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I’m so glad it’s Friday. This has been a very busy week at work, and I need some time away from the office. I’m not sure what, if anything, I’ll do this weekend besides get some much-needed rest. The only two things I know for sure are that I’ll watch some college football tomorrow and try out a few new recipes over the weekend.
TGIF! Have a great weekend, everyone!
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Today was one of those rare mornings when I actually wanted to get out of bed. Well, not the first time I woke up, when Isabella decided she needed to be fed, but the second time. I had been having a wonderful dream.
The dream unfolded as a series of brief scenes showing the progression of a new relationship. He was handsome and about my age, and it began with a hookup arranged through one of the apps. Later, we saw each other online again and decided to meet up a second time. Eventually, we exchanged numbers and became regular fuck buddies. There was no longer any need to search the apps; all it took was a horny text.
Each time we got together, though, we talked a little more and began genuinely getting to know one another. One evening, I was cooking when he texted. After we finished with the usual reason for his visit, I invited him to stay for dinner. Then he invited me to his place for dinner. That led to a few “Netflix and chill” evenings that involved more Netflix—and more conversation—than our earlier encounters had.
Eventually, I had an event to attend and was allowed to bring a plus-one, so I asked whether he wanted to come with me. After that, we began seeing each other outside our apartments. We went on actual dates. We even took a trip together.
The dream was made up of all these small moments in the building of a relationship. It was almost as though I were watching everything from above. Each scene lasted only briefly, yet somehow I understood the larger story connecting them.
After watching us go on a few dates, I woke up before the dream could progress any further. Sadly, it was only a dream.
Of course, there are couples who met on Grindr and eventually built lasting relationships. Still, if you’ve ever used Grindr, you know that it tends to be more of a “come and go” situation—although “come” might be spelled a little differently. That was fine when I was younger, but these days, it would be nice to find something more: someone to talk to, cook with, travel with, and share all those little moments that gradually turn a hookup into a relationship.
But, as I said, it was only a dream.
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Earworms are strange things. Sometimes, something you hear sets one off. Other times, you wake up with a song already playing in your head, and it simply refuses to go away. Sometimes, though, it takes me a little while to recognize the song.
That happened this morning. Almost as soon as Isabella woke me, the words “Wake me up when…” began running through my mind. At first, I couldn’t remember what came next. When exactly did the singer want to be awakened?
Then it finally hit me: “Wake me up when September ends.”
I paused and wondered, Are those really the lyrics? A quick Google search confirmed that they are not only the lyrics but also the title of Green Day’s 2005 song “Wake Me Up When September Ends.” The song begins:
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
The song itself is quite sad, but its appearance in my head this morning struck me as funny. I think my earworm was simply trying to tell me that I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. Unfortunately, Isabella is not a patient critter, and she had no intention of letting me sleep until the end of September.
So, I got up and fed her. She woke me long before September ended—we aren’t even halfway through the month.
Note: An earworm is a song or tune that becomes stuck in your head and repeats itself involuntarily.
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Today is one of those days when I wish I could stay in bed all day. I went to bed early last night because I had a migraine that was steadily getting worse. I still have a dull headache this morning, along with the foggy-headed feeling neurologists call the postdrome phase—sometimes referred to as a “migraine hangover.”
If Isabella hadn’t demanded breakfast and nature hadn’t called, I would probably still be in bed instead of writing this. Unless the headache and fogginess get worse, though, I’ll go to work today. It usually improves once I’ve been awake and moving for a while. I still have plenty to do at work, so staying busy should help push the headache to the back of my mind—and hopefully make the day pass a little faster.
Anyway, have a great day, everyone!
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| Giorgio Ramondetta views Jan van de Cappelle’s Shipping in a Calm at Flushing with a States General Yacht Firing a Salute (1649) at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles. |
It’s Wednesday, and the week is almost half over. I’ve spent only one day in the office so far, but it was a very busy one. Today will likely be no different. In fact, I doubt there will be a single day this week when I find myself wondering what to do. Emails, meetings, training sessions, and preparations for upcoming classes are more than enough to fill my days.
Don’t think I’m complaining. I love being busy with these kinds of tasks. They make the day pass much faster. I often become so absorbed in what I’m doing that when I finally look at the clock, I’m surprised by how much time has passed. If my days were filled with activities I dreaded, it would be altogether different. Instead, much of what I’m doing this week—and, I hope, throughout the semester—is the part of my job I enjoy most.
