A little indulgence can't hurt.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

One day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why oh why can't I?

My baby is sick!

I haven't been posting much lately, and this trend may continue, as my Powerbook decided to die yesterday. I'm still working on getting it in to the Apple Store to see a Genius who can make a diagnosis. Keep your nuts crossed that it won't be too expensive.

Emmel.

Well, another IML has come and gone.

Some quick stats: this was my sixth IML. Since "coming out" to leather in 2001 I have only missed the event once. In 2001 I attended after having my first leathersex only two weeks before and I saw my first puppy party. In 2002 the man who would later become my Daddy took me to my first puppy party. In 2003 I was wearing Dad's collar on a full-time basis and at the end of the weekend he asked me to figure out how to move to NYC. In 2004 I was one Summer class away from finishing my college degree and on the verge of moving to NYC. In 2005 I judged the IML contest as a New Yorker.

By 2006 things were very much on the rocks with Dad & Moose and none of us went to IML. I don't even remember anyone bringing up the possibility.

Thus, IML 2007 was a transitional year for me. For the first time I went as a single boy with a full understanding of leathersex, the leather community, and the possibilities around me. For the first time I was obligated to no one but myself.

In some ways it was a quiet year. I did not have sex. I did not play. I flirted and licked some boots in the 16th floor cigar lounge, but that's as far as anything went.

In some ways it was a boisterous year. I reconnected with friends from Kansas City, friends from around the country, and many of the beautiful men in the IML class I judged. I passed out trick cards shamelessly and gregariously introduced myself to anyone who seemed interested or merely came too close to me. I was "on" in every sense of the word. For the first time since learning the meaning of leather community I was free to socialize at my own breakneck pace, unfettered by the need to let someone else take the lead in all things.

In some ways it was a new year. I shared a room with my club brothers Rare and Jink. They're the absolute bee's knees, and that's really all I can say about them without getting mushy, which I did more than enough of in the last post. It was the first IML each of them had attended. Rare found a new appreciation for his own hotness. Jink found new success in his work at the Leatherman and Fort Troff booths. I discovered new friendships with Matt, Christophe, and Max. Densemore is full of new life experiences and a new appreciation for NYC. And there was new leather everywhere, plus lots of other new stuff that I've forgotten due to a new appreciation for Jack & Coke.

And now, more than a week late with my IML blog post, I have new custom-made leather pants which are payment for my work at the Leatherman booth that weekend. They're the low-waist jean cut, in all black, modified with shallow L-pockets in front, inside pockets in back, light grey stitching all around, and a dozen other little changes to make them fit me just right. I love them and my butt looks fantastic in them!

And while it may sound shallow, my friends, if your butt looks good, then all is going well in the world.

Joy, without irony.

I'm in my hotel room at the IML host hotel, having a drink and dancing around to Tracy Bonham. I'm about to go down to the vendor mart and work at the Leatherman booth. Many of my friends are with me this weekend. Many of my friends who aren't with me this weekend nonetheless feel close to my heart.

There are times when a good feeling overcomes me so strongly that I want to cry. I like those times. I want to remember those times more often.

It's joy, without irony.

Chicago!

I've been very bad about posting lately. I'm trying to feel bad about the fact that the situation is not going to improve until next week, but I just can't. I'm on my way to Chicago for International Mr. Leather!

IML is one of my favorite events of the year. It's held every Memorial Day weekend. I first attended in 2001, two weeks after having my first leather sex. I was a ridiculous train wreck of a boy that first year! By 2005 I had been invited to judge the contest, which was one of the more amazing experiences of my life, and something I'll never forget. Things which happened at the intervening IMLs were often milestones in my life and leather career. Last year, after five in a row, I took a year off, and I really missed it. I can't wait to get back this year!

Happy Memorial Day.

Superstar!

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Well, yes, I could have told them I was a star. Everyone knows that, right?

However, right now I'm a very sick star. Haven't been feeling well for days. Fighting off some kind of stomach bug. It's quite debilitating and depressing.

Hopefully I'll be back on my feet in a few days. I still have organ recital reviews to write!

Center City Pipes.

On May 5th, rather than drunkenly celebrating Cinco de Mayo at my local Mexican restaurant, I attended the Organ Recital Marathon at the Kimmel Center in Philadelphia. I was interested in this event for two reasons: Dobson built the new organ at Kimmel and has just won the contract to build the new front organ at the National Cathedral, and hearing four recitalists back to back will afford a unique opportunity to compare style and skill.

