Category Archives: General

Arriving in the midst of one of the dreariest days we’ve had in a while, the beautiful spring bounty box from the Beekman Boys was like a breath of fresh air for my house-bound self. The timing couldn’t have been better. The day was weighted with a heavy blanket of clouds, and a steady rain had been falling since I got up. The winds were just about to arrive, adding to the horrid mess, and all I really wanted to do was go back to sleep. Working from home doesn’t allow such extravagances, at least I don’t allow such extravagance when I’m working from home. And all those unanswered emails wouldn’t do my probationary period any favors either.

I did allow myself a quick peek at the box and the new Spring Blossom fragrance, and immediately the mood lifted. A little bit of light crept into the room, with the sumptuous packaging and soft pink wrapping. Spring Blossom brought scenes of flowering trees to mind, and those evenings when the fragrance carried on a breeze, signaling the coming of summer, the return of the sun, the promise of ease.

It was exquisitely perfumed – and reminded me instantly of a gorgeous Hermes fragrance from their Jardin series – ‘Le Jardin de Monsieur Li’ – one of my favorites in their Jardin series. The pairing will make for an absolutely divine spring power punch, even if Andy is the only one who will be able to smell it.

These are truly the end times. 

And if we’re all gonna bow out soon, I’ll be damned if I do it before showing the world my authentic, genuine, rumpled-in-the-morning self. 

Also, if it turns out we make it through these weeks somehow unscathed, this will go a great way toward helping me get over my perfectionism. My head knows there is no such thing as perfection, but the heart wants what it wants. 

So here, on a Monday morning in which I woke up late (well, later than I’d like) and realized I didn’t even program a proper recap post (my posts are typically written and programmed three or four days in advance) I decided to give you a peek at what I look like first thing in the morning, before taking a shower or fixing my hair or brushing my teeth. I think I took these even before I peed. As Kelly LeBrock once remarked, “This is my hair in the morning.” Unfiltered. Imperfect. Non-‘Portrait: Studio Lighting’-style. On with the recap…

The week began post-Easter with some salacious baskets on some nearly-naked male celebrities. 

This recipe is for the best banana bread I’ve had in eons. 

Music for sleep.

Comfort food: mung beans.

A spring-like shrimp & bulgur salad.

Another one-pot dining spot.

Chris and Scott Evans: brotherly love. 

Madonna’s virgin fragrance.

Music for Friday night.

When six is just right, but feels like too much.

This is not the gayest photo of me, but it’s pretty damn close.

An almost-forgotten Boston friend.

Music for Sunday.

More awakening, more awareness.

Hunks of the Day included Scott Evans, Lance Gross, Ethan Slater, Kevin Bruce, and Trevor Noah.

How long can a ZZ plant truly survive without water? We are about to find out, as I haven’t been in Boston for over a month and it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to water the ZZ plant I have there anytime soon. I thought of it for the first time a couple of days ago. Up until that point, I hadn’t missed it. I mean, I hadn’t missed Boston. I missed Kira, and I missed the escape it provided, but I didn’t really miss being there until recently, and that’s when I thought of the little ZZ plant in the bedroom window.

That particular window has seen a few plants over the years. It started with a ficus tree. I’d always wanted one, but never had enough light for one while at college. In the bedroom, light poured in for the entire afternoon. It did relatively well, but eventually succumbed to mealybugs and too many vacations.

Following that, a more amenable and less temperamental umbrella plant took its place, rising to half my height with its beautifully variegated foliage. It was doing quite well, basking in its sunny window, when I moved to Chicago. By the time I returned, it had wilted and almost expired, much like my heart. It made a bit of a comeback but gave up entirely a few weeks after I was back (to be completely honest, I may have given up on it too). It was better that way, as I was spending more time in Albany than in Boston, and soon enough Boston became my second home, visited once a month – sometimes less.

I didn’t think that schedule would support a plant (I didn’t want to go the cactus or succulent route) but when I discovered the ZZ plant and its water-holding rhizomes, along with tales of its indestructibility, I thought I’d give it a whirl. At Niche, I found a lovely specimen, which did so well the first few months, it soon needed a new pot. I brought some potting soil from Albany (so much easier than lugging a fresh bag on the subway) and found a pretty pot at Crate & Barrel, and it settled in happily. A monthly watering schedule actually worked much better for this kind of plant, and since then it’s provided a lovely bit of greenery, particularly in the winter months.

Now, I’m praying for its well-being in these crazy and dark times.

{Stay tuned for a more uplifting Boston post soon, even if it’s a fantasy piece.}

There are some photos that demand too many captions all at once.

I think this is one of those photos.

A few ruminations…

Nobody thought to tell me I was gay?

Serving attitude since circa 1986.

