Category Archives: General

My general resistance to beer is being put to the test with this surprisingly moving advertisement from Heineken.

(Though to be honest I’d be happier discussing our differences over a bone dry martini.)

It happened in the night, right before the weekend.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the patch of light gray, lit up by the bright sun, and resplendent against the drab brown ground. When subtle tones and typically-dull colors are combined, the results can be spellbinding. Upon closer inspection, it was a pile of feathers. It looked like a bird had exploded, like some violent but comical explosion in a cartoon.

Body and bones were missing, but in the endless number of feathers blowing around the background, it seemed all the bird’s feathered finery had been left behind. Who or what could have done such a thing?

Andy summed it up thusly: the bird went poof.

I hope it was quick and relatively painless.

The results, while pretty, were also pretty macabre.

Our backyard is Thunderdome for birds.

Fowl play indeed.

In the bubbling saltwater aquarium of my youth, the anemone unfurled its flowery tentacles in the night.

We didn’t know about protein skimming and biological filtration back then, and in a month or two that poor anemone succumbed before I could find it a companion clownfish.

It died alone, far from its home, surrounded by skeletons of coral and bone-white sand.

The night haunts…

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star is closing in on its final dates. I’ve extended it and drawn it out for as long as possible, not wanting to let it all go. Yet we are very near the end, and after a dramatic visit to Chicago (which came with its own moment of closure – and a surprise second-row visit to ‘Hamilton’) it’s almost time to put an end to this final journey. First, though, the Windy City.

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We were entering spring.

As I entered Chicago, I realized I was entering the past.

Dangerous territory. Treacherous traveling. The tricks of the mind.

Seventeen years ago I left the only man I’d ever lived with up to then in the city where we’d moved.

This was the first time I would go back.

When a current project dies down, I look around in the ground.

Often enough, inspiration has sprouted up surrounding the ashes of an old one.

If there are no upstarts, I simply wait.

It used to make me antsy. Sometimes, I probably forced things to happen sooner than they naturally would have.

Nothing good is forced.

Well, maybe paper-white narcissus.

But not art.

This time, I may have found the next batch of inspiration in Chicago…

It’s Easter Monday, chickens!! We had a tiny Easter Sunday massacre, but I’ll divulge the details in another post. For now, our traditional Monday morning look back on the last week, in case any of you want to hang onto the weekend one wee bit longer. I know I do…

Food glorious food, because it’s almost margarita season.

All my Aprils.

A peek, a warning.

A lavalier…?

Worse than a wedgie.

Floral mayhem.

The rabbit among cacti.

Some rabbits are sexy, some are just dicks.

A New York adventure seeking closure…

…finds beauty along the way.

A happy ending two decades in the making.

I did not get into a fight at the grocery store. I did not.

Easter was in the air.

And with its arrival, Easter brings terror.

Floral cheer.

Hunks of the Day included Parker Young, Alex Bowen, Alexander Abramov, Matthew Noszka, and George Shelley.

I’ve got to get some new Easter pics.

Maybe another crucifixion scene.

Or some Playboy bunny bit.

Until then, it’s the posting of the annual terrorize-your-kid-with-a-ridiculously-terrifying Easter bunny photo that so many people love so much.

Happy Easter.

(And don’t do this to your kids or they’ll turn out like me. Fair warning.)

My Easter traditions have changed and evolved over the years. Unlike Christmas Eve or Thanksgiving or New Year’s, which have more or less remained the same, Easter has proven far more malleable. We used to go to Gram’s in Hoosick Falls. In our starchy plaid suits and clip-on ties, my brother and I would fidget for the entire hour-long ride over, but the Easter baskets and Gram’s welcoming embrace were always worth it.

After that we ended up at my parent’s home, and then my brother’s in-laws one year, and finally I decided that Andy and I needed to do our own thing and we went to Boston to exorcize my bunny issues. It was one of my favorites, and the night before we watched ‘Easter Parade’ to set the scene for the next morning. It has since become a new tradition, and seeing Judy Garland in all those glorious costumes and hats always puts me in an Easter mood.

Tomorrow, we have no morning plans, so we’ll watch that again, and maybe make a Ramos Gin Fizz (it has an egg white in it – the reason for the season). Anyway, I hope your Easter Sunday is fabulous.

Let’s get the frightening one out of the way first thing: Sean Spicer as the White House Easter bunny (and long before he transformed into the Mouthpiece of the Anti-Christ.) I’ve read reports that this year’s White House Easter egg hunt is being bogged down in confusion and ineptitude – the perfect embodiment of this joke of an administration.

Far more preferable to the devil in the bunny suit is the sexy shot below of a shirtless Andy Cohen getting chummy with an anonymous Easter bunny. This is still the stuff of nightmares (or fantasies, depending on your kink-level preference). Mr. Cohen makes a fine companion to that lucky bunny. Here comes Peter Cottontail indeed.

Hippity hoppity Easter’s on its way!

The holiday I dread, with all its accompanying images of fright, is almost upon us.

Here we have a bunny from Arizona hopping down the bunny trail.

Stayed tuned for far scarier variations on this theme.

(And I don’t like it any more than you do.)

In certain specific circumstances, a wedge of fruit is appropriate. A small one to slip into a bottle of Corona. A chunkier one for squeezing into a gin and tonic. But for instances where it’s mainly a garnish, and even when it’s used for fragrance and flavor, a wedge is simply too much. It’s obnoxious. Overbearing. Rude. The worst sort of look for an elegant cocktail.

A twist is much preferable.

A twist makes all the difference.

A twist can change your life.

Once upon a time I had a lava lamp. It was in the basement, in our little make-do recreation room where I’d watch soap operas and paint hieroglyphics on the walls. A brown vinyl beanbag provided a malleable surface for marble mazes. A tattered set of plaid furniture from upstairs formed the seating area, and we covered a lightweight wooden storage crate with a small blanket to make a coffee-table. A throwaway coffeemaker stood on a pedestal; I would put potpourri into it and the hot water would spread the scent throughout the small space. The gay boy in me would always find a way. (I’m not sure that my Uncle, who lived on black coffee and cigarettes, was as impressed by the double-duty of said coffeemaker, but he never said anything about the floral coffee that would later result.)

The lava lamp of my youth was a standard red and yellow version, glowing warmly on its stand, unlike the modern-day version you see here. I’m not sure which appeals to me more – each has its merits, each conjures and conveys a different mood. I’ve seen riveting purple versions, and if I were to get a new one, it would probably be that. Not that I’m getting a lava lamp. Some ships are better off not returning to port.

Yet they remind me of that crazy childhood basement room, where extra pieces of unused carpet made for a patchwork floor, and a fold-up cot was mounted on a former kitchen cabinet, rising almost to the ceiling in fun, if slightly dangerous, fashion. We were kids then, and my brother and I didn’t care about cohesive design or sensible furniture. Instead, I worked to create little pools of beauty – in a bouquet of dried flowers, a swath of colorful fabric, or the psychedelic bubbles of a lava lamp.

A few posts in the works: my recent trips to New York and Chicago, reviews of ‘Sunset ‘Boulevard‘ and ‘Hamilton’, and all kinds of closure and emotional mayhem. Somehow, I also need to begin the spring cleaning of the yard, a task that usually requires 40 lawn bags by the time it’s done. Spring is technically here. The air is warm, for now. Excitement is in the atmosphere.

The bad news? Mercury is once again in retrograde. Hang on to your hats.