First I'll review the Fred J. Cooper Memorial Organ. The instrument has 125 ranks and 6,938 pipes. It was built by Dobson Pipe Organ Builders of Lake City, Iowa. Manuel J. Rosales of Los Angeles consulted with Dobson on the tonal concept. The organ was built in stages: the facade and large 32' pipes were installed when Verizon Hall was completed and the remainder of the organ was installed during the Summers of 2004 and 2005, with tonal finishing taking place (at night!) in the months thereafter. It's Dobson's Opus 76, and it's a good instrument. My overall impression is that it's a very American and very secular pipe organ.

Most pipe organs one will hear are in churches. This organ, however, resides in a modern, acoustically-tuned concert hall. Entering the hall feels like stepping on a taught guitar string which is waiting to be plucked. The room is not reverberant, rather it's designed to move the sound quickly to every seat in the hall with a minimum of interference and distortions, where the tone dies soon after the audience hears it. Verizon Hall is an excellent achievement in acoustics and is no doubt perfect for nearly all the music performed there, but it is not the ideal room for a pipe organ. Doors which can be opened all along the side walls serve to reduce the sound-dispersing surfaces and add more flat, sound-reflecting surfaces, but this measure only serves as a crutch for the organ.

As an example, consider how your voice sounds while singing in the shower. Nearly everyone can sound decent in a live, hard-surfaced room, but singing in a room with wall-to-wall carpeting requires a lot more attention and skill. The same effect applies to pipe organs, most of which benefit from residing in churches that are more reverberant than your bathroom. Because a live acoustic has become associated with great organ tone, many will say that the room in which the instrument resides is at least as critical to the instrument's success as the pipes themselves.

Thus for the first few notes I heard from organ, I was a bit disappointed by the dry nature of the tone. Nearly all the tone heard happens as the organist has the keys depressed. There's no chance for the sound to "bloom" in the room.

After a while, however, I grew accustomed to the difference and began to pick out some of the finer shades of the instrument. I had been warned by a friend who played it prior to the inaugural concert that the various divisions sounded very much the same, just at different volumes. He was very much correct. The primary organ tone had a very wide dynamic range, but it did not vary much as different stops were used. The Great division sounded very much like the Swell, just a bit louder. The various trumpet stops sounded with the same tone at different volumes. While this might initially be viewed as a criticism, I imagine that the "sameness" of the instrument was actually intentional. In a concert hall environment where the organ will mostly be used to support orchestral and choral music, having a very even tone is probably critical. And the tone is very even, indeed. Soft, nearly inaudible sounds transition smoothly as more stops are added, adding dynamic possibilities beyond those afforded by enclosing the pipes. An organist and conductor are going to get exactly what they expect as the volume increases, and I can see where that will make this instrument ideally suited to its purpose.

With that said, an even tone is not really my favorite. I want more complexity to the principle stops. I want the party horns to sound distinct. I want an instrument that can convey a dozen dramatically different tone colors in the course of an hour. I want to be surprised that I'm hearing the same instrument every time a new piece begins. I want the final, grand chord of a big piece to reverberate through the room, taking five or six seconds to fully fade. The Kimmel Center organ sounded very nice, but it never surprised me or bowled me over.

The most unique sounds came, I believe, from the Positive and Solo divisions. Of course it's difficult to tell which divisions are being used based solely on which manual the recitalist is using, but by watching closely I think I got a fairly good idea of what was happening. Every now and again a new sound would emerge from behind the facade, and I'd smile. There were by no means enough unique sounds for a 125-rank instrument, but neither was the organ completely boring.

The Pedal division was also very successful. The lowest notes were bold and dense, and while they also suffered from the dry acoustic, overall they were very effective. There are four (!!) 32' stops, a number I've rarely seen in organ specifications. There is even a 64' stop included called the "Contre Bombarde Ravalement," and while I don't fully understand what that means, the name suggests that the lowest pipes of the rank are 64 feet long! I wonder if perhaps this is achieved by stopping the end of a 32' pipe, resulting in the same tone that would be produced by a pipe twice as long, while sacrificing a bit in terms of volume and depth. However it's achieved, when the Pedal is fully cranked up, I could really feel the music in my chest.

