Category Archives: General

As I’ve done since opening this website in 2003, tomorrow marks the one day a year when things go silent here out of respect for the lost lives of 9/11. Words have never been enough to convey the profound loss and sadness of those who experienced that day, and I would never be able to explain the shock and horror of everything that we all went through at that time. Instead, a day of silence – to honor, to remember, and to heal.

Tomorrow also happens to be my Dad’s birthday, but he has never minded the lack of a timely post for that. And in case he does now, here’s an early Happy Birthday to him. More later…

On this day of Labor, we recap the week before, and as I’m wrapping up a Tour Stop in Seattle as we speak, let’s delve immediately into the past before looking ahead. Unofficially the end of summer, Labor Day is really when the fall season heats up. To that end, the Hunk of the Day feature was in full daily effect, with the gorgeous likes of the following gentlemen strutting their shirtless selves:

Jess Vill

Nate Gill

Sacha M’baye

Warren Carlyle

For many unfortunate people this week marked the return to school. Sucks to be them! And on some days it sucked to be me, saddle shoes and all.

Hateful, homophobic, and law-breaking fashion-abomination Kim Davis was still defying the highest court of the land and refusing the issue marriage licenses to gay couples.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour rocketed from one side of the country (Portland, Maine) to another (Seattle, Washington) in less than a week. Boomerang anybody?

While hooting it up in Seattle, a series of Sunset Boulevard posts from the Tour Book were put up. It began with a pool, and the unfortunate detour of a writer at the end of his rope ~ a man who ended up the victim of his own machinations as much as… hers.

My love affair with Norma Desmond began twenty years ago, and comes full circle on this tour. This world’s waited long enough, I’ve come home at last.

Sparkling in the waning hours of a sun-filled afternoon, the water looks inviting. Do not be deceived: this is no bath. The water is cold. Its still surface belies its deadly charm. Like some California dream, it is all an illusion. Pretty enough to look at, but no one would dare delve deeper into such a frigid world. Do we know the day when it is at hand? Do we ever really know the day? I think we only know it when it’s gone. It’s only real when it’s over. It is safer that way.

For now, a pause to admire the prettiness of the scene. A pristine look before bodies and waves and blood pierce moonlight-stained water. A bed of liquid to break a dead man’s fall. Or a pocket of delusions to give him wings. Either way, he’s about to take flight…

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

Next Stop: SEATTLE, WA

Such a sad and sorry post, to signal the coming end of summer and its final full month. I don’t want it to go, I don’t want it to go, I don’t want it to… Repeating this like a mantra, like a prayer, I try my best to slow time. That’s the worst thing to do, as it always has the opposite effect. It is far more effective to focus on the moment, and making each one memorable. There’s too much to lose by being distracted by such mind games. On with the recap.

Sometimes a Hunk of the Day is so named simply because of his eyes. Jacob McCaslin is one such Hunk.

Ryan Phillippe is the same age as me, which just feels grossly unfair, because his body is in an entirely different bracket.

Getting locked in a gym is all Nicholas Clayton needed to do to make it into Hunk of the Day status. That and his body.

Little pockets of beauty, little bouquets of flowers.

This UFC mixed martial artist got naked before he threw the punches.

‘Iris’ may well be my new favorite movie. Another testament to the power of Mr. Maysles.

The artist as Hunk: this is Dustin Yellin.

La vie en rose.

A jockstrap is always in vogue, especially on these male celebrities.

Finally, a hint of pink.

Ensconced in the Judy Garland Suite of the Lenox Hotel on my 40^th birthday, I am in no position to worry about blogging or updating this website, so I’m pre-populating posts such as this one, in which a look back over the previous lovely week will have to suffice until my return to the hum-drum existence to which I’ve instantly become unaccustomed. While we normally do the weekly recap on a Monday, it’s a day late because of birthday shenanigans. On with the show…

One of the first official tour stops was Cape Cod, but even better than that was the introduction of The Brits ~ cherished friends of JoJo who quickly became cherished in my heart as well. She has a knack of making people feel like they belong.

Summer flavors are better than any other.

Sumer was blooming its head off.

In real time we’re just ending it now, but this is where it all began.

