In another's eyes starin' back at me

I was working out over my lunch break and ran into my neighbor's kid who is home from college for the summer. He asked me to spot him on bench press. Oh, before we go further, this is not gonna end with any hot locker room action, so some of you (Bodhi) may want to move on. Where was I? So we're talking after and he asks me if I always work out during lunch. I say, "Yeah, at least four days a week." He comes back with, "Man, you really have life by the ass. A nice house, nice car, you set your own hours, you don't answer to anyone." I laugh. He goes on, "You vacation a lot, you buy what you want." I laugh again. It's funny to see your life through someone else's eyes. I do have all the things I thought I wanted when I was his age. It's funny how what you want/think you need changes over time. I wonder. If I would finally get the man to share my life with, the one I'm always pining for, the gentleman on the street/whore in the bedroom, would I then whine about my loss of independence? Will the carrot always be just out of reach? Or will I reach the point that I think, no FEEL, that yeah, this is IT? I wonder.

ADDED: OK, I know this joint has been a lil' heavy on the manscaping chatter lately, but one more and then I'll stop. For a while. This is gym-related, though, so I'm tacking it onto this post. Just tell me something. If your chest is a vast expanse of barren, but for about five long hair tentacles around each nipple, wouldn't that just drive you batshit crazy until you shaved them off? Are we from the same species? I just can't imagine ignoring that even under wraps, much less shamelessly flaunting the areolar eyelashes in the locker room.

Through every forest, above the trees

I had a peak experience, y'all. No, not that kind of peak experience. This was in public. OK, yeah, that's not so much of an excluding factor. Geesh. This was something beyond. It was a few weeks ago already. I thought I was hesitant to share it because it was personal; something singular and nearly mystical. But mostly I hesitated because it makes me sound like a nutbag. So it was Sicily, 1942. No, no, it was Vancouver 2006. My vacation, remember? Well, there was one particular day, one particular moment actually, that stands out from that trip. It was me and Michael and his son, Jason, on the slopes that day. These are great guys, y'all. So cool and so chill. Do people still say "chill"? Did they ever? Anyway, it fits. Such a relaxing vibe. The day was gorgeous. The ski conditions were phenomenal. There was a nearly cloudless blue sky, but it had snowed the whole night before. This wasn't typical spring snow either. It was the fluffiest powder you can imagine. Your skis whispered through it. This is what's called a Bluebird Day in skiing parlance. Mikey, Jason and I made our way to the top of Whistler Mountain, joking and laughing on the chair lift. You could feel the sun kissing your face. At the top, the boys decided to board through the terrain park. I was on skis and decided to drop down into a pristine bowl nearby. Just as I stood poised on the edge, some Sufjan Stevens, all symphonic and strings-laden, came swelling through my buds. I jumped and started making turns through the freshies. Effortless. Beautiful. No worries. No judgements. I'm claiming it as a peak experience. I don't think Maslow would argue. See for yourself. Bliss. There have only been a few of those moments in my life. You know the feeling?

See. Nutbag.

Sometimes a jimi thing slides my way

If you're at all like me, you'll enjoy this animated video [sound/video] promoting AIDS awareness/prevention. It's fun and funny, toying with the gay stereotypes. That shit is evergreen, isn't it? I'm always safe, especially if it means I'll get my very own hot, stubbly doctor with the salt and pepper action goin' on.