Edit: My organist friend, on whom I am bestowing the pseudonym 'Dashing,' has reviewed my review and learned me a thing or two. The 64' rank, rather than being an entire Pedal rank of that size, is really only three pipes: the A, A-sharp, and B below the lowest C in the 32' Contre Bombarde rank. My first question was: if these notes are below the lowest key on the Pedal compass (pedalboard), how does one play them? It turns out they sound when the A, A-sharp, and B Pedal keys next above the low C are depressed. This lends additional gravitas to pieces (mostly French) which end on a big A or A-minor chord. Because these are the three notes immediately below the 32' C, the pipes progress in size incrementally from 32', and probably only reach a length of 40' or so. The 64' rank does not actually have a 64' pipe, as it never goes down to the next lower C.

Also, the Contre Bombarde is a reed pipe, and some of my beliefs about these pipes were incorrect. Stopping the end of a reed pipe (a "resonator") would not serve to send the tone an octave lower. That only works on flue pipes, and works best for wooden pipes. In a reed pipe, the note is produced by the reed in the boot of the pipe, and the resonator only serves to amplify and lend depth to the sound. Therefore, the resonators of reed pipes need not necessarily be the length of the rank, i.e., a 32' reed pipe may not have a resonator that is 32' long, although that length would be ideal. Considerations such as cost and space might lead an organ builder to use a smaller-sized resonator.

Of course the most common problem with evaluating an instrument is that I generally only get to hear one organist playing at a time. It would be very easy to chalk up my reactions to the Kimmel organ as being influenced more by the recitalist than by the organ itself. However, in a feat of genius, the Organ Recital Marathon included four artists, each filling 45 minutes. In the course of my Saturday afternoon I heard dramatically different styles both of repertoire and organist, so I think I had a fair sampling of the entire instrument.

So to sum it all up: it's a good organ that is (intentionally, I think) a bit bland. I believe it will serve the Kimmel Center well. I have high hopes that Dobson will build a somewhat more interesting instrument for the National Cathedral, and as they will be incorporating the "most beautiful stops" from the old Aeolian-Skinner they will be replacing, I think my hopes will be fulfilled.

In the next few days I'll be reviewing the performance of each of the four recitalists. I'm sure you can't wait!

Out and about.

A very wise friend of mine says, "The secret to living in New York is getting out of New York as often as possible."

This weekend I went to Philadelphia to visit my friend John and to hear the Organ Recital Marathon at the Kimmel Center. It's only $35 round trip on NJ Transit/SEPTA---I'd cost me more to stay in NYC!

Above you'll find Jason, John, me, Alvaro, and Price. John is a very good friend who I've known for years now and who I visit often. Alvaro is his very groovy roommate who is a clarinet player and who went to church with me today. Jason is a friend I met through John a few years back, and Price is a friend of all theirs who lives in Tampa and who I just met this weekend as he was also visiting. We're sitting in Rittenhouse Square and below you'll find some more photos of that very beautiful park on this perfect Spring day.

Later this week I'll write up reviews of the Kimmel Center organ and the recitals, as well as a review of Sunday morning Mass at St. Mark's Church.

Beam me up.

So, here's the thing. I love NYC. I mean like, I love it. Like, totally.

Here's the dealio: last night I received my own personal tour of the great organ at St. Mary's. Above you can see a photo of the organ. While the instrument has been tonally finished in the past ten years or so, the case was never built due to lack of funds, so the pipes stand stark and exposed to the French Gothic church. I love the raw look of it.

We started in the basement, where the huge blower pumps air upstairs to be used in the pipes. It's a pretty huge and impressive piece of equipment and a critical piece of the whole works which is hardly ever seen.

Also in a room downstairs is a huge collection of old and currently-unused pipes and organ pieces. It's amazing! Full ranks that for whatever reason they're not using right now sit on shelves just waiting for their chance to blow again. All the works from the old console are set up--all four keyboards and all the stop draws, so you can see how it originally looked.

The basement itself is incredibly eerie--it's a giant open space filled with old furniture and other detritus, and the whole room is crossed at regular intervals by giant steel beams which give the pillars holding up the church extra strength against cross-winds. I'm told that various horror movies have filmed down there and I believe it.

