One of the unexpected perks of getting older is discovering just how spectacularly wrong I’ve been about...a lot of things.

When I was younger, I thought I had life figured out.
Bless my little sissy, Southern fried heart.

Back then, I had opinions about everything. Politics. Religion. Relationships. Music. Art. Which restaurant made the best burger. You name it, I had an answer.

Now? Half the time I’m just trying to remember where I left my keys. The other half, I’m discovering that the answers I was absolutely certain about twenty years ago were, in fact, complete and total bullshit.

Honestly, I think that’s progress.

Life has a funny way of humbling us. It introduces us to people we were taught to fear, then has the audacity to let us discover they're delightful. It hands us books that challenge everything we thought we knew. It sends us to museums, concerts, neighborhoods, and countries that stretch our minds. And, if we’re paying attention, it gives us conversations that quietly expand our hearts.

That’s become one of my favorite parts of growing older. I no longer need to be the smartest person in the room.

I’d much rather be the most curious. Teach me something. Show me a better way. Recommend a documentary. Tell me why my favorite artist was actually inspired by someone I’ve never heard of.

I live for that stuff.

Which is why I’ve never understood people who seem oddly proud of not learning.

• “I don’t read.”

• “I don’t care.”

• “That’s just how I am.”

As if intellectual stagnation deserves a medal or trophy.

Whenever I meet folks who are proud of their limited understanding of the world and its people, I instinctively start looking for the nearest exit sign. Because the only thing I’m likely to learn from them is a cautionary tale.

• How not to age.

• How not to grow.

• How not to confuse ignorance with conviction.

One of the things that genuinely breaks my heart is meeting LGBTQ folks who have stopped learning about...other LGBTQ people. Especially elder gays who wear their transphobia like it’s some kind of badge of honor.

Really? After everything our generations have lived through? After being told our love wasn’t real? That our identities were a phase? That we were mentally ill? That we were destroying civilization one disco song at a time?

How do you survive all of that only to turn around and say to someone else, “Yeah, but your identity is the problem”?

I honestly don’t get it. Hopefully, I never will.

Getting older is mandatory. Growing wiser is optional.

Gray hair doesn’t automatically come bundled with empathy.

The older I get, the more magical three little words become: “I don’t know.”

They’re not a sign of weakness. They’re an invitation. An invitation to listen instead of lecture. To ask questions instead of making assumptions. To admit we might have missed something. To become someone we couldn’t have imagined ten years ago.

I’m fifty-four now, and I hope I never outgrow my curiosity.

• I hope science keeps proving me wrong.

• I hope artists keep stretching my imagination.

• I hope people of all ages keep teaching me new words.

• I hope my friends keep lovingly calling me out on my bullshit.

I don’t know everything, but I always want to be learning something.

Maybe the real fountain of youth isn’t Botox, Ozempic, collagen powder, red light therapy, kale smoothies, cold plunges, or whatever wellness trend TikTok is obsessed with this week.

Maybe the real fountain of youth is curiosity and the willingness to admit, “I never thought of it that way.”

Maybe old dogs really can learn new tricks. In fact, happiest old dogs I’ve known have never, ever stopped growing and learning.

So if I ever become one of those grumpy old men who’s convinced he’s got the entire world figured out, do me a favor? Hand me a book. Take me to a museum. Introduce me to someone whose life looks nothing like mine. Challenge one of my assumptions. Help me become just a little less certain and a little more curious.

Because I want to keep living, I’m determined to keep learning. Hope you do too, boo.

Keep calm and remain open to life, love, and the pursuit of happiness!
Clint 🌈✌️

P.S. In an effort to put my money where my mouth is, I’m exploring the possibility of going back to graduate school next fall. Turns out this old dog may still have a few new tricks left to learn. Stay tuned. More details when I have them….

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-05 = Christopher Makos (1948- ) = American photographer 🌈

• 08-05 = George Tooker (1920-2011) = American painter 🌈

• 08-05 = Heward Grafftey (1928-2008) = Canadian politician and businessman 🌈

• 08-05 = Pete Burns (1959-2016) = English singer-songwriter 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Painting is an attempt to come to terms with life. There are as many solutions as there are human beings.”
George Tooker

In my early twenties, I met a commercial producer who would eventually become one of my best friends.