link via towleroad

Come to my world and witness the way things have changed

Let's start off the week by trying something new, shall we? I was a busy boy over the weekend. There was shopping and running and landscaping and manscaping. Photos were taken. Care to check out the labors of this fruit? I'm gonna parcel them out as time permits for the slow reveal effect. It'll be like LOST only without the suspense, drama or beautiful people. This first one is the pot I planted for my front porch. It doesn't look like much now, but when it's in full bloom, it'll be gaw-jus. If I had a nickel for every time I've said that. For those of you with the inclination, there's some English ivy in there, double blooming impatiens, red dragon coleus and white scaevola. OK, since I'm getting a late start, here's another. Spring is almost come and gone, but I needed a light jacket and they were practically giving this one away at the Levi's store. Seriously, the salestwink practically threatened me to take it or else. I like the Carharrt vibe it's got goin' on. Mmmmm, I could go on and on about Carharrt....unnnh. Oh, and don't even start with me on the cheesiness of a headless shot. I'm not in the mood for your shit. So, we've covered shopping and landscaping. What else? Oh yeah, running. I've decided to run a half-marathon next month with a friend of mine up in Ann Arbor. In light of that, I ran a ten-miler yesterday morning. It was a glorious, cloudless spring day. A little nip in the air. With the aid of one of Max's Boot Camp mixes in my earbuds, ten miles just slid by. OK, how about more landscaping? This hanging basket, one of a set of twins, was a purchase, not a plant job. Of course, there was a little more shopping. I bought another pillow for my bed. I'm not a fan of mounds of pillows, but a little more Nate goes a long way and the black pillow in the center sports his signature key motif, after all. A subtle change but it makes me tingle in all the right places. You? So I guess that just about covers it.

Good morning Starshine

So, I'll be manscaping today. Right now I'm leaning toward trimming up the chest hair a bit, and then just leaving a treasure trail down to my, well, treasure. You know, just really clear the decks for the journey down. Thoughts? Suggestions? The Cubans, of course, will be bald because it's almost summer and do I look like a Philistine to you? This [flash video] is not my weapon of choice, but kudos to Philips for at least acknowledging what a certain segment of their consumer public, notorious for its supposed disposable income, will do with their product.

link via towleroad

ADDED: In one of my annual rites of spring, and as kind of a welcoming totem to Senor Summer, I've just hung my windchime out in the fresh air. It's clanking in the breeze right now as I type. Lovely.

There's a man who leads a life of danger

Avert your eyes all ye verily youth-obsessed, because I'm back to mature with today's MEAT. No, not Victor Mature. He'd be like 90...if he was still alive. Great eyebrows, though. No, he's another Victor who has my attention this week. Victor Garber.I'm loving him as much as ever with the recent return of the final few episodes of Alias. I know I tapped his Alias cohort just last week, but I've been loving this show like I haven't since the first season. Victor's character on the show, Jack Bristow, is the baddest of badasses. Seriously, you do NOT fuck with him. He's got a soft spot for his daughter, but otherwise, bitch is stone cold. Love. Victor himself, as you'll learn if you google image him, is a big flamer. You don't get a glimpse of his gay face when he's playing Jack Bristow, but it's all too evident in his candids. Just another reason to make him this Friday's MEAT.

Call me the breeze, I keep blowin' down the road

You know her. You love her. Now she's coming to my state. Not only that, she's gonna blog about it! Whee!

Do you really want to make me cry?

There is a line that's been crossed. That line is little known, but it exists in the region between home decor and personal affront. I have to drive by this horrifying tableau every day on my way home from work. I feel assaulted. Violated. Do you think it has other outfits? ::shiver::  

Y'all gon' make me lose my mind

I saw this meme over at A Child Of Atom and thought I had to try it. I dusted off my trusty iPod and started. Some of it is kinda spooky. Is my iPod actually a oUji? Seriously, what follows is what came out. OK, I'll confess that I skipped over any Christmas songs that came up. Is that so wrong? I'm not usually a meme whore, but some of these were post-worthy. If nothing else, feel free to lambaste my taste in music.

The rules are that you set your preferred music player to SHUFFLE and use the songs that come up to answer the following questions. No cheating! (OK, I skipped over the odd Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow! Fucking sue me)