Soon enough we proceeded on to the grand finale--playing with the beast. We headed up to the organ loft, where the giant console just barely fits in the narrow space. The addition of solid state electronics would probably allow for the console being half its original size, when everything ran on pneumatics. The air is piped up from the basement in conduits disguised to look like pillars, where it fills up various wind chests, which are basically giant bellows compressed with springs or weight. My friend took me through how the console worked, and about half of what he said I already knew or made common sense, and the rest was just Greek. I'm still not sure what the "Unison Off" knob does. And the couplers are still a bit confusing--I understand the concept, but I wasn't seeing the reasoning why any one of them would be on or off at any given time.

My friend the guide played some pieces for me, and he beat himself up for not playing well, not that I could notice. I was so happy to be so close to the magic! I have no idea how he or any organist can coordinate their hands and feet to make music like that. And playing a fugue is just crazy difficult--the artist must keep three or more phrases going at all times, and I don't know about yours, but my mind just doesn't work that way!

Hearing the organ in the loft was much different than being in the church. In the loft the pipes are directly above your head, speaking out into the room, so you get almost no direct sound from them, only the reflection from the walls of the church. Because of this, it seems like the church is actually making the sound, rather than the organ above you. The effect is quite dramatic--it's as if the high altar, rood beam, and stained glass windows are all singing at you in the most beautiful of voices. All the hard surfaces and the long, tall, narrow shape of the church give the room almost perfect acoustics. A loud chord on the organ will reverberate for several seconds; I counted at least five or six. The whole building seems to ring like a bell.

In a word, it's spectacular. I can't believe how lucky I am!

The Internet judged me and found me uncertain.

You are Agnostic

You're not sure if God exists, and you don't care. For you, there's no true way to figure out the divine. You rather focus on what you can control - your own life. And you tend to resent when others "sell" religion to you.

What's Your Religious Philosophy?

Swiped from Word of Mike, thanks!

Frankly, I think I'm more of an agnostic theist. Sure, the concept is inherently contradictory, but then so am I.

I think the ability to admit both doubt and a lack of understanding requires a lot of strength. Having faith can sometimes be the easy way out. Accepting that which cannot be proved also means that at some point one gives up being analytical.

Or so it seems to me tonight. Ultimately I must admit I have nothing but questions.

Fortunately I enjoy omphaloskepsis.

If I knew you were comin'...

Once again I failed to take any photos last night at our monthly bar party, so above is a photo of Spiky at the December party. It was the club's anniversary, and thus the cake. Spiky's looking a bit fey, right? It's the smile. He's new to the whole upturning of his mouth. Plus he usually only shows his teeth when he's about to bite, spike, or otherwise spill your blood. He'll get better at it.

Last night we had a great turnout for the leather-themed party. We raised $565 for the Leather Archives & Museum (located in Chicago, and serving the world). Coincidentally, this week (or was it last?) is National Library Week. Special thanks go out to International Mister Leather, The Leatherman, Greco Gear, Invincible Latex, Boy Butter, and LA&M itself for providing prizes.

Naturally, I have denim burns on my lips and nose today. Balls-to-boots for $10 is definitely the best deal for raffle tickets, especially if I'm the one measuring your inseam! Though I may consider only being thorough with the guys wearing leather next time, that way I can go to town without drying out my delicate complexion!

I know, right? Yes, I'm a big fag.

I smoked another cigar when I had a break from the party and I received good smoking advice from Thor and Badfaggot. I may actually get good at this! I enjoyed it very much, but this morning in church I found my voice to be strained. I hope it was all the talking last night and not the cigar, or it was the cigar, perhaps I can train myself to inhale less smoke.

It's a beautiful Sunday out there, so I'm going out into it! Cheers, queers.

Resistance is futile.

I considered posting something sad or moving, but as is my habit, I am dismissing the negative and approaching a difficult topic with humor. So, now that I have you primed with my 'Puppy on a Bun with Stars and Stripes' ploy, here's the pitch:

HIV/AIDS is a plague. Y'all know it and there's no need to repeat the details here.

The AIDS Walk New York benefits the Gay Men's Health Crisis and other AIDS service organizations. These organizations do good work and they need the money.

Please sponsor me in the AIDS Walk New York.

I don't care how much. $5 is great. $10 is better. $100 is insanity.

I'm walking with the team from my church, St. Mary the Virgin in Times Square.

You have my deepest thanks.

More requests for your assistance will follow.

Have a great weekend!

Smoke it.