We've been through the trenches together since 1994. The ups, the downs, and the all-arounds. We've laughed until we cried, cried until we laughed, and somehow managed to remain friends despite knowing entirely too much about each other.

Early in our friendship, she taught me a lesson that's stuck with me for more than thirty years: It’s okay to complain. But only for a little while.

Her philosophy was/is simple: if something isn't working, gripe about it. Vent. Whine. Stomp your feet if you must. Throw yourself a pity party if you must. But eventually, that party has to end.

At some point, you have to stop talking about what's wrong and start figuring out what you're going to do about it. Flip the script. Press on.

At the time, I thought she was being a little extreme. Now I think she was brilliant.

Because let's be honest: complaining is easy. Hell, sometimes it's even fun. It feels productive. We gather evidence. We build our case. We recruit witnesses. Before long, we're presenting Exhibit A through Exhibit Z explaining why our boss, our boo, the economy, Mercury in retrograde, or the guy next door is personally responsible for our misery.

Meanwhile, nothing changes.

Over the years, I've realized her advice applies to just about every corner of life.

• Creative slump? Try something different.

• Unhappy at work? Polish that résumé.

• Feeling lonely? Call someone instead of waiting for someone to call you.

• Health headed in the wrong direction? Take a walk. Drink some water. Maybe don’t eat the entire package of Oreos while standing in the kitchen. (Not that I’d know anything about that.)

Even our own stories can become stale if we keep telling the same tall tales.

• “I’m too old.”

• “I’m too late.”

• “I’m not talented enough.”

• “I’ve always been this way.”

Those stories feel true because we've repeated them so many times. But they're still stories. And if we're the authors, we can always write a new chapter.

That doesn't mean every new plan succeeds.

Believe me, I've had ideas crash and burn so spectacularly they practically qualified as neighborhood fireworks. I've launched projects nobody noticed, chased opportunities that went nowhere, and spent far too much time trying to force square pegs into round holes.

But every time I was willing to pivot instead of pouting, I learned something.

Every attempt reminded me that progress doesn’t come from getting everything right. It comes from refusing to stay stuck.

These days, when I hear myself complaining about the same thing over and over again, I also hear my friend's voice: “Okay…now what are you going to do about it?”

I don’t always love the question. But I almost always need it.

Life doesn't reward those who point out what's wrong. It rewards those who roll up their sleeves and try to make it right. The real magic happens when we stop rehearsing our complaints and start writing a different ending.

So by all means, complain. Get it out of your system. Call a friend.

Then take a deep breath, dust yourself off, flip the script, and press on.

Words help us process where we’ve been. But actions determine where we’re going.

At the end of the day, the person you should work hardest to impress isn’t your boss, your neighbors, or the strangers scrolling past your posts. It’s the man staring back at you in the mirror.

Give that man a reason to smile.

Keep calm and press on!
Clint 🌈✌️

NEW + NOW PLAYING

SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-04 = John August (1970- ) = American director and screenwriter 🌈

• 08-04 = Marcus Urban (1971- ) = German footballer and diversity adviser 🌈

• 08-04 = Percy Bysshe Shelley (1972-1822) = English poet and playwright 🌈

• 08-04 = Rudi van Dantzig (1933-2012) = Dutch choreographer and dancer 🌈

• 08-04 = Sapphire (1950- ) = American writer 🌈

• 08-04 = Walter Pater (1839-1894) = English essayist and art critic 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“The future rewards those who press on. I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I don’t have time to complain. I’m going to press on.”
Barack Obama

The older I get, the more I realize how much I need hugs. And kisses.

Not necessarily in a romantic or sexual way. But in an affectionate, “I’m glad you’re here” kind of way. A brotherly love kind of way. The kind that says, “You matter to me.”

When I was younger, I enjoyed hugs and kisses, but I probably wouldn't have admitted I needed them. I spent too many years trying to prove how independent I was, convincing myself I didn't need anyone.

Somewhere along the way, I confused self-sufficiency with emotional distance.

Age has a funny way of correcting those misconceptions.

