This article is reprinted from The Good Men Project
It seems like every time I see certain family members—my niece and father, for instance— they ask me when I’m going to marry Sam, the man I’ve been with for five and a half years. Sam’s father is one of the worst offenders. He and I were literally never together alone without him saying (as if there were a direct correlation between the two), “Jonathan, when are you and Sam going to get married? I think you two should have children.” I put a temporary kibosh on this one day at lunch, when I answered, “Paul, I’ve been trying to impregnate your son on a regular basis for a couple of years now, and you know what? So far, nothing!” This silenced him for about six months.
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I’ve always adored US magazine’s “Who Wore It Best?” feature. However, they never include me. So I’ve decided to create my own, completely conceited version. Please take the time to vote. It’s vitally important (to me).
Imitation of Christ was one of my favorite fashion labels of the last decade, and, so, an homage:
Against the graffiti in Split
Floating in the Adriatic on the Dalmatian Coast
Please vote by posting a comment below. In any case, I’m quite sure the Pope and Mel Gibson would be appalled.
Memorial Day weekend on a private island off the coast of Massachusetts. High Wasp country. The Land of Gin and Triscuits.
This particular island, which is roughly 7.5 square miles, has belonged to the same Boston Brahmin clan for nine generations. A governor of Massachusetts died in the bedroom where Sam and I slept, and signing the guest book alongside just about every American luminary of the past 150 years is intimidating, to say the least.
I have nothing against Wasps, but they’re not exactly known for their culinary skill or ingenuity. Our hostess, a dear friend, is unfortunately stereotypical in this regard. A wonderful mother, a brilliant wit, an accomplished equestrienne, a crack shot and a deft hand with many a farm implement, she’s admittedly a lousy cook.
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