1. How does the world see you? I Just Want To Celebrate by Rare Earth
I just want to celebrate another way of living. Begin the spooky. OK, that may be a stretch. So no surprise that I chill/thrill to horoscopes as well.
2. Will I have a happy life? Jackie Wilson Said (I’m In Heaven When You Smile) by Van Morrison
This is actually one of my "happy songs". I love the lyrics, especially: And when you walk/across the room/you make my heart go/boom-boom-boom/let it all hang out.
3. What do my friends think of me? Natural Bridge Blues by The Waterboys
4. Do people secretly lust after me? Celebration by Kanye West
Grab a drink, grab a glass/after that I'll grab your ass.
5. How can I make myself happy? Jimi Thing by Dave Matthews Band
Der.
6. What should I do with my life? Imitation of Life by REM
Since when do memes mock?
7. Will I ever have children? Silver Lining by David Gray
Talk amongst yourselves. ::fans bosom::
8. What is some good advice for me? Don’t Take Your Guns To Town by Johnny Cash
Take that, Ted Nugent. The oUji iPod sees and knows all.
9. How will I be remembered? Mothers Talk by Tears For Fears
I'm fine with that. They invariably love me.
10. What’s my signature dance song? Days Go By by Dirty Vegas
Fairly innocuous except it's paired with the next one.
11. What’s my current theme song? Slip Slidin’ Away by Paul Simon
::shiver:: Spooky again.
12. What do others think my current theme song is? Experiment by Kevin Kline (Delovely Soundtrack)
Cole Porter's double entendre laced paean to sexual freedom. Who? Me?
13. What shall they play at my funeral? The Emperor’s New Clothes by Elton John
And our halos were rusty, but we wore them proudly.
14. What type of men do I like? Put Him In The Hall of Fame by Jill Sobule
Thanks, Freakgirl.
15. How’s my love life? Party (Up In Here) by DMX
Well, not every time. I'm actually versatile.

Your biggest surprise? No showtunes.

Anyone for tennis? Wouldn't that be nice?

While we're on the subject of videos, if you are looking for something good, you won't go wrong with either The Family Stone or Match Point. Especially with Match Point, which was easily one of the ten best things I've seen in the last year or so. I blog-raved about it already, but if you're not a Woody Allen fan, don't let that frighten you off. It's not his typical stuff. Jonathan Rhys Meyers (a current IT boy for the gays) is phenomenal in this, as is Scarlett Johansson. And I also posted about The Family Stone already, but I feel the need to reiterate that the trailer was a stinker and the movie is quite good. At turns funny and poignant, I was charmed. I'm a sucka for family holiday fare, though. Doesn't it seem like there's something in it for me if I can convince you to check these out? I just want you to be happy, darling.What am I watching? How sweet of you to ask. Well, besides the aforementioned BBM (first time on video, third time overall), not a lot of movies. I'm finishing Season 2 of QAF, then on to the last season of SFU. None of that tonight though, since it's a FEAST of my favorite tv shows. Alias is on opposite TAR and the second part of an amazing House episode is on opposite Lost. It's TiVos and VCRs a-whirrin' at chez ME tonight. Take that all of you with your fancy real lives!

This space between us, where wingless dreams fall earless

I did it, you guys. I knew I shouldn't, but I did it anyway. Even though I've been feeling a bit tired and swung out since returning from vacation, last night was another stirring episode of the beloved long-running series, Mike Insomniac. Over the years, I've come to realize that my best solution to sleeplessness is to go with the flow. Not fight it. Can't sleep? Don't then. Get up. Do quiet things. Start laundry. Pay bills. Go online to read about the joys, sorrows, tears and laughter of my peeps. But no, last night, when I couldn't sleep, when I had that vague feeling that is a peculiar melange of dread, sadness, fatigue and self-pity, I did the unthinkable. I busted open the shrinkwrap on my Brokeback Mountain DVD. Oh yeah. Just the pick-me-up prescription the doctor ordered. Why do I do these things? 3 a.m. self-flagellation, and not the good kind.

Look at me, what am I supposed to be?

Since reading Maggie's post, I've been thinking about accepting compliments. I received a very complimentary email the other day from one of my vacation buddies. She's the wife of an old friend. Love, love, love her. So fun. We did a nice trail run together one day and had a whole afternoon of girl talk after. I've only known her a few years, but it feels like forever. You know people like that? Almost from the moment you see them, they stand out in TECHNICOLOR from the sepia crowd. So, I'm sharing her email because I'm standing in my truth AND it's a little shout out to one of my favorite blogsphere people, who early on so aptly tagged me as a shameless self-promoter.

