Archived entries for SFGW

500 Days of Summer

Just saw “500 Days of Summer,” a cute boy meets girl, boy falls in love, girl doesn’t kind of film. My friend Brian said I HAD to see it, describing it as a perfect depiction of my life.  I have to admit it DID feel a bit like I was watching my life flash before me on the big screen. My BFF Joseph Gordon-Levitt does a good job playing “me.”

The zinger at the film’s end, after Tom and Summer have split and she has gotten married, is so simple and so profound. It’s like Brian said to me one day: “How can two people have so much fun then one completely disappears?”

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Dispelling the rumors

Today it came to my attention that avid blog readers believe I have a thing against dogs. I can assure everyone that I have no personal vendetta against any pooch. That said, I am not a huge fan of the average dog owner (more likely the average city dog owner). I’ve been witness to too much bad behavior in Boston, New York, Vancouver, and elsewhere. So today, in my friend David’s studio in Maine, I took this photo opp with the sweetest little dog ever for photo evidence. Jade, an Upper East Side dog if there ever was one, settled into my lap and immediately fell asleep, purring like a kitten. I let her sit with me until it was time to go, and I didn’t even flinch. See, I do have a heart!

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Moi

I had to include the obligatory self-portrait…since I have the same shot taken a few years back, minus the addition of the cool etched-glass pavilion now standing here at the end of the Champs de Mar.

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“Seb and Jenny”

Spotted at the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue:

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More jock evidence

I ran the Mother’s Day 4-miler in Central Park on Sunday where I was caught in mid-stride in these new short shorts I picked up last week in San Francisco (on Castro Street, of course). They helped me run faster than ever! The best thing about this shot? The sunglasses I’m carrying.

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2007 is here

Is it just me, or did I look like Elton John last night?

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More lessons from the sun

It seems odd that mid-October should be here already. Tonight I took one last look back on all the indulgences and excesses of summer; as I mentioned last week, mine was spent basking in a little too much sun. Without sunscreen. I thought the massive sunburns I endured were bad enough, but then while looking over some photos tonight I realized that I have the biggest crow’s feet I’ve ever seen. People claim they only appear when I smile or laugh, but I don’t believe them: just look at this photo with my friend James, on Coal Harbour in Vancouver. (Before the comments begin to appear about my vanity, please note: I’ve got a blog, so I’ve got that covered). That said, I’m going to Miami in two weeks and desperately need a tan.

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My summer, or, how I survived a three-month sunburn

I’m sharing these vanity shots for a reason. I spent my summer thinking I had been applying sunscreen liberally until I looked back on these photos last night. My summer began out simply enough, in Toronto on Memorial Day with my friend Joe, looking pasty white. Three weeks later, in Vancouver, shown here on my birthday with Xander, I was getting a touch of rouge.

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The worst was yet to come. A sunny 4th of July weekend in Fire Island left me with the tomato neck you see here (with Justin). It was a very hot day when this photo was snapped, hence my rather sad look. Three weeks later in Miami, I was looking a bit more tanned as I withstood hurricane force winds on the roof of the Raleigh Hotel, but if you look under my collar you can see a severe tan line.

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A couple weeks later, again in Vancouver, I looked like I’d had my face splashed with a light dusting of paprika — or the effects of excessive exposure to the Pacific sun. Closing out the summer in Miami two weeks ago with my friend Ryan, my skin had remarkably returned to its pasty state. Thank goodness!

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So basically, that was my summer. Thank god for Kiehl’s moisturizer. The moral of my silly tale: apply sunscreen and apply some more! Your skin will thank you later.

A Vancouver vanity shot

I couldn’t resist sharing this shot, especially since I took it myself. I raised and steadied my camera on a small pile of rocks I’d gathered then let the timer rip. In the distance, tankers are anchored in English Bay awaiting their turn to enter the Port of Vancouver.

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Changing visions of SF

Before making the abrupt decision to move to New York this winter, I figured I would be moving to San Francisco in short order. I’ve spent so much time here and gotten to know the city so well that it seemed like a natural fit for me. Friends and family are here, and Vancouver aside, there’s no other city that makes me feel so refreshed and revitalized (although hot-tub nights in LA sure used to do the trick, as well).

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I had such a deep yearning to be in San Francisco for so long. But now that I live in Manhattan, I no longer feel that pull that I once felt constantly. Perhaps it’s because I am falling more in love with New York every day and because things there have worked out far better than I could have ever imagined. That being said, I still love San Francisco. I shed all anxieties upon landing here. Having grown up on the ocean, the fog and the cool breezes of the city feel so centering; New York may be on the water, but it’s not tied to the sea — physically and psychologically — the way San Francisco is.

On writing

It’s been almost five years since I first heard the song “Cry Ophelia” by Adam Cohen, Leonard’s singer-songwriter son. I remember liking it a lot back then (perhaps it was the “Dawson’s Creek” soundtrack connection), but recently I rediscovered it and it has taken on new meaning considering everything that has gone on in life since then.