The sass is strong with this one.

All Adidas, all the way.

Striped tube socks served without irony.

How to sissy that stance.

Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.

Even the brochures I’m holding are gay in this.

{Some “friends” have wondered how I didn’t break my hip or back in this pose, and all I can say is that I was much more flexible and fabulous in my youth. Step & repeat.}

Continuing the love affair that began with the recent Hunk of the Day crowning of Scott Evans, here’s a lighthearted video of the Brothers Evans for your evening enjoyment. See more of Chris Evans here, and much more here. Also check out Scott’s recent HOD honor here. 

Andy recently taught me how to make coffee, and I’ve been on a decaffeinated kick of late, so let’s grab a cup of the brown stuff and pretend we are meeting up at Starbucks like we never used to do. None of that lingo is used correctly, is it? Oh well, I’ve given up on pretending to be perfect. Cream or sugar or that cocoa powder that doesn’t come out? Is the lingo getting better? I’ve always been a Starbucks loner – you won’t find me gabbing with friends or attending a tutoring session or doing a job interview – and I’m accustomed to minding my own business when sipping on my Grande decaf. In essence, not much has changed. Yet it turns out that while I like being left alone, I also like to watch people. From a Bette Midler distance.

My current office outfits are all business on top, party down below.

Shirtless Tom Daley break.

Grocery store avoidance solution.

Spring before and spring after.

Autumn joy in spring.

When ducks visited our pool.

Liquid lunch.

A gratuitous Jason Derulo post.

I whipped it out to mark my territory.

I adore the new Duo Lipa album.

Little star of blue.

Homage to ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ 1 – The Home-From-Work Scene.

Homage to ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ 2 – The Shower Scene.

An ode to Easter joy.

Reclaiming Easter trauma as a shirtless bunny. 

Another awakening brings more awareness. 

Usually today is the day when I post this classic photo of me with the Easter bunny who traumatized me for life. Not this year. I’ve conquered those fears and lingering anxieties (thanks in no small part to some serious therapy), and the best way to illustrate that is to turn the bunny on its cottontail and take the traumatizing into my own hands. Hence this quick photo shoot in a pair of black bunny ears and not much else.

For those who still get a thrill out of me being tortured as a little kid (you know who you, and I know who you are too), there are myriad posts with that photo, like this one or this one or this one or this one. There are also posts that have friendlier bunnies, childhood Easter egg hunts, and scary/sexy bunnies. 

For those who want a darker version of a bunny more in tune with Tom of Finland, check out this post or this post, (but maybe not this one because it’s way too dark for Easter). Happy Egg Day! 

“A fire smokes the most when you start pouring water on it.” ~ Tennessee Williams

The first time I read ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ by Tennessee Williams I was in high school.

The last time I saw the movie was a few days ago.

In some ways I think I understand it less now than I did then.

This is a good thing.

True wisdom doesn’t recognize itself.

Not in its own time. 

It’s a testament to the power of this work by Tennessee Williams that it’s still so resonant. It survives and thrives because it lives on so many levels. When one tunnel of thought or analysis is exhausted, another reveals itself below or above it. In the end the labyrinthine maze is too complex for me to fully grasp even after repeated readings and viewings. In fact, it seems to grow more complicated, more dense, more beautifully intertwined with itself as the years pass. Maybe it’s hitting closer to home, and I shrink away from the truths it posits on aging, the desperation that comes from loneliness, the warped way this life erodes innocence and purity.

The slow and subtle diminishing of morals.

The insidiously seductive tentacles of desire.

The brutal spark of unexpected violence.

The world isn’t kind to sensitive creatures.

No…

The world isn’t kind. 

“You see I still have that awful vanity about my looks even now that my looks are slipping!” ~ Tennessee Williams

“What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“I don’t believe in “original sin.” I don’t believe in “guilt.” I don’t believe in villains or heroes – only right or wrong ways that individuals have taken, not by choice but by necessity or by certain still-uncomprehended influences in themselves, their circumstances, and their antecedents.
This is so simple I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m sure it’s true. In fact, I would bet my life on it! And that’s why I don’t understand why our propaganda machines are always trying to teach us, to persuade us, to hate and fear other people on the same little world that we live in.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“Sorrow makes for sincerity, I think.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be the truth. And if that’s sinful, then let me be punished for it!” ~ Tennessee Williams

“There’s been some progress since then, such things as art, as poetry, as music ~ in some kinds of people some tenderer feelings have had some little beginning! That we have got to make grow! And cling to, and hold as our flag in this dark march in whatever it is we’re approaching. Don’t hang back with the brutes!” ~ Tennessee Williams

They came back.

Part of me had hoped that they would.

But that also meant they were serious.