Things are not perfect at work, but I genuinely love the work I do.
Part of my job involves welcoming our guests. Sometimes it is a special dignitary visiting campus who wants a tour of the museum. Other times it is a scholar who has come to speak as part of our lecture series, and I have the opportunity to entertain them, show them some of Vermont, and take them out to dinner. It is a role for which I am particularly well suited. Being from the South and growing up in an environment where good manners and hospitality were expected prepared me well for this aspect of my job. I have a reputation within the university for being able to welcome and entertain dignitaries, while our museum has earned a wider reputation among some prestigious cultural institutions for the hospitality we provide our guests. I take a great deal of pride in that.
Then there is the academic side of my job. I get to teach history through artifacts. In some classes, I teach students how to analyze and interpret objects. Sometimes, I tell the history of particular artifacts, while other sessions involve tours of the museum or its collections. Each class is different, and each gives me another opportunity to help students understand that objects are more than simply things displayed behind glass. They can reveal stories about the people who made, owned, used, exchanged, or preserved them.
I enjoy working with our students because, for the most part, they are well behaved, polite, and willing to engage. Best of all, I get to teach and prepare lessons without having to grade papers and exams, which was always the bane of my existence when I taught in a more traditional setting. I receive the parts of teaching that I love without being burdened by the part I dreaded most.
Of course, there are difficult personalities to contend with from time to time. I’m not paid enough, and there are certainly mornings when I would rather remain at home with Isabella. No job—and no workplace—is perfect. Still, when I consider the work itself, I know how fortunate I am.
After all, how many people can genuinely say, “I love the work I do”?
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It’s Labor Day, which means a holiday from work—and you really shouldn’t have to work on a holiday that celebrates workers.
Isabella got me up at an ungodly hour to feed her, but afterward, I went back to bed. I could sleep in today, so that’s exactly what I did. As I write this, I’m obviously awake, but I still haven’t gotten out of bed. I haven’t decided whether to take care of the hard dilemma at hand, go back to sleep, or get up and make coffee. Whatever I choose, it’s nice knowing the choice is entirely mine.
Have a great Labor Day, everyone!
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TGIF! Four o’clock this afternoon cannot come fast enough.
I have a few things to work on today, but thankfully, nothing is a major priority. It should be a pretty low-key day—just a matter of getting through the next several hours until the long weekend officially begins.
After work, I have a grocery order to pick up, and then I can come home and settle in for a three-day weekend with Isabella. She and I need some quality time together, and I desperately need some time to relax. Isabella probably doesn’t need any additional rest, considering she already sleeps about eighteen hours a day, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to supervise mine—and let me know when she thinks I’ve slept long enough.
Of course, college football starts this weekend, so my major Saturday activity will be watching my favorite teams play their first games of the season. Other than that, I’m looking forward to some quiet time, perhaps with a good book, a little cooking, or both. Nothing too exciting—just a peaceful weekend at home with my favorite little black cat. Honestly, that sounds pretty wonderful to me.
I hope everyone has a great weekend, whether you’re in the United States enjoying the three-day Labor Day weekend or spending an ordinary weekend somewhere else. Whatever your plans may be, I hope you find some time to relax and enjoy yourself.
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It’s Thursday, and honestly, I don’t have much to say this morning. It’s been a pretty low-key week, even with classes starting back and the campus coming to life again. Nothing particularly exciting has happened, which I suppose isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I am definitely ready for the upcoming three-day weekend, though I have absolutely nothing exciting planned. For that matter, I’m not even sure I’ll manage anything moderately entertaining. I’ll probably spend most of it at home with Isabella, reading, relaxing, and enjoying not having to go anywhere. There are certainly worse ways to spend a long weekend.
For now, though, I just have to get through Thursday and Friday. My coffee is helping with Thursday. We’ll worry about Friday when it gets here.
Have a great Thursday, everyone. The long weekend is almost here!
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It’s Wednesday. Hump Day. The week is almost half over, and so far, this week has been pretty boring. Not that I’m complaining too much. Sometimes boring is better than the alternative.
The students are back, though, and that means one thing that makes the beginning of the fall semester a little more enjoyable: eye candy.