Now I understand that affection isn't a luxury. It's a necessary part of being human.

There's something almost magical about a genuine hug. For a few seconds, the world slows down. Deadlines, headlines, worries, and distractions fade into the background, while you’re sharing a moment with another person, reminding each other that neither of you has to carry life's burdens entirely alone.

A kiss on the cheek. A hand on the shoulder. A long embrace when words aren't enough. These aren't grand gestures. They're love in action.

We often think love has to be dramatic to be meaningful. We celebrate sweeping romances and happily-ever-afters. But some of the deepest expressions of love happen in the quiet, ordinary moments:

• A friend who greets you with a hug before asking how you’ve been.

• A sibling who kisses your forehead before saying goodbye.

• A chosen family member who wraps you in their arms after a difficult day.

None of these moments solves life's problems. But each reminds us that we don't have to face all our problems alone.

As a society, we’ve never been more connected digitally, yet too many of us have never felt more disconnected physically. I sometimes wonder if that's one of the reasons loneliness has become such an epidemic.

We text. We react. We comment. We send emojis and GIFs. But sometimes what our hearts really need is to feel another heartbeat.

In my book, human touch is its own love language.

Of course, affection should always be consensual. Not everyone experiences or expresses love through physical touch, and that’s okay. We all have different comfort levels and different ways of expressing love.

But if physical affection is part of your love language, don't underestimate the power of a hug. Or a kiss.

Don't wait for birthdays, funerals, or airport reunions to hug the people you love. Wrap your arms around your friends. Hug your siblings. Kiss your parents if you're lucky enough to still have them. Embrace your chosen family.

Life has taught me that we never really know how many chances we'll get.

So these days, when I see someone I love, I hug them a little longer than I used to.

Because affection isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a superpower. It’s love in action.

So hug freely. Kiss kindly. Tell people they how much they matter to you.

You never know how much either of you might need it.

Keep calm and get your hugs on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-03 = Nyla Rose (1982- ) = American wrestler and actor 🌈

• 08-03 = Rupert Brooke (1887-1915) = English poet 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.”
Rupert Brooke

As I continue battling this damn summer cold, I've had plenty of time to listen to music and reflect on my complicated relationship with musicals. I'm not one of those people who breaks into song at the mere mention of Broadway.

But every now and then, a show grabs hold of me and refuses to let go. And when that happens, I have a tendency to listen to it on repeat until friends, neighbors, and innocent bystanders begin questioning my sanity.

Apparently, getting sick only makes my obsessive tendencies worse.

This past week, I’ve been obsessed with Hadestown.

Until recently, I wasn’t much of a fan. In fact, I barely knew anything about the show beyond its name. That all changed when I saw the filmed stage production on the big screen for the first time last Sunday. By Thursday afternoon, I was back for a second screening. And as soon as I’m no longer contagious, I’m planning to see it a third time.

In between those trips to the theater, I’ve listened to the original cast recording at least a dozen times. Maybe more. I’ve honestly lost count.

If you’re not familiar with Hadestown, it’s a Tony Award-winning musical by Anaïs Mitchell that reimagines two Greek myths: the doomed romance of Orpheus and Eurydice, and the long, complicated marriage of Hades and Persephone. But don’t let the ancient mythology fool you. This isn’t a dusty history lesson.

The world of Hadestown feels part New Orleans jazz club, part Depression-era America, part Southern Gothic folktale, and part industrial dystopia. The score blends folk, blues, jazz, gospel, opera, and musical theater into a pastiche that sounds both classic and modern.

It’s also one of those rare musicals where every song earns its place and moves the storyline forward. There are no throwaway numbers. Every melody deepens the story, reveals a character, or circles back to a theme introduced earlier. By the time the curtain falls, the music has woven itself into your subconscious.

At least, that’s what it’s done to mine.

The songs have been rattling around in my head all week.

Which is probably appropriate, because recovering from this cold has felt a little like making my own journey into the Underworld. Or maybe like getting run over by one of Hadestown‘s railroad trains.

Every time I think I’m turning a corner, the fatigue barrels back in, the congestion returns, and the coughing starts up again. It’s as though Hades himself looked at my calendar, and said, “Step into my office.”

