Category Archives: General

This is one of the reasons I’m hopeful that the upcoming version of ‘The Great Gatsby’ won’t be a total let-down. It’s Carey Mulligan from her role in ‘Shame’, a movie I loved but could never watch again for fear of being rendered suicidal. She was a bright spot in it, and this devastatingly raw performance of ‘New York, New York’ captures both the ambivalence and hope of that city, and, foretellingly, of the era of Gatsby.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4_gDeuuN2E&t=146s

What if FaceBook had been around in my pre-Andy dating years? The early 20’s of my life, in the late 90’s of the calendar, were embarrassing on a number of fronts, and I would have used far more exclamation points than merited. Some people (including myself) over-share regularly on FB, but I like to think I navigate those treacherous waters farely well. Back then though, I honestly can’t imagine how much trouble would have ensued. If I did, it might go something like this:

September 1994 – Kissed a man for the first time in my life. What was I thinking?! And wow, stubble is freaking sharp. Like, razor sharp. Like, it BURNS!

November 1994 – I think I just got dumped. And I didn’t even know we were going out.

April 1995 – Yes! This silver lame pantsuit goes perfectly with my silver sequin jacket! But I still need bells for my belt…

May 1995 – Met a man on the train. We exchanged numbers and he called me! He wasn’t wearing underwear either! I don’t know if I like him though.

September 1995 – I am going to have my real estate agent’s babies – I know it! Stalking session tonight. Wish me luck!!

October 1996 – The cute kid in my literature class knows my name! He handed me my paper at the end of class. I love him already!

November 1996 – I probably shouldn’t have made that mix tape and written that love letter and called him ten times in a night. But isn’t that just being honest about my feelings?

February 1997 – I can’t tell if the waiter is in love with me or my sequined vest. Romance is so hard!

February 1998 – He wiped the snow off my car. This is more than a one-night-stand.

March 1998 – Why doesn’t he love me?!?!?

June 1998 – Drinking from a garden hose at 6 in the morning because some guy made me sleep in my car instead of inviting me in. Turns out I punched him.

September 1998 – Since when is drunkenly groping a guy on the couch an hour after we met unattractive? Are we now Victorian?!

May 2000 – In my defense, had I not had that screwdriver in the morning, I would never have had sex with three guys in one day. I just happened to start early.

June 2000 – I think I’m over my slutty phase. No one needs to see their phone number in a bathroom stall.

July 2000 – A summertime P-town fling is just what the doctor ordered! Yay me! And what’s-his-name! I wonder why he hasn’t called…

[I won’t even get into what nonsense I may have Tweeted back then…]

Last week I passed a milestone (for me) on Twitter: I reached 10,000 followers. For my family and friends who think I’m hopelessly irrelevant and not worth bothering about, at least 10,000 other people think I’m at least worthy of being “followed”. Does this amount to a hill of beans? Not really. Does this give me any sort of ego-boost on a day I might be feeling down? Not even. Does it give me a bit of cachet in the social media world? Not likely.

But 10,000 is a decent number. It’s a number that somehow matters. It may not mean much, but it still matters. The hardest thing for so many of us to realize – truly, honestly, genuinely realize – is that we matter. Maybe this is a start. And to think, it only took 10,000…

A couple of aborted trips to Boston and several almost-planned weekends in NYC have led me to my current state of agitated, wanderlust-laden entrapment, wherein I feel the pull and push of getting away – anywhere away – growing stronger and stronger. An all-too-brief excursion to the Cape went a small way towards alleviating this, but I need greater distance, newer pastures, and better hotel rooms. The allure of travel hangs in the coming weeks, when the spring kicks in properly. Until then I will bide my time, trying to stay occupied with gardening and home improvement, hoping it will be enough. I fear I’m growing bored – and I need new inspiration. In the garden and in the family room. Or in some hotel far, far away…

The censored pics from JoAnn’s birthday celebration. You don’t want to see the rest.

PS – Quality Inn my ass.

On Saturday of this past weekend, I drove over to the Cape, just beyond the Bourne Bridge, to surprise my friend JoAnn for her birthday. That particular pocket of Cape Cod holds special meaning to me, as we spent many times at her place on North Beach, talking and sharing and healing. It’s always a treat to return and revisit that part of the past. I arrived long before check-in, so I drove around a bit – both in town, and then further into Falmouth.

The day was gray and overcast, spitting out rain and making most photo ops impossible. I did get these two, however ~ the windmill and the bridge ~ a pair of structural elements that defied the somber lack of color. On Main Street, I ducked into a French bakery to escape the wind and rain, hunkering down at a window table and devouring an almond croissant and, I admit, a chocolate chip cookie. A cup of coffee rounded out the breakfast, and when the rain let up a little I ventured back out.

No matter how much we try to tame her, nature will not be stopped. On this day, she only roared in the morning, and as the hours progressed her agitation diminished, until by three o’clock she was showing some of her blue sky, and it was again time to eat.

That’s about as profound as it’s going to get here today. Just another Manic Monday…

It was a week dominated by the unreal tragedy at the Boston Marathon, and the subsequent manhunt surrounding the Boston area, and as such I was slightly all over the place, unsure quite how to deal with it blog-wise, ultimately ending up with a single written letter to the city I love so much. I have nothing left to say about it at the moment.

When things turn crazy in the outside world, I tend to turn inward, to friends and family, especially when they remind of childhood innocence, as in the birthday joy of my niece and nephew.

Other distractions could be found in the vain, vapid, and ridiculous pornstache I had going (and which finally went bye-bye for real last night.)

What separates the men from the real mean, and the women from the real women.