On my way home from work this evening I picked up cigars for Rare and me. There's a great little cigar shop around the corner from where I live, which I've often found full of cops and older Latino men, all puffing away. It's nifty.

Rare agreed to teach me how to smoke a cigar. Being Thursday, we were of course headed out to the Eagle for Code. I took to the whole procedure with gusto, and I'm told I did a fairly good job. I don't yet have a good appreciation for what I'm supposed to be tasting when I smoke them, but I think that will come in time.

As I was saying my goodbyes, a handsome gentleman with whom I had been flirting admitted that he could not often come from his home in Massachusetts (Edit: it was actually Rhode Island. I only had two beers, I swear!) to the city on Saturday evenings (when we have the NYboL bar party) because he is a church organist. He was a bit taken aback when I flung my arms around him and began humping his leg with an enthusiasm that belied my professed fatigue. Even more amazing, he may just be a top, as he took this proximity as an excuse to grab my butt. Fortune smiles upon me!

We flirted and made out and exchanged little bits of pipe organ gossip. I sternly admonished that he must email me so that we could continue. I think he just might do it.

So put that in your pipe an smoke it!

P.S. The above photo is the pipe organ in the new Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. The facade, like the crazy stainless steel building which houses it, was also designed by Gehry. The instrument is by Rosales. I've yet to hear it, but I'm very impressed by its radical good looks, and I very much hope it will have the same effect on my ears as it does my eyes.

Pride, distilled and not paraded.

Okay, admittedly, the above photo is not from this evening. It is from LLC X, and it's NYboL posing with some Congressman. It's a pretty cool moment.

Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera this evening, so I don't have a pic of five of the boys attending the NGLTF annual awards and fundraising dinner at the Grand Hyatt. But boy did we attend! Rare, Bonfire, Spiky, Amber Waves, and I turned out our formal leather as if we had some idea what we were doing.

We were completely fabulous, five leatherboys in a room full of suits and power dykes. You should have seen the faces as they arrived at registration and saw all of us in our colors. Naturally we made quick friends with the Imperial Court of New York.

I'm very proud of my boys tonight.

And more than just a little proud that my boys, in the midst of a room full of individuals standing up to give thousands of dollars, led by Amber Waves (a candidate for Cruise Director status if ever I saw one), managed to pull our table together to give another $100. Empress XVIII Gefel Tefish, whom we had charmed at our table, took the mic and announced that the "New York Lords of Leather" had come together to make our gift. We, of course, shouted "boys!" in unison. It was flawless.

The A-list fags had no idea what was hitting them, but I think they enjoyed it.

Somebody pop me.

Green is for new.

My nephew really is the cutest baby of all.

NYC has been drowned in a deluge today which can only bring more green.

Father Daddy said to me after church this morning, "You know, wool dries much faster than jeans." I love that he is now chastising me for coming to church dressed too casually. I say this without irony--I couldn't be more glad to have someone caring what I look like at Mass. However, I'm not yet sure whether I will allow it to work.

Robert McCormick, the organist/choirmaster at church, is one of the finest improvisationists I have ever heard. Both his prelude and postlude were improvised today and they were both very fine.

This weekend I fessed up to Scooter about some recent happenings and that felt nice. He seems very happy and very close to Juicy B, which makes me smile. He should never be without a co-conspirator.

I had a long and long-delayed telephone conversation with my father today. It was satisfying. I forget that I enjoy speaking with him. I spent too much of my life dreading it. At the end I even shared a little of my truth--something I am not accustomed to doing with him. He offered help with my recent financial difficulties and I explained that I would never, ever ask for his help. I think he understands a little of why, but I also think he missed the underlying message. Reiterating to someone who has just said they will never ask that they need only ask really doesn't get anyone anywhere. *le sigh* It was a very nice sentiment for him to express, and a marked departure from the rest of my life, so I am not complaining. I'm glad I finally called him back.

Rare brought over a large bottle of gin as the call was ending. We had a lovely, wandering, drunken conversation. One day I will understand how he and I can think so alike about some things and so differently about others. I have really wonderful friends.

All the world is green, wet, and new, all over again.

Not really, but a bit.

I haven't forgotten that I have a blog. I've just been a bit busy and under the weather and holy...all at the same time.