Like a shopper who returns to a certain pricey coat. You know they mean business.

Unfortunately, we weren’t selling the land by our unopened pool, even if it looked run-down and abandoned. So when the ducks returned to nest I knew we had to dissuade them from setting up permanent camp here. Andy warned that there would be a big problem if they nested by the pool. Aside from the nastiness of having our pool used as a bathroom and feeding ground for waterfowl, there was the more frightening notion of having to navigate a backyard where eggs might be guarded by a pair of protective wild animals.

Andy advised looking to see if they had started building a nest, and when I made a quick examination of the area, sure enough, there was the small carved-out beginning of a nest dug in the ground beneath the safe prickles of a juniper. It was a cozy little nook right beside the pool and an old bench, and if it had been any further along in its assembly, neither Andy nor myself would have had the heart to put a stop to it. At this early stage, however, I had time to more humanely convince them to move elsewhere. This wasn’t available real estate.

My mind raced back to the birds that always seemed to make a nest in my Mom’™s hanging plants. Without fail, a robin would set up a nursery in one of those geraniums, and then we’d be battling a territorial red-breasted beast and watching from a distance as the plants wilted. When learning about birds and their nesting habits as a kid, I distinctly remember being told that if people touched a nest or its eggs, the bird would abandon the enterprise entirely and the eggs wouldn’t hatch. Following through with that train of thought, I figured maybe these ducks would be averse to sticking around if they felt threatened by the presence of a human. I did what this particular human would do when marking his territory.

Opening the door to the backyard, I startled the ducks out of the pool and they flew over the fence with agitated quacks. I walked toward the juniper where the nest was still mostly unfinished – it was really only an indentation in the ground. How exactly did I go about marking my territory? Well, let’s think about this. How do most animals mark their space? I reached into my pants and took out what I needed to do what I had to do.

One pocket held a bottle of Viktor & Rolf’s Spicebomb cologne, while the other contained Madonna’s Naked: Truth or Dare fragrance. I sprayed a bit of both on and around the nesting area. How on earth do you think I would leave a mark?

My hope is that they prefer Tom Ford’s Private Blends and won’t want to put up with more mainstream scents. I’ll keep you posted on whether it works…

Looking out into the backyard, I spotted the two intruders immediately. Trampling a stand of fountain grass that I was about to remove that very day, a pair of ducks waddled in the direction of the pool. I quickly called out to Andy, as we had never experienced such visitors. “They’re going into the pool!” I heard Andy cry from the bedroom. The pair smoothly made the transition from land to water, gliding into our dirty pool, ravaged from the winter with leaves and detritus and even a floating flower pot. The ducks didn’t seem to mind, playfully diving beneath the water and ruffling their feathers in seeming delight.

I grabbed my phone and rushed from the dining room to the family room, where I could get a better look at them. Pulling the drapes open, I watched as the female floated in place and locked her eyes with mine, sensing my movement and gaze. The male swirled about, still splashing in the water and opening and closing his beak in rapid movements. In her eyes, the female appeared contemplative and doleful, keeping a watch on me. She relaxed when I didn’t move, joining her mate in some splashing and underwater foraging for food.

I stayed there a bit longer, amused by these springtime visitors – the first of their kind that I’d ever seen stop by our pool. Mostly we get cardinals and blue jays and yellow finches, along with the dreaded grackles and robins. Ducks were an unexpected treat. They reminded me of the waterfowl at the Boston Public Garden. It was a welcome reminder.

Going back to interior concerns, I left the ducks to their own devices and when I checked back a few minutes later they had already departed. I felt an unwarranted tinge of loss. Maybe we were hungry for any sort of interaction in these isolated times. I went about the day, and an hour or so later I looked out and they were back in the pool. A quick flash of happy relief was soon replaced by a nagging fear that they might make a nesting spot in our backyard which would not have been good. I didn’t have to worry for long – they soon departed for good a few minutes later. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of them flying over our fence, and then the last ripples in the empty pool of where they had just been.

One of the star performers of any perennial bed or border is Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ which keeps its succulent wintergreen foliage fresh throughout the summer and begins a long season of bloom with a dusty pink start in August that goes all the way through October. The dried flower-heads retain their architectural form through the winter, which makes for a charming visage when capped with snow. It’s one of the few plants with year-round visual interest, which has made them popular to the point of ubiquitous overuse. That doesn’t mar my feelings on them, however, so when I saw them poking these tender shoots out and testing the spring air, it made my heart leap. Another spring can now begin.

This past weekend I finally got outside and cleaned up the bulk of our winter debris. Filled the typical forty lawn bags of all the dead leaves and branches and various junk that litters the landscape while the garden slumbered. It’s awake now, but it’s still early. Groggy and shaking off sleep, the earth yawns and yearns to sleep a bit more. I get the same feeling on Wednesday mornings. Or whatever day this is. I seem to be losing track.

