Devon Hunter

I have come to the realization that the best friends you will ever have are the ones who get away with posting pics of you from middle and high school on Facebook. This is what happens when 9th grade and 1990 collide. I think I’m going to go die now. LOL

So, this is what 20 years does to a person, eh? This portrait was taken on the Wednesday before school started on Monday. I remember they had to make the ID’s by hand, and they needed a few days to get your yearbook and ID photo done at the same time. What a monkey. Wow.

This other one is from my 13th birthday party – I had the same birthday as Leslie, so we shared parties several years (so that people wouldn’t have to pick which one to go to). This particular year we had it at Dad’s house. The next year it was her turn to pick the place, and we all went to Putt-Putt. I hate Putt-Putt. I needed something like 38 strokes on the hole with the windmill spinning around. I think I actually walked over and clobbered the damn windmill with my Putt-Putt whacker. Yeah, that’s pretty ignorant (especially since I got a hole in one on the previous shot by accident). LOL

Happy Imbolc!

Well, I figured that if the front were up, the back should be, too. Be warned… it’s a lot of booty to fit into one screen.

Here’s a fun post. Nothing of any real depth. I just thought it was cool that a pic of me got posted on www.guyswithiphones.com

I just go back from a nice massage after a short trip to DC. The dance company had a performance this past Friday night (we did a dance using “The Seven Deadly Sins” as a theme), and so I could do only a short visit up north this weekend. I do like the road trips to DC and Atlanta: I get to sing (badly) for several hours there and back. San Francisco next! (No singing on the planes…)

Just so you know: I have appreciated the support and condolences from all of you over the last few weeks, and everything my friends, family, and readers have done to be supportive has helped me heal since Grampa’s passing. He will always be missed, but I am back to feeling optimistic, energetic, and happy. It isn’t disrespectful to Grampa that I “already” am not sad anymore: I am a better person for having known him for 34 years. Being the person he helped me become is part of his legacy (and that gift would be squandered in sadness). So I dedicated all my (bad) singing to him on the drive home today. I’m sure he was smiling patiently somewhere…

Have a great week everyone!

UPDATE: 02/02/11 – Happy Imbolc! Here’s the back side.

This is connected to one of my Thanksgiving meditations: “I am maintaining or improving, as well as learning to see and appreciate, the beauty in me that so many others already exalt, and I am humbly luxuriating in that Gift.” We need inspiration to persevere consistently enough to attain our goals, and visualizing the desired result is proven to facilitate its realization.

I know it will sound completely hysterical or melodramatic, but Dylan Rosser‘s work makes my eyes glaze with tears. When you hear people say something akin to, “The human body is the most beautiful machine in the universe,” they must have something like his photography in mind when they say it. Perhaps I am too much of a Toreador (or perhaps it actually is a wonderful suffering that I should enjoy indulging), but agonizing over his images is making me want to concentrate deeply, sleep and eat regularly, and exercise intensely. And isn’t that an expression of something that goes far beyond the superficial motive of looking a certain way? To me it means that I yearn to take care of myself, and that reaching a high level of fitness is a fortunate byproduct of doing so.

Is male beauty only skin deep? The Classical Greeks thought the honing of the body through sport also improved the heart, mind, and soul of the boy in question. The work ethic and commitment needed to achieve prowess and skill, along with the humility youths were expected to express, married external and internal excellence into the ideal we still fantasize about 2,500 years later: The intelligent, kind, beautiful lover. Is it fair to be dismissive and to presume that athletic male beauty MUST equate to something simple, crude, or unrefined? I have often reviled athletes, because they bullied me severely from the time I was six until I was 24 (that is, 24 for the first time). I have often lumped athletic men into the “dumb jock” category, even though I know too many men whose external beauty grows out of a commitment to other forms of excellence for me to reasonably accept this mean cliché. I want to believe that Dylan Rosser’s models are the kindest, smartest, and most enlightened men on the planet. Yes. They must be (even if they’re not). But that is my privilege as the viewer: I can transform these “objects” into anything I want. And I don’t want them to be “just” sex machines. I want them to be artists/scientists and philosophers, too. I want their physical bodies to be the tangible expression of the hearts I am giving them, whether they have them or not.

But I’m a greedy bitch like that.

Click this link to see Dylan Rosser’s website.

I’m just getting home from Boston, and I found some new pics of me from Julian Vankim in my email. I will update this post once I get home from the airport.