This year I went to Passover dinner with Bonfire. There I believe I picked up a cold. I took lots of Zicam but it still sapped my energy last week. Then I finally joined my church, and then helped decorate it for the Maundy Thursday/Good Friday vigil, both in the same day. And then finally it was Easter Sunday. Bonfire came to church with me, where Mass was fantastically beautiful. I didn't tell him, but he was baptized a little during the service. Then there was a lovely brunch with the boys. And THEN there was more church...thirty minutes of organ recital and then Evensong with the choir.

See? Told you I'm holy.

Beep beep.

I live on a street which is one of the few routes to get to the Lincoln Tunnel. Ordinarily this is not a problem. Traffic is heavy and noisy, but low rent and good location make up for it.

On sunny weekend days like today, suburbanites flock to the city as I described in yesterday's post. At dusk, they all try to go through the Lincoln Tunnel back home to New Jersey. All at the same time.

As you can see above, this causes some traffic congestion. In response, everyone from New Jersey honks their horn. Continuously. Whether it helps or not. Whether there's any point in it or not. Basically, as soon as they see the light turn green, every New Jersey driver on the block lays into their horn.

One day I will organize a convoy to someplace in suburban New Jersey. I will have 100 vehicles in my convoy. We will drive into their nice, quiet neighborhoods. And we will honk our horns. All at the same time.

I need a tan.

This may or may not be my ass, but either way, I'm white. Very, very white.

Jink and I had a quiet, relaxing afternoon. The temperature was nearly 70 degrees and the sun was shining. We picked up ice cream at Mary's Dairy--the best ice cream on the planet, in the author's humble opinion. The West Village was quiet in the lull before the weekend migration in from Long Island and New Jersey, when straight people by the tens of thousands will take their grandparents to shows and restaurants, vainly attempting to assure themselves that it's "okay" that they've settled down to suburban life. Because, you know, the city is just a bridge or tunnel away. Having dodged strollers on countless beautiful Saturdays in the Village, I found the quiet, good weather combination to be a delectable, albeit a tad eerie, treat. I savored it.

Struck by inspiration, I convinced Jink to take the short jaunt West to the Christopher Street Pier park. We found two empty chairs begging for us to sit in the sun and breeze. The conversation wandered from silly to serious and kept coming back to one topic: Summer. New Jersey looked beautiful from those chairs and tugboats dragging barges laden with huge cranes looked stately in the still-sharply-angled sun of late afternoon. Summer was undeniable this afternoon.

Of course, Jink and I made plans. That's what we do. Had we a calendar we would have been blocking out weekends. There will be the Jersey Shore. There will be Fire Island. There will be leather--judiciously and minimally applied. There will be trips to giant New Jersey supermarkets that cost half of what we'd spend in the city, and there will be meals cooked for friends who never knew we could do it so well. I confessed to a childhood filled with camping hundreds of miles away from civilization--preempting my own prissy complaints about fully-equipped gay campsites and a professed inability to live without room service.

This Summer I plan to get a tan the old fashioned way.

Transfixing!

Here I am on March 19th with Buck Angel and Bonfire, hamming it up at the Black Party movie premier, of which Buck is the star. I noticed Peter snapping photos of Buck all by his lonesome, so I grabbed the flamer, dragged him across the room (kicking and screaming--can't you see how he hated it?) and we plopped ourselves down in the middle of that photo shoot. Seriously, Buck is hot and all, but our fabulousness brought everything up a notch. *grins*

Later that evening I must have said something smart as Buck was walking past, because suddenly he reached out and grabbed me firmly by the throat! Arf. When he felt I'd been adequately chastised he let me go with a little push and wandered off, shooting "nice Adam's apple" back over his shoulder. Hot.

The only Brady I want.

Brady Quinn. Oh, Brady. Brady, baby. Brady, Brady, Brady.

Say it over a few times. Let the name roll off your tongue. Say it once for every ab. Say it at least three times for each nipple. And mumble it into that navel all night long.

I was cleaning up my desktop when I came across a little collection of Brady pic I'd downloaded on impulse a few weeks ago. Honestly, I'm far past my online porn phase. I went there and did that in the late 90s. Lately the only porn I bother to have on my computer are those movies I make myself, and I don't think I'll be posting those any time soon.

Maybe it was the doctor in the photos. Maybe it was the fact that the man is being ogled and evaluated like the slab of meat he is to me. Maybe it was the hyper-masculine video of him doing some outrageous feat of bench presses.

Whatever. I lust for Brady.