Once-a-freaking-century this happens, and of course it has to happen to my prized possession.

There was only one official Hunk of the Day for the week, and he managed to shine and doff his shirt, as evidenced by the great Colby Keller.

To make up for the dearth of shirtlessness and male nudity, I offered what was behind Doors One, Two, and Three.

April showers sometimes bring April flowers, as seen here and here.

While searching through my flash drive I realized that I never posted the Easter outfit from Boston, and as I’ll be departing Massachusetts for another week or two, it seems a fitting time to put it up. Besides, these are all filler posts until I return with a new batch of inspirational photos. As you read this, I’ll hopefully be traversing Massachusetts and New York, a little spent, a little tired, but emotionally satiated from having seen some very good people.

A castle with a turret and a drawbridge. A damsel in anything-but-distress. A fireside hearth, before which a pink and diamond-studded shoe dries on a grate. And a yarn-tailed pony, resting on its side, ready to be brought back to life by a little hand.

When I was a kid, this sort of scene would have kept me occupied for hours, as I imagined all kinds of scenarios, setting and reconfiguring this castle, moving all its occupants (Piglet included) and enacting various far-fetched daily dramas for the knights and queens and animals. In truth, I made just as much out of a cardboard box that Dad would bring home from the hospital, and never really thought to want more until I got older. I grew and fostered my imagination because I had to, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. If children can’t learn to entertain themselves on their own, without fancy phones or sensory overload, they will never be satisfied as adults.

I’m starting to sound like a grumpy old man, and perhaps I am. There may be nothing new under the sun. I do wonder what’s becoming of imagination, when all the wildest experiences can be conjured on a computer screen, so readily at hand, so easily explored. Maybe I just want to go back to being a kid again. Maybe that’s what we all want in some way. Maybe that’s why children are so captivating to some of us.

We didn’t quite welcome spring into season just yet, but I’m holding out hope for this coming week. The last one just did not do it for me. We look to improve things as far as the temps go, and with an upcoming weekend in Boston, I shall refrain from complaining. Onto the last week, for those of you fortunate to miss everything…

I did my best to channel spring and wrangle some flowers into bloom, to no avail. Instead, I posted some of my gardening pieces: A Gardener Returns to His Roots, The Growth of a Garden, Plants of Glory, The Battle of a Gardener, Midnight in the Garden, and Gardener’s Soliloquy.

If I had an Instagram account, it would look largely like this, which instantly negates the need for an Instagram account. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Things got a little fussy as a pal tried to inject some new life into the Albany Food Scene.

Ryan Lochte, Eric Alán, Stephen Whipple, Tyler Lough, Lance Bass, and Josh Dallas took their clothes off for the Hunk of the Day feature, while Bradley Cooper and George Clooney did nothing for me.

The Madonna Timeline returned with one of her strongest cuts from last year’s ‘MDNA’ album, ‘Love Spent‘. Ms. Ciccone also celebrated the anniversary of the opening of the Blonde Ambition Tour, even if I couldn’t bring myself to watch it at the time.

My musical memory was also being jogged by a few 80’s hits, notably this ditty from the movie ‘Mannequin‘, and the song that almost kept Madonna’s ‘Crazy For You’ from the top spot, ‘We Are the World‘.

A few people, Andy included, had been asking me when I was going to shave my winter beard. I don’t like being nudged into doing things I will eventually do on my own. With that in mind, I gave in and shaved the beard. But I kept the ‘stache. Cause that’s the kind of bitch I am.

There’s a bit of Freddie Mercury to it, a bit of 70’s porn, and a whole lot of nasty bad taste. Which is why I love it. And why I am keeping it for a while.

And so we close, and open, another week. Without much change, without much excitement. We’ve been here before, and we’ll likely be here again. Is there the beauty of reassurance in that, and is there beauty in such reassurance? I do not know. I only know what I do, and lately it is the same. The routine. There is something deadening about that. Here is a prayer that we will survive together. Onto the past…

It was a week that saw the silliness and assault of April Fool’s Day, where Ben Cohen’s full-frontal naked shot was just as likely as mine.

Our virgin trip to Boston Chops more than met our expectations, actually surpassing them, and for those who don’t eat meat… you’re missing out.

Aside from a flurry of FaceBook photos from the way-back-when, I also waxed nostalgic for my very first date with a guy. And I was only 14 years old.

A few years later, but more than a few from today, another happy memory was born.

Most of the Hunks of the Day flew under the radar, but are worth a second look, like James Ellington, Matt Targett, and Chris Davis, but the bulge of Jon Hamm was quite noticeable.

And Bon Jovi continued to supply a jumping off point for more memories of my youth.

The man sits at the bar, smoking. He orders an Old-fashioned. Canadian Club. A beautiful woman approaches and requests a light. “Are you alone?” she asks. He looks up at her, and the shot fades out. Thus ended Season Five of ‘Mad Men’ last year. Tomorrow it returns, and just in time; my mind was almost made into mush by all the Real Housewives programming I’ve had in the interim.

‘Mad Men’ is the best show on television right now. (And I can honestly say that as it’s the only show I’m watching right now.) Apart from its sleek 60’s style and period-piece authenticity, the characters are complex and real enough to resonate today, and never more-so than in the protagonist. Don Draper may be surrounded by beautiful women, powerful men, and all the creative freedom in the world, but he remains almost-heartbreakingly alone. A cigarette and an Old-fashioned will only ever hide that, no more. Too few have the strength and audacity to answer the ‘Are you alone?’ question affirmatively. Those of us who do, well… we need all the smoke we can muster.