I still appreciate the fact that the new gym is now on the edge of campus closest to the museum. That means there is a fairly steady stream of guys passing by on their way to and from working out. Earlier this week, however, I saw something that I have probably only seen four or five times since I moved to Vermont nearly eleven years ago: shirtless guys on campus.
That probably sounds strange to anyone who has spent much time around a university in the South. On a warm, sunny day, shirtless college guys are practically part of the scenery. Walk across almost any Southern university quad and you’re likely to see guys tossing a Frisbee, playing an impromptu shirts-and-skins game of football, lounging around in the sun, or going for a run without a shirt. When I lived in the South, I never thought twice about it because it was such a common sight.
It happens at universities up here, too, although certainly not with the same frequency. There’s a decent chance that if you drive by the University of Vermont campus in Burlington on a warm afternoon, you’ll spot a couple of frat guys jogging along without shirts. On my campus, however, a shirtless guy is practically an anomaly.
I’m not even sure cadets are allowed to run around campus shirtless. There are rules governing so many aspects of their appearance that it wouldn’t surprise me if there were one about that as well. You would think the civilian students would make up for it, but apparently they didn’t get the memo.
So, when it does happen, it’s still a welcome sight.
Of course, on a campus like mine, where physical fitness is basically a requirement for the majority of the student body, the guys have plenty of other ways to show off what all those hours in the gym have accomplished. Tight T-shirts do a pretty good job of displaying shoulders, chests, and arms, while thin athletic shorts and sweatpants have been known to highlight certain other assets. I may be getting older, but I’m certainly not blind.
Summer would seem like the obvious season for more shirtless scenery, but unfortunately, we don’t have a large summer student population. Only a handful of programs hold classes during the summer, so there simply aren’t that many students around when Vermont finally gets warm enough for shirts to become optional.
And this is Vermont, after all. During the regular academic year—from late August through May—the window for genuinely warm weather is rather small. We might get a few weeks at the beginning of the fall semester and another few toward the end of spring before everyone disappears for summer. Before long, those athletic shorts will give way to sweatpants, then jackets, then heavy coats as winter settles in for what always seems like six months.
So, I suppose I should appreciate these warm September days while they last.
Besides, there’s still plenty of eye candy around campus, with or without shirts
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Last night was a strange night. I’d had a migraine for most of the afternoon and evening, and it was bad enough that I took a late-afternoon nap. The nap didn’t help the migraine, but eventually it eased enough that I could read. I got really into my book and finally had to make myself put it down around 10:30 and turn out the lights. Unfortunately, turning out the lights did not mean falling asleep. So, I resorted to a time-honored tradition that many guys have used to help themselves fall asleep. It worked, and sometime after 11, I finally drifted off to sleep.
Isabella had been trying to get me to go to bed since around 9 pm. Apparently, she knew perfectly well that regardless of how late I stayed up, she wasn’t changing her schedule. Sure enough, at 4 am, she woke me up to feed her.
She also woke me from a rather odd dream. I didn’t appear to be in the dream at all, and all I’ll say about the subject matter is that it had the plot of some fairly kinky porn. I seemed to be watching everything from above, almost as if I were watching a movie rather than participating in the dream. After Isabella roused me and I fed her, I went back to bed.
That’s when something even more unusual happened: I went back to dreaming, and the new dream seemed to continue the previous one. Somewhere along the way, though, the kinky porn plot began turning into a love story that appeared to be heading toward a throuple. Eventually, that dream ended and another began. This time I was actually in the dream, but it was much more romantic than erotic.
I’ve mentioned before that remembering dreams has never happened very often for me. You might remember Saturday’s “Moment of Zen: Sweet Dreams,” and I’m guessing some of you figured out that it was inspired by waking from an erotic dream. Strangely enough, I wasn’t in that dream either. Again, it was more like watching a movie. Judging by the state of certain parts of my anatomy when I woke up, however, apparently I’d found the movie pretty sexy.
I didn’t remember that dream nearly as clearly as I remember this morning’s dreams. Then, another morning last week, I woke remembering a dream that wasn’t erotic at all but much more mundane. So, for whatever reason, I seem to be going through a period of unusually vivid and memorable dreams. I’m not sure why. If I’d started a new medication, I might blame that, but nothing has really changed.