So it’s back to sipping tea, blowing my nose, taking another nap, and listening to Hadestown again.

What fascinates me most about the musical is that everyone already knows how the story ends. Orpheus will look back. Eurydice will be lost. Spring will come and go. The wheel will keep turning. And yet we keep telling the story anyway.

As Hermes says in the opening number, “It’s an old song….and we’re gonna sing it again.” That’s the point.

Hadestown is a tragedy, but it’s built on hope. Fragile hope. Stubborn hope. The kind of hope that persists even when experience tells you better. The characters keep believing that this time love might win. This time the world might change. This time the ending could somehow be different.

Recovery feels a lot like that. Every morning I wake up convinced today will be the day I finally feel like myself again. Every night’s sleep is another chance to reset the clock. Every bowl of soup, every cup of tea, and every extra hour of rest is its own small act of optimism.

Maybe this is the day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after that.

If this week has taught me anything, it's that sometimes the best medicine isn't medicine at all. Sometimes it's discovering a story that won't let go of you. Sometimes it's finding a musical you have to hear just one more time.

And sometimes, when you're feeling just a little underworld-adjacent, you sing the old song anyway. Not because you believe you can change the ending, but because telling the story reminds you why hope matters in the first place.

Keep calm and keep your head low…
Clint 🌈✌️

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

• SUNDAY = How Clint’s Getting His Groove Back

• MONDAY = The (Good) Bad Touch

• TUESDAY = Bridging Our Divides

• WEDNESDAY = Time, Time, Time...

• THURSDAY = Happy Birthday To Us!

• FRIDAY = Slowly I Turned...Inch By Inch

• SATURDAY = Easily Distracted

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-02 = James Baldwin (1924-1987) = American novelist, poet, and critic 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.”
James Baldwin

“Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word "love" here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace - not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.”
James Baldwin

Last night, I was downright giddy about having a wide-open weekend. No obligations. No plans. Nothing I had to do.

I thought I might put my membership at the Norton Simon Museum to good use. Maybe invite a friend or two to join me for a beverage and a bite. And if the universe was feeling especially frisky and generous, perhaps even find a friend with benefits who’d be up for a cuddle session.

A guy can dream, riiight?

Alas, my best-laid plans for art, grub, and cuddles have all been postponed until further notice. I woke up with the summer cold that's apparently making the rounds.

Joy, joy, joy...down in my heart. Ugh.

I have seasonal allergies, so waking up congested isn't exactly unusual. Every night, like clockwork, my sinuses stage a little protest. But yesterday evening they started acting up earlier than usual. And a whole lot more aggressively. That should've been my first clue something else was brewing.

In hindsight, I probably should've taken something stronger than my usual allergy meds before crawling into bed. Instead, I woke up with a sore throat and that unmistakable full-body fatigue that says, “Yep...I’m sick!”

The strange thing is, I don't feel awful. I also don't feel particularly good. I'm in that weird middle ground where I feel well enough to leave the house but sick enough to know I probably shouldn't. So, out of an abundance of caution, I'm staying home today. Maybe tomorrow too.

As tempting as it is to wander through an air-conditioned museum, share a meal with a friend, or recharge with a cuddle session, I'd rather not pass along whatever little viral souvenir I've picked up. Nobody wants that kind of gift.

Besides, it's supposed to be nearly 100 degrees today, so staying inside with ice-cold air conditioning feels less like missing out and more like practicing good self-care.

The museum isn't going anywhere. Meals with friends can always be scheduled. And with any luck, the cuddles will still be there once I'm no longer contagious.

Instead, today's agenda consists of drinking plenty of fluids, binge-watching something delightfully mindless, and hopefully enjoying a long afternoon nap.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is admit your body has other plans. The to-do list can wait. The people who care about you would much rather you rest than try to power through. And every now and then, doing absolutely nothing is exactly what needs doing.

Here's hoping I'll be back on my feet soon.

Until then, if you're lucky enough to be healthy this weekend, get out there and enjoy it. Visit a museum. Grab a meal with a friend. Maybe even squeeze in a cuddle or two.