Here is a pair of before and after shots, and while the photo doesn’t do the scope and work justice, please note that the main stand of fountain grass in the first picture is 12 feet tall. That’s over twice as tall as me. This was no cake-walk, and there was definitely no cake at the end of the ordeal either. But it’s all part of the process, all part of the plan. I’m happy as a clam knowing that spring has arrived, and time in the garden is a valuable kind of therapy of its own. Cutting down each stalk was a ritual of cleansing and rebirth. Out with the old and in with the new. The earth, when left to her own devices, takes care of herself.

As a gift for my efforts, the first jonquils of the season deigned to bloom as I brought the bags to the curb. Pausing to crouch down and inhale their fragrance – that glorious scent of spring that has yet to be successfully replicated in any perfume or cologne – I remembered springs that have come before, and I allowed myself a bittersweet smile.

This is a time for serving Out-of-Office Realness, and I am here to serve you. For anyone who’s ever done a video conference from home, I know you have been in this situation. Thankfully I have not, as of yet, had to do a video conference – I’d be a nervous wreck. And I certainly wouldn’t do it in my underwear. No way. The camera would pan down, I would inadvertently stand up, or some other impossible scenario would play out just in the exact fashion that would reveal my Tom Ford leopard print boxer briefs.

I prefer to do the revealing on my own terms, and in the best possible lighting.

This fun shoot was done on-the-fly, in the basement office, at the end of a long day. In fact, I’ve been putting on fancy silk and sequin ensembles to work from home during office hours – ask Andy and my co-workers. It’s my own way of keeping sane and inspired. Also, if I stayed in my regular pajamas and robe, I’d feel sick and/or lazy – two states not conducive to doing good work. Visuals and atmosphere are important to me. A look can do more to change my mood than an emotional pane. Maybe that makes me more superficial than the average bear, and I’m cool with that. I’ve learned how to turn it to my advantage over the years.

This is also a form of play, and in these dark days of oppressive news and housebound tension, we need more play. Try on your hidden hats. Pull out your fanciest gown. Brush off that formal wedding suit. Dress it up. For no reason whatsoever. As kids we used to do this all the time. We played. We dressed up. We got silly. And we had fun. Way more fun than we have as adults.

Hang on to your hats – the lessons keep on coming.

The skunky-scented fritillaria seen here – more commonly called the Crown Imperial thanks to its impressive floral display – poked through the ground in our backyard, setting off the beginnings of the spring season here in upstate New York. it came just in time, as our isolation was just starting to wear on me. I got out and managed to fill twenty five big lawn bags of the detritus and debris of an entire winter season. While my middle-aged body recuperates (is there any Vic’s vaporub in this place?) we shall recap and provide some links to all that you may have missed. Mentholated vapors take me away…

It began with a very happy anniversary: the 10th birthday of my niece and nephew. 

The battle between the sacred and the profane, the spiritual and the material, and the sarcastically-blissful life of straddling two extremes. 

A pair of kissing cardinals visited our front yard.

We finally went full-frontal here, for really real. 

Spring can really hang you up the most. 

The erotically-inclined artwork of Michael Broderick. 

A Filipino desert recipe from my Mom: babinka.

The time to be neighborly is now. Right now. 

This is how solitude should smell. 

How ever did we get here? And where did my shirt go?

A damn fine cup of coffee, home-brewed.

Have you ever felt like nobody was there?

Lathering up in memories sparked by the Beekman Boys and ‘Aloe & Iris.’ 

Awakening to awareness: the first part. Our journey begins.

Hunks of the Day included Son HeChan, Max Parker, Chris Cuomo, Tristan Gatto, Collin Baja, and Austin Theory.

The last time I truly listened to this song was at the beginning or end of summer – how strange that I can’t quite remember which it was. [Editor’s note: it was smack dab in the middle of summer, right before my first summer blog break.] Though to be fair the start or finish of summer is pretty much equally sunny especially when compared to the harsh start of spring or brutal end of winter. We have tickets for the touring production of ‘Dear Evan Hansen‘ scheduled for June, but no one is confident that will happen. These are frightening times, and all we can focus on is today, and perhaps tomorrow. Going beyond that is a fool’s errand. Best we take it by the moment. Be present. Be here. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSAMJIS-HOo

Let’s not get into how emotional this simple video got me – most people know how teary-eyed I get when people sing to me. And sometimes it’s good to cry – especially when all you’ve wanted to do for the last month is cry out in rage and sorrow and the forlorn ache of fear. Let those cries melt into the soaring sounds of voices raised in unison and harmony to make the world a little less lonely.