Tom Daley’s bulge is beautiful in burgundy.

Beauty’s where you find it, and sometimes it whispers.

The rousing cry of the return of a rebel.

A Madonna Timeline to coincide with the eve of a birthday.

I turned 40. Fucking 40. And I think I’m gonna like it here.

Happy Ass Ending, because some things never change.

Holy fuck, I’m 40. In what crazy-ass time-warped universe could I possibly be 40 years old? I was just 29 a few days ago… In some ways it’s unthinkable, in some ways it’s inevitable, but mostly the act of turning 40 is, for me, uneventful. It’s never been the number that’s bothered me. There are deeper forces than some arbitrary milepost at work, and that’s where my head is at right now.

‘The Big Chill’ was on television the other day, and watching that when you’re about to turn 40 is akin to watching ‘Leaving Las Vegas‘ when you’re about to turn 21 (I managed to do both, with various emotional landmines exploding around me). The first time I saw ‘The Big Chill’ I found it drab and dull, but what was once a big bore suddenly became relevant and relatable. The set-up is slightly contrived, but it provides the perfect backdrop for the ruminations of incontrovertible middle-age: following the suicide of one of their college friends, a group gathers and finds their lives far from where they thought they’d be. Here was a group of people who found themselves losing their way and grappling with the realization that while the time for dreaming went on forever, the time for action and for doing anything may have already passed. There’s a coldness to this, and a hardening of the heart that, once begun, is very difficult to slow or stop.

“I haven’t met that many happy people in my life. How do they act?”

~ The Big Chill

I’ve felt that chill recently. I don’t know if it’s turning 40, or simply the ripening of my situation. I’ve been with a loving gentleman since 2000, I’ve worked my way up to a decent position at work (after starting out as a Grade 5 Data Entry Machine Operator almost a decade and a half ago), I have a wonderful support group of close friends who’ve stayed with me for the better part of several decades, and I’ve been generally healthy for most of it. In so many ways, I have so much. Yet there’s been a gradual erosion of the spark and jolt of feeling alive, of new experiences and new places. I find myself looking back at previous periods of life and thinking how much more colorful and exciting they were, how much more passion and excitement and hope buzzed with the birth of each day.

Unaccustomed to such nostalgia, I was surprised by the worry and weight that was slowly building. There was a sense of general ennui, to the point of madness, in what followed a long, gentle, barely-discernible slope of sadness. Yet for all of that, I haven’t done much about it. I’ve been complacent, unable to muster the real ambition and drive to do anything other than vaguely complain or whine on occasion, finding substitute thrills in clothing or cologne or the same old trips to the same old places. I’ve wondered about those friends from high school and college, as I watch them expand their families on FaceBook, as I hear from them on birthdays, as we move further and further away from our youth, and from each other. I hope they are finding their own happiness.

“I just love you all so much. I know that sounds gross, doesn’t it? I feel like I was at my best when I was with you people.” ~ The Big Chill

Then I think the terrifying thought: what if it meant more to me than to them? What if everything I’ve ever believed in was a minor footnote in their lives? It’s so hard to tell whether we matter – whether we really and truly matter. A crippling doubt envelops everything then, and an insatiable insecurity – never quelled, never satisfied, never conquered – over-rides all the good I’ve ever tried to do in this world, and suddenly it all feels so pointless. We want so much to mean something to somebody. Anybody.

“A long time ago we knew each other for a short period of time; you don’t know anything about me. It was easy back then. No one had a cushier berth than we did. It’s not surprising our friendship could survive that. It’s only out there in the real world that it gets tough.”~ The Big Chill

I have to believe that it still matters, that we still matter, that what we went through together still means something, still holds a place of significance in our hearts. I have to believe that love doesn’t just disappear, doesn’t fade away even when time and place and circumstance keep us apart. I have to believe that even in the smallest, most mundane motions of a day there is meaning and magnitude and magnificence. If we don’t believe in that, if we don’t believe in something…

“Wise up, folks. We’re all alone out there and tomorrow we’re going out there again.” ~ The Big Chill

I don’t want to think that we’re alone. As much as I love my solitude, and as well as I do forging my own way, I don’t ever want to feel that I’m truly alone. I also don’t want to feel like nothing matters. If I’m dramatic or high-strung or over-the-top, let me be that way. The opposite is apathy. There’s nothing more cruel and damaging to the human spirit than someone who just doesn’t give a shit. That kind of coldness can crush the happiest soul.