Hi You,
I had a nice weekend with you all. It is always so much fun hanging out with you. I wish we lived closer. You are so much fun and a really good friend. I hope you know what an amazing person you are. It is a crime that you haven't been snatched up by a great girl (?!). Or, you could be the smartest one of us all by being single. I know you don't see all of your great qualities like the rest of us do. Smart, funny, gorgeous, a great friend, sophisticated, loyal, hardworking....seriously. This list could go on and on. I will gladly give you more if you want to know...I really think you are a catch... All of the women in the family do. I hope you do, too. Anyway, I can't sleep and was thinking about you so have a great day. I am going to take new pictures of the boy this weekend so when I get something really cute I will send it to you. Stay in touch...N

Isn't she the sweetest thing? Parenthetical added my moi, of course. Change a noun here, a pronoun there, and I can't think of a nicer thing to wake up to. Well, maybe being awakened by a snuggle alarm.

I have no proof, but I think that I'm right

So, I went to see Kathy Griffin on Sunday night. People, she is a scream. You know that already. Given her ubiquity on Bravo, I was wondering if it would be worth it to see her live. So worth it. She hit all the usual suspects (Cruise, Mariah, Whitney, Seacrest, Gaiken), telling tales out of school, but I'm telling you that some of her most enjoyable stuff (for me) was political. She is just a few weeks back from Iraq and lawd have mercy does she have stories from there. That's not even the best shit. The best shit is when she goes OFF on the Bushies. Now understand that this is Dayton, Ohio, kids. Liberal outpost? Nein. Conservative bastion? Ja. I was surprised that the crowd received some of this stuff so well, but any surprise was tempered by the observation that I've never seen so many same sex couples in one place outside of Holz. And grrrrrl, she knows the crowd she's drawing. Caters to them/us. She has a list of things you'll never hear a gay man say, how to tell a regular lie from a gay lie, and she might even call someone a sloppy bottom, and it ain't Morley Safer. Her new special, Strong Black Woman, airs on Bravo next Tuesday. Oh, one local moment happened when Kathy asked if there was a "Maude" in the house and a man's voice shouts out, "Yes!" She was all, "Maude from my message boards?" and he's, "Yes!". "Huh. Maude's a man." She's trying to get the message boards going on her website, but right now it's mostly just fags hooking up.

It's nights like that one that serve to reinforce my notion that I'm in the wrong place. Sometimes I convince myself that "gay" is just a part of me. That I'm fine here. Then I'm in a huge venue with people that are either just like me or accepting of people just like me, and it's overwhelming. I'm not using that word lightly. Knees weak overwhelming. I know this sounds crazy for a man my age to say. We all walk our own path, though. It's been months and months that I've been talking about it, but I have this strong feeling that's like waking up. But long sleep refreshed, not drowsy. Or like I'm really seeing things, eyes wide open. Don't worry, though, I'm not all freakish with a nictitating membrane or anything. Just the huge forehead. My cards are all out on the table. Anyway, there's a peace and an exhiliration to it. Like I said, maybe you don't get that, but the other cool thing is that I'm fine with people not getting it or thinking "What took you so long?" or whatever. I've spent so much of my life worrying about pleasing people and worrying about what people will think. I'm done. Some of you reached that point at 20, some at 40, some never. No other path. No regrets. Ummmmm...thanks for listening.

No burden is he to bear, we'll get there

In this USA Today editorial, a thoughtful, Conservative rabbi overcomes the objections he once held to gays and lesbians in the clergy. Worth a read.

On State Street, that great street

One of the best things about a real live boyfriend (vs. one who always needs to be re-inflated after major weather changes) is Sunday mornings in bed or on the sofa with coffee and the paper and something yummy playing through the speakers and nothing to do but read and snuggle and be quiet or laugh loud or just sniff around. (See how I just joked about a blowup bf and thereby implied that I don't have one without making an explicit denial?) I don't have a boyfriend, so I'm sitting here all solitary with the paper and my coffee (Seattle's Best Organic House Blend...divine, you guys) as Mozart rocks out his Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Quite without intention (well, initially), I've recently amassed a collection of Starbucks city-themed coffee mugs as I've been travelin' thru and to the last six months or so. I know. How pedestrian, right? Oh, fuck you. There's New York and SEE-attle and THE Atl and Vancouver, but this morning, in lieu of a real boyfriend, I'm sipping from the Chicago mug, in a horny homage to this kitten, on whom I'm currently smitten. That's cute, and not at all creepy, right? If you too would like to be my internet boyfriend, I can be had for the price of $9.99 USD or its monetary equivalent. Send me a Starbucks mug from your city, and I'm yours (say maybe Sydney or Austin or Malacca or Adelaide or KL or ...OK, some or all of them prolly don't have their own mugs, so to be fair, you can still have me for the embarrassingly low price of ten Georges/.1 Benjamins). FYI, even as an internet bf, I'm gentlemanly in public, and a dirty whore in private. And, not unlike my internet connection of late, I've been know to go down for days.