And if you're under the weather like me, stay cool, take care of yourself, and give your body the grace to heal.

The museum, the adventures, and whatever else the universe has in store will all be waiting on the other side of this summer cold.

Keep calm and stay healthy!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-01 = Charlie Carver (1988- ) = American actor 🌈

• 08-01 = Herman Melville (1819-1891) = American writer 🌈

• 08-01 = James St. James (1966- ) = American club promoter and author 🌈

• 08-01 = Jimmie Daniels (1908-1984) = American actor and nightclub owner 🌈

• 08-01 = Max Carver (1988- ) = American actor 🌈

• 08-01 = Yves Saint Laurent (1936-2008) = Algerian-French fashion designer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I just tried to be an artist in my own metier.”
Yves Saint Laurent

Today would have been my mom’s 78th birthday.

She passed away in 2020 from complications from pneumonia at the age of 72.

It's strange how birthdays and celebrations continue long after someone is gone. The calendar still remembers. And so do I. Even when I tell myself I don't.

My relationship with my mother was of the “it’s complicated” variety.

When she died, we weren't speaking. Which wasn't that unusual for us. Throughout my life, we'd go through phases where we wouldn't talk for days, weeks, or even months. Eventually, one of us would break the silence, and we'd cautiously find our way back to each other. Only to drift apart again after the next disagreement or misunderstanding.

Something about us brought out the worst in each other.

She had expectations I could never seem to meet. And I have a stubborn streak a mile wide that refuses to bend. Looking back, I see two people who wanted to be understood but never quite learned how to speak the same language.

I suspect we’re not alone.

Contrary to popular belief, not every mother-son relationship resembles a Hallmark card. Some are messy. Some are exhausting. Some are filled with love, disappointment, loyalty, resentment, admiration, and frustration. All at the same time.

From my perspective, we loved each other the best we knew how at the time.

Our biggest problem was that we both carried so much emotional baggage that there wasn’t much room left for grace.

She grew up in a different world, shaped by different expectations, fears, and ideas about family, faith, and success. I grew up trying to become someone she often couldn’t accept much less understand. Neither of us was willing to meet in the middle.

Since her passing, I’ve softened a bit. And smoothed out some of my rough edges.

Not because the past has changed. But because I have.

Time has a way of sanding down the sharpest edges of memory. The arguments fade first. What remain are the quieter moments that never seemed important at the time: hearing her laugh at a dumb joke, watching her lose herself at the casino, or listening to her tell a story I’d heard a hundred times as though it were brand new.

Grief is strange that way. It doesn’t erase what was difficult. It simply reminds us that people are rarely defined by their worst moments.

The older I get, the more I realize both my parents were simply people. Flawed, frightened, hopeful people trying to figure life out while pretending they knew what they were doing.

Just like the rest of us.

If I had one more conversation with my mom, I don’t think we’d suddenly resolve the decades of hurt feelings and misunderstandings. Life rarely works that way.

But I do like to think we would laugh a little more. And argue a little less. Maybe even ask a few more questions instead of assuming we already knew the answers.

I’d love to tell her about COLLIDE PRESS, which I started after she passed away. I’d tell her about the people I’ve met, the stories I’ve shared, and the little community that’s grown around this creative outlet.

I’d like to believe she’d be proud, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

Today, I’m choosing gratitude over regret.

I’m grateful that she was my mom. I’m grateful for the lessons she taught me. Intentionally and unintentionally. From her, I learned resilience, independence, and the complicated truth that love isn’t always easy or simple.

Happy birthday, Mom.

I hope you’ve found the peace that eluded both of us for so many years.

And maybe, wherever you are, you finally understand your stubborn son a little better.

I know I’m finally beginning to understand you too, boo.

Keep calm and love on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-31 = Barbara Gittings (1932-2007) = American activist 🌈

• 07-31 = Ian Roberts (1965- ) = Australian actor and rugby player 🌈

• 07-31 = Nels Anderson (1889-1986) = American sociologist 🌈

• 07-31 = Susan Flannery (1939- ) = American actor 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I didn’t think I liked country music. Then I got into Garth Brooks.”
Zac Brown

“I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.”
E. B. White

VINTAGE PHOTOS

Read more

In less than an hour, I'm heading out to the first of three health appointments.