Sadly, all those dreams did nothing for my migraine. I still have it this morning, but I’m going to work. If I called out sick today, it would mean I’d missed three of the last four Mondays because of a migraine. They’ve all been legitimate migraines, but I also know how people can gossip when someone seems to miss work on a regular schedule. I don’t want it to start looking like I’ve developed a convenient case of the Mondays.
If the migraine gets worse—or simply doesn’t get any better as the day goes on—I may come back home. For now, though, I’m going to give Monday a try.
Needless to say, between too little sleep, bizarre dreams, and a lingering migraine, I’m looking forward to this Monday even less than usual.
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It’s Friday, and I’m hanging in there for just one more day. I just have to make it through today, and then the weekend can finally begin.
It’s been one of those weeks where I’m more than ready for a couple of days to relax, recharge, and not think too much about work. Thankfully, the finish line is in sight.
So, I’m hanging on and counting down the hours. TGIF! I hope everyone has a great Friday and an even better weekend!
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It’s Friday, but it doesn’t feel like Friday. Sadly, it feels like Saturday. I say “sadly” because that means I still have to work, even though my brain seems convinced it’s already the weekend.
Last night didn’t feel like Thursday night either. In fact, I almost forgot to watch the new episode of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, which is released every Thursday. Apparently, my internal calendar is a little out of sync this week.
At least Isabella let me sleep until a few minutes after 5 a.m. She usually isn’t that patient when it’s a salmon day. Maybe the days getting shorter are messing with her internal clock, too. Whatever the reason, I got to sleep later than usual, and I’m certainly not complaining.
Now I just have to convince myself that today really is a workday.
Have a great Friday, everyone, and enjoy the weekend ahead!
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It’s Thursday, and there really isn’t much to say this morning. I’m drinking my coffee and contemplating the day ahead—which reminds me, I need to stop and get more coffee on the way home. Running out of coffee is not a situation I want to find myself in tomorrow morning.
The only thing on my agenda today is an appointment with my podiatrist this afternoon, so I’m only working half a day. I certainly won’t complain about a short workday, especially this close to the weekend.
Otherwise, it should be a fairly quiet Thursday. Sometimes, there just isn’t much going on, and that’s perfectly fine.
Have a great day, everyone! The weekend is almost here.
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I came across the picture above while looking for something to use for a Pic of the Day, and my first thought was, Well, if I have a type, he certainly fits it.
Over the years, though, I’ve realized that my “type” isn’t nearly as specific as I once thought it was. My tastes have changed, broadened, and sometimes surprised me. I can find all sorts of men attractive, including plenty who look nothing like the men I would have described as my ideal when I was younger. More importantly, I’ve learned that what’s inside a man can make him far more attractive to me than what’s on the outside.
A man can be absolutely gorgeous and check every box on my imaginary list, but if he’s arrogant, cruel, selfish, or simply unpleasant to be around, that physical attraction can disappear remarkably fast. On the other hand, I’ve known men who might not have immediately caught my eye across a crowded room, but the more I got to know them, the more attractive they became. Intelligence, kindness, humor, compassion, confidence without arrogance, and a genuine interest in other people can transform the way I see someone.
Looks matter, of course. I’m not going to pretend they don’t. Physical attraction is often what first catches our attention, especially when all we have to go on is a photograph or a handsome stranger walking past us. But there’s a difference between what initially attracts us to someone and what makes us continue to find that person attractive.
All of that being said, apparently some things never change.
If you asked me to describe the physical “type” I’ve consistently found attractive throughout my life, the guy in this picture comes pretty darn close. Tall and lithe rather than overly muscular, with a lean, naturally athletic body and just a smattering of chest hair. Give him blond hair and blue eyes, and he would pretty much check every box.
I’ve wondered why blond hair and blue eyes have always had such an effect on me. I suspect there are at least two reasons. The first is that my earliest crush was a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, that first experience of being intensely attracted to another guy established a template that has stuck with me ever since.
The other possibility is much simpler: it’s the opposite of me. I have brown eyes, and I had brown hair before most of what I have left decided gray was a better option. Maybe there has always been something particularly appealing about those lighter features because they’re so different from my own.
Of course, plenty of men I’ve been attracted to over the years haven’t had blond hair or blue eyes. Some haven’t been tall. Some haven’t been particularly lithe. Some have been hairy, some smooth, some muscular, some skinny, and some somewhere in between. Attraction has a funny way of ignoring the rules we make for it.
