Category Archives: General

Pleated pants.

Appletinis.

Feathered hair.

Any clothing from International Male.

Platinum blonde crew cut and purple eyebrows.

Gold chains worn earnestly.

Writing love letters to guys before the first date.

Writing love letters to guys after the first date.

Skiing.

Stalking. 

Being callous.

Gauze. [See also International Male above.]

Hating on Anderson Cooper.

Hating on anyone.

Hating.

The fourth martini.

School glamour shots. 

That poet’s shirt.

Well, any poet’s shirt.

Not visiting my uncle when he got sick.

Velour.

Fighting instead of listening.

Planting a cherry tree in the middle of the backyard.

Failing to invest in the internet.

Taking a wrong turn in Rochester and hitting the curb.

The goatee.

But then again…

Non, je ne regrette rien.

At this early stage of spring, it’s a little silly to start planning for summer, but that’s not stopping me. If I stopped doing things, or wearing things, or saying things, just because they were silly, I’d have stopped everything years ago. Bring on the silly, and bring on the summer planning. There’s a floral party on the horizon, to go with the upcoming project, but it’s a quieter, more intimate event – and family-friendly too, meaning the kids are all invited. The pool should be open by then, so that will work. (It’s much easier to host children when they have the run of the outside.)

In addition to the usual spring cleaning (dusting and polishing everything in sight, including the far reaches of the floor) there are more seasonal duties to fulfill, such as bringing the attic-bound banana and angel’s trumpet trees back from the brink of hibernation. This was actually started a while ago, when I re-introduced water into their pots. Since October, they’ve been occupying the unheated, but insulated, side of the attic near a small window. Stripped of most of their leaves by fall, they have since put out a few straggling shoots, none of which will likely survive a move outside into any sort of wind. Luckily, the rest of the stems and roots have survived, and once the warm weather begins in earnest, their growth should be quick and impressive. I’m especially looking forward to seeing what the banana tree will do in its second year here. It’s due for an even larger pot, which typically means even larger growth. I’m planning on getting a second one, since they lend an easy tropical feel to the yard.

As for other plans, summer music is another way of creating atmosphere and memories. Last year, it wastes little collection of songs that brought to mind the sunny season:

• Don’t Dream It’s Over
• The Glory of Love
• Holding Back the Years
• Count on Me 
• One Day
• Andante, Andante

Before then it was the summer of ‘Dear Evan Hansen’:

• Waving Through A Window
• You Will Be Found
• For Forever

Now I’m obsessed with the 60’s moogarific themes of the ‘Ocean’s 8’ soundtrack, so that may play a part. It goes well with the ‘Four Rooms’ lounge vibe I’ve used for years. All bring to mind happy days putting the patio awning back up and assembling the potted plants. This is my favorite moment. Anticipation. Hope. The whole of the season spread out before us.

These are the days. It’s happening again.

Rising like the big JC Himself, today heralds the return of spring! Amen and Halleluh!! (That’s the extent of my Drag Race references, and I know it was several seasons ago but I just can’t be bothered to keep up anymore.) Coming in the midst of Mercury’s Retrograde madness, spring has the onerous distinction of arriving while things are crazy and hectic. Only through deliberate determination to remain calm and not ruffle feathers have I maintained some semblance of sanity these past few weeks, and I’ll grant that it is the merest resemblance. Thankfully, it hasn’t been that difficult. Laying low is an art form, and I intend to make some serious art in the next few weeks.

My new project is practically completed – a month before I anticipated or hoped – which means I can begin planning a little promotional push for late spring/early summer. (Relax, it won’t be nearly as extensive or naked as the last one.) This is a smaller project – a little personal gift to those who mean the most to me. It’s also a completely new realm of work for me, so it’s amateurish and unpolished, but it was so fun to do I don’t care.

That’s the breath of fresh air that this spring, and this website, needs – so welcome to the new season. See the pretty flowers and smell their happy perfume. Pet the furry bunnies and hold the baby goats. Indulge in the moments before it all lets loose.

Spring is here!