First up is my primary care practitioner. I think this appointment is for the second dose of one of my vaccinations. At least I hope that's what it's for. Somewhere along the way, I've reached the age where my calendar contains mysterious appointments that “Past Me” scheduled and “Present Me” just shows up for.

From there, it's off to see my handsome ginger chiropractor, who's helping me recover from my recent knee injury while also trying to undo forty-plus years of chronic back pain. Apparently, years of being six-foot-four, overweight, and carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders wasn't great for my spine. Who knew?

After a break and a bite to eat, I'll wrap up today's health trifecta with therapy.

Three health providers. Two for the body. One for the mind. Balance.

My chiropractor has been reminding me that our bodies need to be stretched, strengthened, and maintained if we expect them to keep carrying us through life. The more I think about it, the more I realize the same is true of our minds and spirits.

For a long time, I thought self-care had to be something fun. Something glamorous. Spa days. Vacations. Bubble baths. Facials. Retail therapy. The kinds of things social media tells us we're supposed to do to "treat ourselves."

Those things are perfectly fine, but the older I get, the more I realize self-care usually looks a lot less Instagram-worthy.

Sometimes it looks like keeping doctor’s appointments. Sometimes it looks like doing the exercises your chiropractor gives you instead of pretending you’ll “get around to them.” Sometimes it looks like sitting in a therapist’s office and having conversations you’d rather avoid because you know they’ll help you grow and heal in the long run.

I’ve come to realize that self-care is less about treating yourself and more about maintaining yourself.

Think of it like warming up before a workout. You don’t stretch because it’s exciting. You stretch because you’d rather spend five minutes loosening your muscles than five weeks recovering from an injury.

The same goes for doctor’s appointments, therapy, and all those little healthy habits we keep putting off. They’re not glamorous. They’re preventative.

Maintenance rarely gets applause, but neglect almost always sends you the bill.

Of course, life can’t be all appointments and waiting rooms.

That’s why I’m ending the day by picking up two of my favorite people and heading to the local cinema to watch Hadestown: The Musical.

I saw the Hadestown proshot Sunday night with friends and loved it so much that I'm going back with a different group of friends. Part of the fun is introducing people to something you love. And even though I already know what's coming, I always catch different details the second time around. Great art has a way of rewarding repeat visits.

Apparently, I'm getting back into going to the movies again.

Yesterday it was Toy Story 5. Today it's Hadestown. After years of streaming most of my entertainment at home, it feels good to have a reason to leave the house, sit in a dark theater with a room full of strangers, and be reminded that some stories are best experienced together.

Maybe that’s another form of self-care.

Because taking care of ourselves isn’t just about fixing what’s broken. It’s about staying flexible, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s about stretching ourselves before life forces us to.

Today’s schedule includes medicine, mental health, movement, music, and mythology.

Honestly, that’s not a bad way to spend any day that ends in “y.”

Here’s to maintaining the body, stretching the mind, opening the heart, and leaving room to experience some joy along the way.

Keep calm and get your cinema on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-30 = Frank Coombs (1906-1941) = English artist and art dealer 🌈

• 07-30 = Pascal Smet (1967- ) = Belgian politician 🌈

• 07-30 = Sean Patrick Maloney (1966- ) = American politician 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“If you’re paying attention and you’ve been a good listener, you learn every day.”
Finneas

One of my favorite things about running COLLIDE PRESS is that it's never really finished. It's more like one of those old houses where I'm always painting a room, fixing a leaky faucet, or realizing I probably should've put the couch on the other wall.

Thankfully, I don't have to figure it all out by myself. Many of the best improvements come directly from you. Through your comments, emails, and suggestions. Or from the analytics that quietly reveal how users actually interact with my work.

Recently, a beloved Substack subscriber sent me a simple suggestion: “Would you consider switching COLLIDE PRESS on Substack to Dark Mode?”

My immediate reaction? “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?!”

Like a lot of people, I do most of my reading in bed before I fall asleep, and I almost always use Dark Mode. Somehow, it never occurred to me that many of you probably do the exact same thing.