And the older I get, the more I realize that the men who stay attractive in my mind aren’t necessarily the ones who came closest to some physical ideal. They’re the ones whose personalities drew me in. Someone can become more handsome the longer you know him just as easily as someone beautiful can become decidedly less so once he opens his mouth.
Maybe that’s the difference between having a “type” and actually being attracted to someone. A type is an ideal we carry around in our heads. Attraction is much messier, more unpredictable, and ultimately more interesting.
Still, if a tall, lithe, blond-haired, blue-eyed man with a little chest hair happens to walk by, I’m probably going to notice.
I’m only human.
What about you? Do you have a “type”? And if you do, have the people you’ve actually fallen for fit that type—or have they completely surprised you?
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Sometimes a picture can strike inspiration when I’m trying to figure out what to write about. The picture above caught my attention: a young man, nude, relaxing in the grass with a good book. There are certainly worse ways to spend a summer afternoon.
Usually, when I post a picture of a guy reading, I look up the book first, just to make sure it isn’t something I’d come to regret posting. The book he’s reading is Le Prince Pédant II. I don’t speak French, so I had no idea what the title meant. It turns out to be The Pedant Prince II by Taram Boyle, the second and final volume of Le Prince Pédant.
According to the book’s description:
Tristan fait face à un tribunal éclésiastique. Son crime? Une relation contre-nature avec un homme. Tristan n’est pas dupe. Il sait bien que l’Église vise en réalité le Prince Hamelin de Hardourie. Les témoignages s’enchaînent et sont accablants. Tristan réalise qu’il ne pourra pas échapper au bûcher déjà dressé devant l’église. Seul un miracle pourra le sauver…
In English:
Tristan faces an ecclesiastical court. His crime? An unnatural relationship with a man. Tristan is not fooled. He is well aware that the Church is actually targeting Prince Hamelin of Hardourie. The testimonies follow one another and are overwhelming. Tristan realizes that he will not be able to escape the stake already erected in front of the church. Only a miracle can save him…
It sounds like it could be an interesting book, if only there were an English translation.
Currently, I’m reading the Chester Falls series by Ana Ashley. It’s not exactly highbrow literature, but these days I mostly read what I often jokingly call “trashy gay romance.” It’s not really trashy; I simply read for enjoyment, and sometimes I need a bit of fluff. There’s nothing wrong with a book whose main purpose is to entertain you.
Some of my favorite authors of M/M romance are May Archer, Lucy Lennox, and J.E. Birk. Their books are fun, easy reads, and sometimes that’s exactly what I want.
I also enjoy M/M romance mixed with mystery, especially books by Josh Lanyon. I particularly enjoyed Lanyon’s The Art of Murder series and the Secrets and Scrabble series. They’re quite different from one another: The Art of Murder leans more toward hard-boiled crime and suspense, while Secrets and Scrabble is firmly in cozy-mystery territory. Both give me the romance I enjoy along with a mystery to solve.
The first book I ever read by Josh Lanyon was The Darkling Thrush, and when I finished it, I had absolutely no intention of reading anything else by her. Quite frankly, I thought the book was awful. Susan eventually convinced me to give Lanyon another chance, and I’m very glad she did. I’ve since come to love many of her books and series. Trust me, The Darkling Thrush is an anomaly among Lanyon’s books, and I’m glad Susan talked me into giving her work a second chance.
There are several books by different authors that rank among my favorites, but Lanyon’s Winter Kill is easily in my top three. I rarely read a book more than once, but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve reread Winter Kill. It has everything I enjoy—a romance, a mystery, and more than a little thriller thrown into the mix—and I absolutely love the two main characters. If you can have a crush on fictional characters, those two men would certainly qualify for me. Of all Lanyon’s books, Winter Kill is the one I’d most love to see made into a movie. I already have the whole thing pictured in my head; Hollywood just needs to get around to making it.
For much of my life, I read because I had to—for school, for teaching, for research, or because there was something I needed to learn. These days, I’m perfectly happy to read simply because a book is fun. Maybe that means a mystery, maybe a romance, or maybe some unapologetic gay fluff. A book doesn’t have to be profound to be worth the time spent reading it.
Of course, if I could spend the afternoon stretched out naked in the grass with a good book like the young man in the picture, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to read either.
So, what are you currently reading? And are you reading it because you have to—or simply because you want to?