I am just a simple man with simple expectations

It's been a while since I've served up a steaming dish of detritus from my brainpan. Mmmmm....can't you almost smell it? PS- It makes for tasty leftovers. I like it straight from the fridge for breakfast, all congealed like yesterday's hot and sour soup. OK, now I'm hungry. Anyway, here goes:

• My mom has just phoned with the cash results after making the final hash marks in the book for her 2006 garage sale. Don't you love her? As every suburban hausfrau should, she revels in this annual feast of nickel and dime commerce, along with her sisters and friends and all my siblings (these latter contributing only sale items and no actual work). If you detect any note of sarcasm or derision in that statement, let me just disavow you of that idea right now. My mom is a near-saint in my book. Love her to pieces. Love everything about her. Thinking of being her for Halloween. So, my portion of the cast-off lucre comes to $389 USD. Does any money scream louder for wanton spending than this? Any suggestions for using my tag sale swag?
• I haven't recommended any books lately, mostly because I haven't been reading much, but over the last few weeks I've consumed a few. Care to hear where I'd put my thumb? On the books, I mean. Two of these were in my stack FOREVER, and the third was offered by a lovely friend while I was on holiday. If you like Christopher Moore, you'll no doubt enjoy The Stupidest Angel (A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror). Good stuff. Vintage Moore. Still, it doesn't stand up to the first thing I read of his/by far the best thing he's done--Lamb. That said, if you're anything like me, you'll laugh and laugh. I'm giving a heartier recommendation to The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst. A Booker Prize winner from a few years back, this one is enjoyable for the very English comedy of manners pieces. It's not so plot driven, but highly enjoyable for precise passages of pithy dialogue that'll make you scorn your everyday boring discourse in your everyday boring Midwestern accent (or lack thereof). It's why I'm peppering my blog entries/comments with "darling!" so much. Oh, and it's very, very gay. I didn't realize it, but I read that prior to acclaim for this book, Hollinghurst was known as a "gay novelist." There is some hot public park man sex within the first 50 pages, and the central character is a gay man who attaches himself to a rich family. So when the matriarch of the rich family to which I've attached myself asked me to give her the book when I finished, I squirmed a little. Was she looking at me differently when we parted or was it my imagination? Finally, she traded me TLoB for the far superior The Child In Time by Ian McEwan. It's only my third favorite McEwan novel, but easily eclipses most of the other things I've read in the last year. This is earlier stuff from my boy Ian and you can definitely see glimpses of what will come to full flower in Atonement (simply, one of the best things I've ever shoved my face into). The Child In Time examines our very experience of time and the expectations that go along with aging from at least four intertwining perspectives. Central to the story is how the life of Stephen Lewis is irrevocably altered following the disappearance of his three year old daughter while on a Saturday morning trip to the grocery. Boy, if you're a character in a McEwan novel and it's a Saturday, best to stay on your toes, yo. OK, have you had enough from Mike's bookstack? I'm now re-reading Wicked (it's been TEN YEARS since the last time) in anticipation of seeing the musical next month. Since I've read that before, I can spread my focus (picture it), so I'm also a few pages into When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro. His Never Let Me Go is on my wishlist, but this one was lying around the familia's vacation home, so I availed myself.
• Whew. I know, that was a marathon session. If it was a chore for you, I'm probably not your man. If it was more like a tantric, bring-you-repeatedly-to-the-brink festival of rumpled sheets and grunting, then call me, won't you? This afternoon I'll be attending a First Holy Communion (dirty?), and then tonight I'm going to see Kathy Griffin, guys! I'm just guessing, but I imagine the boys will be out en masse for that one, eh? LOVE. HER.
  

