon baby!

Mocktails replaced cocktails. 

Hello Shasta.

Bringing the sweetness inside. 

In a world of racists, be an antiracist.

Breathing like the ocean.

The big summer recap begins with our next post, and it will bring us through the next week, so this weekly recap is to whet your appetite for that much grander recap – an amuse-bouche if you want to indulge in some fanciness, and who the fuck doesn’t? On with the weekly recap, because I haven’t said ‘recap’ enough for one day.

It began with this happy birthday memory, starting in a very sweet spot. 

Andy and I made our first trip to Boston together since last year. 

A Boston bathroom sparks memories half my age. 

It was a different kind of birthday, and not in a bad way. 

A new pair of pajamas. 

Lingering in the pool for as long as possible. 

It is no longer enough to be neutral. 

Certain perfumes are loud, and better for it. 

A morning meditation to set the day.

Donning a Speedo for every sunny day that remains. 

This foodgasm was brought to you by Popeyes and their amazing chicken sandwich. 

Harvest of red.

A hero’s birthday. 

This is me trying…

Happy asters.

Andy’s lasagna. 

Today local treasure Ken Screven celebrates his 70^th birthday. In addition to that, the Albany Damien Center has honored Mr. Screven as their 2020 Hero Award recipient. Currently making a social media splash with his thought-provoking and continually-challenging posts, Mr. Screven is a pillar of Albany, past and future. Happy birthday Ken! 

That’s the philosophy driving the daily swims I’ve been trying to accomplish. Late to the pool game, we are trying to keep it going for as long as possible. Even when the weather has been overcast and on the cool side, I’ve tried to make it into the pool, because that calm feeling of floating, and the ease and pleasure it evokes by released the pull gravity on tired backs and sore legs, is a fleeting thing of beauty. Inhabit it for as long as possible. 

According to the latest weather forecast, this might be it for the sun this week, but I’ve always been leery of a forecast. We will take the days, and the hours, as they come, hoping for the best, prepared for the worst. If there’s a chance to take another dip, I shall take it. 

Putting my birthday to bed for another year, I donned a pair of new pajamas and reclined in a new set of bedding while Andy listened to Cole Porter in the living room. Fancy dinners are fun, and loud raucous parties have their place, but this will always be where I am most comfortable, and after 45 years, I’m finally good with acknowledging that. There is nothing left to prove, and there never was. How many years I had wasted thinking otherwise! Oh well, this was and is not the time for regrets – the only space we have is for moving forward. 

We slept with the windows open – the first air-out of the condo and the first tease of fall found in the cool and comfortable breeze. Outside, the Braddock Park fountain trickled its soothing sound of falling water – a bit of magic that has remained constant these past few years, and a sure way of lulling one to sleep. 

Moments of calm and contentment are here when we are ready to accept them. 

Faux-silk pajamas are optional, but I do find they help.