And so I greet 40 with gleeful defiance and happy ownership of everything I’ve done up until now, and everything I have yet to do. I will still be here. I will write, and I will take pictures, and I will read and garden and sing along to Madonna songs as loud as I like. I’ve done it since I was a child, I’ve done it as an adult, and I’ll do it until the day I die. I’m taking all the foolish baggage that comes with turning 40 and turning it into something to signify the start of everything. We are far from done here – and we always will be.

Ahh, August. Favorite month of all the months, for so many reasons – and not just birthday ones. August is the last full month of summer. August is the last month with no school. August is the last month when there are more days in the pool than out of it. August is heat and sun and fading flowers. Most of all, August is happiness. Contentment. The calm before the storm. And I don’t want it to end, so let’s go back in time, just a week, and do it all over again.

We held a retirement gathering for my new publicist Gin-Gin, and she wore a head-dress that was simply stunning. Let me see your peacock. (Don’t forget to follow @CircleOfAlan on Twitter!)

Zac Efron and his man-purse, even if I employed that look years ago.

Summer poem for a summer night.

There was beauty in the form of male models, including Genaro Perez, Norbi Novak, Joshua Joles, Jake Jensen & Ellis McCreadie.

There was something more serious from the mouth of my own brother.

The latest, and last, for Hermes from the brilliant Jean-Claude Ellena.

Take a colorful toke.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour picks up steam, with some support from my naked ass and Louis Vuitton.

Somebody else has an August birthday, and she’s one of my favorite people in the world.

Finally, some sangria, for summer.

THE HOUSE WAS QUIET AND THE WORLD WAS CALM

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
~ Wallace Stevens

Like my wit at its best, this has been a dry week. The gardens are scorched. Stretches of ostrich ferns have browned up and shriveled off. We are headed incontrovertibly into fall. Sorry, but it’s true. Face the facts or extend your denial. Still, it’s summer, and it will be for a number of weeks, so I’m stepping outside by the pool and soaking up every last moment. August is a beautiful month.

The last week saw a fitting Speedo post, as that’s the preferred attire for certain men of a certain build.

It also saw the first glimpse into Madonna’s Rebel Heart tour. My excitement was waning, but now it’s back to where it always was, and there’s no better reminder of that than this collection of previous openings.

The male model was a staple of the August Hunks of the Day, thanks to Bryce Thompson, Nyle Dimarco and Kevin Baker.

Green beans hanging like bulbous garland.

The delectable Joe Zaso got his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

It’s tricky to rock around August.

Plans for a 40th birthday celebration in Boston were set into motion, thanks to the Lenox Hotel and their Judy Garland Suite.

Still on tour, still delusional, and still intrigued by the underside of life.

One city that the Delusional Grandeur Tour will NOT be visiting is Las Vegas. Though several pages of the Tour book were shot on location there, I do not enjoy the city in the least. It had some good points: for a hotel worshipper like myself it was a treat to visit the ornate lobbies and extensive grounds of some of the finer hotels (even if they were miles apart and one had to trek in 110 degree heat to get there). The Wynn and Encore were two of my favorites – even more-so than the Bellagio and the Venetian. On my last day in the sinful city, I spent much of my time roaming the hallways of the former, and winding down my trip with a quiet cocktail at the relatively hidden Parasol Lounge.

This secret gem was lit by the bright afternoon sun, but offered shady respite (in fitting fashion given its namesake). Enormous parasols in rich jewel tones hung overhead, and one descended in a curving escalator to reach the secluded space. Had I discovered the place earlier in my stay I might not have ever left it. Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t.

There are surely ways to make Las Vegas magical, but I didn’t have enough money to find them. Instead, I found sanctuary from the heat beneath a bunch of parasols.