Disruptive Mercury is once again in retrograde, where it shall remain for much of the month of March. Hold on to your hats and underwear as we try to ride this one out (unless you’re featured ginger Seth Fornea). If you’re still recovering from too much partying on St. Patrick’s Day, HA HA. I’m apoplectic, on with the recap…

The Bloodstone Bracelet: Not Another Nancy Drew Mystery or Harry Potter Prequel (I don’t care who Dumbledore fucked). 

Go to any one of these posts, click on the “#TinyThreads” link at the bottom of each, and see how far back you can go. It’s like a little Fuck Your Own Adventure series.  

Paint the town something. 

It was Skip’s birthday, and it was grand. 

One-two princes stand before you. 

“It is such a secret place, the land of tears.“

The Madonna Timeline returned with a bang: this is ‘American Life.’ 

Hot-ass gingers for your St. Patrick’s Day viewing pleasure. 

Hunks of the Day included such hotties as Takaya Honda, Jim Brickman, Jeremiah Lloyd Harmon, Kyle Cooke, and Graysen Quinn. 

My brother and I were hellions in a number of ways growing up – none more-so than when our parents had to go out and leave us with a babysitter. We went through a cadre of babysitters, a number of whom ended up in tears at some point in our time together. We had a knack for torture, and most of them never told on us. I don’t know why. Suzie’s older brothers each babysat just once. Tim was terrified of our German shepherd Crystal, so our parents warned us not to let the dog in while he was in charge. We gave Tim about three minutes before we let the dog in; he promptly ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Eventually, we put the dog in the garage and Tim came back out. Eventually.

Andy was not afraid of the dog, so we had to find another trick for him. He arrived with a copy of ‘The Little Prince’ which he read to us (at least, a bit of it). We recognized the book because we had a copy of it too. We brought out our version and compared them. They were identical but for a black star on the back of his. Of course, we wanted his version, the one with the black star, and we begged him to trade us. He was not having it, so we gave up and waited.

Whether it was a bathroom stop or dinner preparation, at one point he left the room and it was then that we pounced. With a black marker, I drew a wobbly star on our copy of the book, then put his copy back in our library. We said nothing, assuming we would get caught before he left for the night, but he never noticed, and as he left with our copy we thrilled at the trick we had played on him. Hopefully it wasn’t a library book…

Aside from the book, Andy escaped relatively unscathed. A switched-out book was nothing compared to the horror/obstacle course we set up for a neighbor in our basement, or the vaguely suicidal gesture I made using a few allergy pills. It was a more innocent time then.

I won’t get into the grief we gave family members who ended up watching over us, especially Uncle Roberto who put up with more bullshit than anyone other than our parents. As an Uncle myself, I feel that the twins are as much karma for my bad behavior as they are for their father. Neither of us is ready for what is about to come.

It was one of those moments where nothing more needed to be said. We had just finished a movie and were walking to the Skip’s car. The wind was brutal, the temperature was well below freezing, and the night was dismal. Hurrying inside, I pulled my coat tighter around me as Skip started the car. 

“I hate going to the movies in winter,” he said with a note of sadness in his voice. “It’s so much better in the summer.”

There was no better way to convey the discontent near the end of winter in upstate New York. It was why we had spent the earlier part of the evening plotting and planning possible weekends for our annual Boston Red Sox adventure, picturing a warmer world on the brink of summer again. 

There’s nothing better than planning future adventures with an old friend. Suddenly it struck me, in the wretched cold and dark of a February night: we were old friends. We’d known each other for almost a decade and a half. (That’s the thing about old friends: they take years to find.) Now, at the end of an evening, with no need for inane filler babble, we coasted to the last weeks of winter, sustaining ourselves through the dark season with whiskey and beer and the odd appetizer. (Still no new decaffeinated soda selections at the concession stand. And why is it called a concession stand anyway? What are we conceding? Our health? Things that make you go to a movie expert like Skip…)

Last year he turned 40, and that fun party was the unofficial kick-off to spring. Coming as it does one week before the real deal, Skip’s birthday has become the earliest signs that winter is receding, that the world will be bright and sunny again, that there is hope left after all. That’s sort of symbolic of what Skip is to many of us ~ an eternal font of hope and optimism. He’s a perpetual example of how the planning and plotting and dreaming is as much a part of the journey as the destination ~ and sometimes not getting where you originally thought you wanted to be can be the best move we never make.