Something went wrong
You are not laughing
It’s not so easy now to get your smile
You gotta be strong
To walk these streets
And keep from falling
But when you’re not, just let yourself cry

In talking about writing this song, Cohen once said, “I fall in love every day with someone, something or a place..It’s the result of an acrobatic imagination. I suppose the darkness comes from the fact that I suffer great disappointment with life on a regular basis and the best therapy is to write about it. It’s song-writing as exorcism.” That line hit me: it’s why I write. And then I found this great Joan Didion quote that went even further: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”

Ride ’em, cowboy

There have been rumors that I rode a bucking bronco recently, and now there is photographic evidence. A friend snapped these pics of me at the Gay Rodeo Association’s booth during last month’s Gay Life Expo in New York.

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Busy-ness

My good friend John recently told me that while he is dismayed that I am no longer able to update this site daily, he takes it as a good sign. “If you were blogging every day, in New York, I’d be worried.” My new time filler is constant running and biking along the Hudson River, shown here on Sunday. During warm and sunny weekends, it’s the perfect place to go get a sunburn, and during the after-work hours, there is no better place to be to relax and take in the dense aesthetic of the city–from a slight distance–against the backdrop of a setting sun.

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My move to New York

About a year ago, I wrote an Op-Ed in which I essentially said I couldn’t imagine wanting to move to New York City. And now I find myself writing a blog entry from a Manhattan cafe, just days after making the move to America’s biggest city.

I thought I would write some long-winded entry about all the emotions behind this unexpected move — as I’ve done after other past relocations — but the truth is this wasn’t an emotional move. It was probably the most level-headed decision I’ve made lately. I have been afforded a job opportunity in New York that really changes the trajectory of my career in a positive way. So the day I left Boston, a city I love, I wasn’t sad. Instead, I felt glad for the chance to have lived in such a great city, and for being given a chance to live in another.

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Hello, New York!

Many of you know by now that I have moved to New York City. For those of you who didn’t know: I’ve moved to New York City. More on this later…

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Shameless plug

Feel free to vote for me for Genre Man of the Year. Pretty please. If you don’t like me, then at least vote for my friend Cyd.

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Fun with facial recognition

Apparently, I look like Keanu Reeves. I’ve never gotten that before, but perhaps thefacial recognition engine from My Heritage is correct. All you do is upload a photo of yourself (warning: it takes ages), the site scans the contours of your face, and then spits out a celeb comparison. My match is fitting; Speed is my no. 2 most-watched movie (after Pretty Woman, of course).

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The agony of BlackBerry Thumb

The thumb on my left hand has been rendered practically useless for days now, sitting there lifeless as I suffer the pain and agony of BlackBerry Thumb. The solution, apparently, is to pound out only the shortest of messages. As a professor at Cornell who specializes in ergonomics points out, “If you’re trying to type ‘War and Peace’ with your thumbs, then you’re going to have a problem.”

Oprah!

oprahLast week, a lifelong dream came true: I got to be in the Oprah studio audience. The topic was women who have been duped by their men. The show featured six Houston women, all twenty-somethings, who were all married, engaged, or carrying the baby of the same man at the same time. And improbably, not one of them figured it out. This guy was obviously quite good as a pathological liar.

The second portion of the show featured a stylish, svelte Chicago woman who was left $6 million in debt after her plastic surgeon boyfriend abandoned her and her family during a lavish Mediterranean vacation. One day, after taking a whole slew of people to Europe on their private jet for a bit of R & R, he left their yacht “to go shopping” and never returned. He is not dead, but is instead believed to be cruising the Riviera leading a certifiably narcissistic lifestyle. The show used the missing man as an example of the destruction that can happen when women — or anyone, really — allow themselves to be seduced into a life that seems too good to be true.

But the best part of the show was before it began; the rather attractive audience warm-up guy was terribly cute, and I couldn’t help but stand up during a Q & A and ask if he is single. He almost didn’t know how to respond, but the audience certainly laughed. And then later, while taking a boat cruise in the Chicago River, one of the other people on board came up to me and asked, “are you single?” It turns out she was also at Oprah and remembered me.”

Saint-Sebastien

saint_sebastienC’est vrai. It’s true. Je suis un saint. I’m a saint — at least in Quebec. This is a shot of a village on the edge of Les Cantons de l’Est (Eastern Townships) that gives some validity to my goodness (notice I am too modest to say godliness).

Coincidentally, the New York Times had a good piece on the region in this weekend’s travel section. The author called the Townships, which are wedged between Montreal and the U.S. border, “travelers’ gold.”

“Imagine a region offering many of Maine’s charms – tranquility, natural beauty, folksy art – but only 90 minutes’ drive from a major city. That is what Montrealers enjoy in the string of pearly lake hamlets known as the Eastern Townships, 30 miles north of the Vermont border.”



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