The second question (after the more obvious,’What exactly do you do on a tour?’) is always, ‘Where are you going?’ For my final tour I’ll be keeping things relatively open as far as destinations go. I’ve made a life of planning far into the future, but this time I’m flying by the seat of my pants. It’s produced a feeling of exhilaration and terror, and I’m digging it. That said, there are concrete plans for the next few weeks, and a couple of Tour Stops already etched in the itinerary. First up is a Boston and Cape Cod jaunt to meet some new friends from Britain. JoAnn is hosting the Brits, and this will mark my first time meeting this wonderful group of people I’ve heard so much about. Following that is my 40^th birthday weekend in Boston, a quiet affair with Andy in the Judy Garland Suite of the Lenox Hotel.

Early September will bring about a vacation in Seattle, WA -my first time in that fair city since 1998. Along with the flagship Nordstrom store, I always want to see some sea-life – whales or octopus – and perhaps a museum or two. Oh, and Starbucks. I need to see how their stores should really be operating, because I think the Albany locations have some serious issues.

After that, I’ll set up more definitive plans for New York, Washington, and Ogunquit. This tour is going places. Watch and see.

While The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star is out of travel status until next weekend, a word on those portals and passages that bring us into other worlds. They are the doorways to different lands, the paths to new destinations. I’ve always been fascinated by such points – the transitory marks that bring us from here to there, and occasionally back again. Whether it’s a car or a plane or a boat, whether it’s a bridge or a road or a hallway – these are the hubs of transformation. A hotel lobby is the perfect, and infinitely fascinating, example of this. Airports, too. The places where people are in motion and flux, going or coming, running to somewhere or running away from somewhere else – these are the in-between states where most people aren’t really themselves, but in which I find myself most true and real.

At its worst, it results in what I see as a tourist’s frame-of-mind. Those frazzled or simply seemingly-mindless people who don’t know where they are or what they’re doing, who suddenly forget how to walk when out of their usual routine, who forget simple human decency because they’re so preoccupied with figuring out how to order a cup of coffee outside of their own kitchen. When I see stuff like that and I’m annoyed, I call it stupidity, but really it’s more of a distracted, out-of-place confusion that many people aren’t accustomed to coping with, at least not well.

Oddly enough, it’s a state I rather favor. I find comfort in not being bound to the usual trappings of home and tradition. Yes, it can be upsetting if you’re stuck in your ways and resistant to change, but if you open your mind to new experiences it’s nothing but exciting.

Those thresholds are my comfort zone. They are where and when I feel the most alive and energized. Part of me fantasizes about working in a job where the majority of time is spent in travel status, on a train platform or at an airport gate, waiting and anticipating the next rush of motion. It’s why I’ve never minded a lengthy layover (which are far preferable to the ten-minute gauntlets thrown down in an airport that’s five miles long) and why I consider a train ride or road trip a destination unto themselves.

It need not be a world-spanning flight or cross-country jaunt – sometimes the simple length of a pool is enough to clear the mind and bring about a new sensation. Sometimes it is even simpler: a doorway, the same doorway you’ve walked through your entire life, can be the starting point for a new beginning. It’s all in how you choose to go through it. The life you knew before can change in that single instant. Make it the one that you want, and don’t be afraid to leave certain doors behind.

Within the metallic mesh fence that protected the vegetable garden, I peered into the leafy jungle. Slightly fuzzy leaves rose along a bamboo framework, and nestled inside, dangling in the shady nooks, the green beans hung. Having been dispatched by my Mom to pick some beans for dinner, I’d ventured into the garden in the hour before eating. It was quiet and still. The morning cacophony of bird calls and waking had given way to the riotous pool splashing of high noon, but now the day had settled into itself. In other countries this would be the time for a siesta.

The act of harvesting instills a sense of contentment and accomplishment. I don’t usually grow vegetables, and there’s a difference between a decorative plant that produces beauty all season long, and a vegetable which produces something that physically nourishes you. Both have their purpose, both have their merits. I’ve just always sided with the prettier choice.

On this summer afternoon, however, I find peace in picking beans, in the stillness of the garden. My hands are soon filled with beans, which I drop into a bag which soon fills as well. I walk over to the tomato cages and rustle through their fragrant hairy foliage. The fruit (or vegetable, let’s not debate it) is not quite ripe. Same with the eggplants and peppers. For this day, the green beans will have to do. That’s the way summer goes.