Happy Birthday Skip ~ and many happy returns of the day!

It was just a matter of time before I got around to embracing crystals. In fact, it may not be so much discovering them as returning to a minor passion of my youth, when gems and semi-precious stones caught my fancy. Back then, it was a science class where were examined the various minerals and rocks that introduced me to this world. I was obsessed with the way calcite broke into neat, uniform parallelograms, and how writing would be doubled when viewed through a thin-enough piece of it. I was transfixed with the gleam and sparkle of pyrite, happily fooling myself into trusting its golden show. I dug in the woods behind our home and found the smallest bit of rock that contained a bit of mica – shiny and flaking off in thin sheets. And I was enthralled with the tale of how a friend had found a perfectly-formed quartz crystal in his backyard, then brought it into class to show everyone. That such beautiful objects also held some sort of power was simply too good to feel true. I stopped short of the New Age worship that some crystal-lovers practiced, because I wasn’t quite ready to put all my faith in crystals.

I’m still not. My brain is too wary of such magic. Part of me understands on a fact-based level that a piece of stone has no literal power to sway my life in any way. But this isn’t about the literal. This is about the power one imbues to a talisman or object that gives it a different life, and in return it inspires or changes something in you. That can be quite literal. Sometimes belief begets transformation. I’ve done this many times – every time I walk into work for example – and it can be a powerful way of getting to where you want to be.

The stones that make up this bracelet (found at Tushita Heaven in Saratoga – a wondrous shop that you should definitely visit) are Bloodstone, said to aid in Personal Healing: “It stimulates the immune system, builds courage and raises self-esteem, teaching that all is at it should be. Bloodstone transmutes negative memories into positive actions, working gently as it cleanses and purifies. Bloodstone makes us aware that adverse conditions in our lives are often illusions.”

That sounds about perfect for what I need. What we all need. I feel better already.

We gave an hour for a little more light, and it was a sacrifice we were happy to make. Spring is on the way – it has to be. I’m working on a new project, and thus have no time for grandiose intros. On with the recap:

The week began in colorful fashion. 

The #TinyThreads category kept growing.

The Annual Ass Wednesday post. 

What kind of fuckery is this?

Pillow by Target.

Daffy is not just a duck.

Sexy Sunday studs.

Hunks of the Day included Jason Domino, Keegan Michael Key, Brian Justin Krum, Keegan Whicker, Cameron Hawthorn, and Kris Boyson.

This beautiful pillow, which goes so well with my Grandmother’s tufted green velvet couch, was procured at Target of all places. Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, I’m not a complete label whore, and I enjoy a bargain and a well-lit mainstream store as much as the next person. (I still have a gorgeous Marimekko for Target beach bag that personifies summer living and summer fun.) Their clothing has not quite won me over just yet (I don’t care if Isaac Mizrahi once played a part in it or not), but this pillow is stuffed heaven. 

I like its multi-textured surface, along with its riotously-jarring collection of colors. There’s a remotely 60’s vibe to it as well, with a little garishness thrown in for good measure. It goes well with Gram’s couches. 

Strong, vibrant color makes all the difference in a dismal day. 

What kind of mad, life-sized fuckery is this bullshit? 

It’s not even Lent yet, and this bastard, towering over all, just stood in my path at Michael’s while I was trying to hurriedly pick up a few supplies for the new project. (Further evidence that nothing good ever came of Michael’s, or Pinterest for that matter. And don’t even get me started on that nightmare called JoAnn’s Fabric Store.)

Now, I thought I’d already banished the Easter Bunny ghosts from my youth, but when something like this catches you by surprise, and it’s so goddamn big… well, one recoils at the horror of it all no matter how far past it one thinks one is. 

The madness of March – herald the Return of Spring! – is in full effect as the last week brought about the turn of the calendar page. Hunkering down and getting deep into some project work is the best way to pass these last few weeks of winter. The sun is staying a little longer; the days are beginning to last. We can do this. But first, a quick look back at how we left February in the snow dust.