I am the very model of a modern Major General

Have you ever wondered what it might be like to dress exclusively from the International Male catalog, say for a week or so, in New York? Who hasn't, right? Well, follow along with Andrew Goldman as he lunches at the Four Seasons in a scarlet pimp suit, does a Jewish speed-dating session in a skin-tight, sleeveless, wide mesh top, and attends the launch party for Alan Cumming's fragrance (Cumming) while sporting a "Count Fuckula" ensemble, about which he opines:

I think I'd feel more comfortable wearing a sparkly black cape in public if it didn't fit so poorly.

link via Gus Mattox

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss

I know, I know, AGAIN with the Rent lyrics? I'm crushed right now you guys and I think you've known me long enough to realize I'm not the DRAMA variety of queen. Remember when I wrote about my friendly neighborhood (gay) buddy who grew into a pensive (gay) teen? He died last night. I'm not looking for sympathy. It was many years ago when he followed me around as a cute, precocious gayling. It is very sad, though, to think of all the potential and fabulosity that will go unspent. He was just 16. And here I sit so many times whining about things I want but I'm too scared to go out and get. I don't give a damn if you're tired of it, just please remember there is no day but today. Do something scary today. Do something fabulous today. Me? I'm doing this, scary for some of you, fabulous for me. (And no, I'm not actually in the show).

Added: OK, so maybe I am being a bit maudlin and dramatic, but in my defense, it was just Tuesday that I did the Catholic equivalent of sitting shiva for the mother of my childhood best friend. The Jews, per usual, have it right. And more festive. The Catholics have the organized grief fest. I actually considered not going after a harrowing day at work and still suffering from the time zone lag of vacation. My friend and I had lost touch over the last ten or more years. But I did spend many wonderful summer days at his house, specifically hanging out in his mom's kitchen, just talking and laughing with my buddy and his mom. So I went and the funeral brought all that flooding back. The receiving line loomed as a gauntlet (there were all ten children plus spouses). Little did I know. I offered condolences to the husband and older children fairly unscathed (notice how this is selfishly about how I felt), and then the dam burst. Kids 5-10 are five sisters and then my old buddy. They cried, they clutched, they said how much they missed me (or the "kid" me, I guess) and they all claimed that I was always their mother's favorite. I lost my shit, guys. I think they spent more time comforting me than vice versa. Not sure if all the tears I shed were for her and them or for what was or for who fucking knows. It was worth it for me, though, to know that the little gay boy I had been was appreciated, just like I appreciated my lil' gay neighbor. I seemed to be a great comfort to my friend, too. We reminisced. Rehashed old times. Caught up on our lives. Hugged a lot. He's single, btw. 41. No girlfriends in the last ten years that I'm aware of. He's gonna call me. Funny if that VERY funeral home would be the cause of me getting play TWICE, wouldn't it? AND back to me. Or did we ever leave?

Leave them burning and then you're gone

There's good news and then there's news so delicious that you just have to sit back and let it wash all over you for a few tingly moments. THIS is some of that kind of news. He's getting back with his boys from Take That, he's just recently been honored as the MEAT (doesn't get much more prestigious than that), and now he's taking aim at the gays. Now. Hee.

link via Queerty

So I ask you very confidentially, ain't she sweet?

His recent comedy Kitchen Confidential was short-lived (it was kinda uneven, wasn't it?), but he's evergreen in my heart and he's this week's MEAT. Everyone please give a warm Pipedreams welcome to Mr. Bradley Cooper. He was one of the best things about the best season of Alias (the first).Alias is finally back for its last hurrah and from what I hear, BC is coming back with it. Ahhh, how I was smitten with Will Tippin. And he was smitten with Sydney Bristow. And I was smitten with Sydney, too. While I'm not sure on the specifics of how our little threesome would sandwich, I do know Bradley would be the MEAT.He's almost unrecognizable in this last photo, but with all that leather and the rings, what was I supposed to do?

Also, while on the Alias tip, check out this post from Freakgirl for some hilarity surrounding Alias papa JJ Abrams' new movie.