Let’s begin with these #TinyThreads. (Click on each #TinyThreads link at the end of each to follow the journey of nonsense.)

Lady Gaga & Madonna, together again. 

Morning meditation.

Hot pot. 

The next time you want pussy…

Marches of our world. 

Questions that need answers.

The magic of Belinda Carlisle. 

Madonna’s ‘American Life’… en route.

The return of the Jonas Brothers, all grown up. 

Madonna’s best album… to date. 

Gratuitous underwear studs.

Getting my ass out again. 

Hunks of the Day included Patrick Duffy, Brendan Patrick, Nick Dent, Adam Devine, Michael Kleinmann, and Mike Rickard.

So, leap years… are they like a Daylight Savings thing? Do we need them to make up some weird little discrepancy in the calendar? I forgot my grade school lessons on this topic. We’re not having one right now anyone, but my heart goes out to those who were born on a February 29, because it’s not happy for you this year.

{This should probably be one of the #TinyThreads, but we’ve already done that today.}

It’s the first day of March, and proverb has it marching in like a lion. I happen to love lions so that’s not a bad thing, and for many of us the roar of them is nothing but an indicator that a classic movie is about to begin. March is the month when spring officially begins, even if it won’t feel like it for a while. I’ll take it on a technicality, so let the fanfare and roar be grand and bold. Oh, I realize there are still a few more pesky weeks of winter, but now is the time to plan and begin the earliest motions of spring cleaning. (We have so much to do inside that it must begin soon or we won’t finish before summer.)

A new project is in the works too, which means things are extra busy around here, so let me go work on it a bit while you peruse how we do March around here:

• March 2010
• March 2011
• March 2012
• March 2013
• March 2014
• March 2015
• March 2016
• March 2017
• March 2018

Some days dawn like a Mary Oliver poem – all hope and promise and beautiful heartache…

I don’t usually get to embrace the morning. It passes in a rush of waking and showering and doing my best impression of a man who can dress himself for work. As it likely it for many others, my mornings are on auto-pilot, and the older I get the more mundane and drudge-like they sometimes feel. Every once in a while a blip will occur, some minor snag that reminds me I’m still imperfectly human no matter how many times I’ve done this: a squirt of lotion instead of toothpaste on the toothbrush that is just about to go in my mouth, a drawstring that gets right in the way of the stream of urine, or putting one contact lens into the eye that already had one in already. Fun, fun, fun.

Once upon a time I practiced meditative mornings over the weekends – when sun was out, either reflecting brilliantly on the snow, or mingling softly among the blades of grass – and there was no music, no television, and no washer/dryer duet. Silence and stillness. It grounds the heart, setting a bedrock of peace for the day no matter where it might take us. I miss those meditative mornings. Perhaps I’ll set my alarm a bit earlier so I have time to start the day in peace. It may make a difference.

Meditation need not be anything complicated or lengthy. Actually, it’s better in my case if it’s neither, and simplicity is integral to the experience. Even just five to ten minutes of sitting in uninterrupted silence each day can work wonders. If you can stretch it to fifteen, that’s even better, but something is better than nothing. I find it takes a few minutes to clear my brain of worries and plans and concerns and daily stuff. That’s why it’s sometimes easier to do it first thing in the morning.It’s quieter then, too.

So here’s to those contemplative mornings. May they greet the day in peace, and carry the mindset through the rest of the hours.

The golden luster of all those little dickless statuettes has hopefully not yet worn off for all the Oscar-winners from last night, but we are definitely moving forward into the next week, as it’s the last one in February. The sooner it’s over, the better. On with one quick look back…

We begin with some scent planning.

Desperately seeking mall solace.

Are my days of tea-bagging at an end?

Erect as a sun dial.

Mike Rickard, living ‘Out Loud.’ 

A shirtless Nick Jonas afternoon delight.

Is that a pipe in Cristiano Ronaldo’s underwear?

Yawning through the Academy Awards. 

Do follow these #TinyThreads.

Hunks of the Day included Ben Platt, Chris Harrison, Don Benjamin, Jack Muldoon, Reggie Bullock and Tobi Jasicki.