So...now COLLIDE PRESS on Substack is officially in Dark Mode.

Hopefully, it'll make those late-night reading sessions a little easier on the eyes. And if you prefer Light Mode, no worries. You can always choose whichever appearance works best for you in the Substack app or its website .

While subscriber feedback helps shape one side of COLLIDE PRESS, analytics and data help shape the other side of the coin.

Over on my YouTube channel, I spend a fair amount of time looking at Google Analytics. Not because I’m trying to become an algorithm whisperer, but because the data often tells some interesting stories.

One thing the data has been telling me lately is that more and more people are discovering my work through YouTube Shorts.

Ironically, Shorts were one of my least favorite parts of YouTube.

For years, YouTube had a bad habit of choosing the absolute worst frame from a Short to use as its thumbnail. And we creators couldn't change them.

As a result, I ended up unlisting quite a few Shorts. Not because there was anything wrong with the videos themselves. But because the thumbnails made them look less than their best.

Thankfully, YouTube has finally added the ability to customize Shorts thumbnails.

It's only about three years late, but who's counting?

Since discovering the new feature yesterday morning, I've been digging through my archive, choosing better thumbnails, and gradually republishing many of those unlisted Shorts. It'll take a while, but over the next few days you'll probably notice a steady stream of Shorts making their return. Maybe they’re new to you, boo?

The analytics suggest that Shorts have become one of the primary ways people discover COLLIDE PRESS. If a better thumbnail helps someone stumble across a forgotten piece of LGBTQ history or a montage of vintage photos, then the extra effort and time is well worth it.

At the end of the day, for me, that's really what all of this is about.

Sometimes improving COLLIDE PRESS means adding a new feature because one subscriber asked a simple question. Other times it means paying attention to the data and making it easier for new people to discover the stories I'm trying to preserve.

Either way, every little improvement helps.

So please keep the suggestions coming. Tell me what's working, what isn't, and what you'd like to see next. Every comment, email, and recommendation helps point me in the right direction.

Together with the analytics, your feedback helps shape the future of COLLIDE PRESS.

Thank you for being a friend!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-29 = Dag Hammarskjöld (1905-1961) = Swedish economist 🌈

• 07-29 = Kevin Spirtas (1962- ) = American actor 🌈

• 07-29 = Paul Taylor (1930-2018) = American choreographer 🌈

• 07-29 = Prince Abdul Azim Of Brunei (1982-2020) = Bruneian royal 🌈

• 07-29 = Tim Gunn (1953- ) = American educator and tv personality 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Life is not a solo act. It’s a huge collaboration, and we all need to assemble around us the people who care about us and support us in times of strife.”
Tim Gunn

Yesterday was one of those days Mama allegedly warned me about. The truth is, my mother wasn't one to warn me about much of anything. She preferred to let me figure things out the hard way. But that's a whole 'nother story.

From the minute I woke up yesterday, everybody I interacted with, in real life and online, seemed to have chosen violence. Not literally. But figuratively.

Needing a quick reality check, I called my dear sister from another mister. She blamed it on Mercury being in retrograde. I was all set to blame the planets until Google reminded me Mercury went direct last week. On my birthday, no less.

Hmmm. So much for my astrological alibi. Isn’t it ironic... don’tcha think?

The only person I ran into who seemed genuinely happy yesterday was the budtender who kindly helped me at the dispensary. And saved me $20 in the process.

Bless the budtenders. They’re basically therapists with recreational meds.

Normally, I can let other people’s moods roll right off my back. Yesterday, though, my emotional support Teflon was apparently in the dishwasher.

Every sigh felt personal. Every delayed and deserted text felt like a rejection. Every “Hey, can you help me with something?” sounded suspiciously like, “This isn’t my problem. This is your problem, Clint.”

By lunchtime, I had reached my daily recommended allowance of humanity.

So I did what any responsible adult would do: I had myself a couple of THC edibles. Later, I added a few puffs from a THC vape because, apparently, yesterday required a higher dose than usual for me to chill the fuck out.

For the record, I try not to overindulge during work hours. But when one too many people seem convinced I’m on call 24/7 for their every forgotten password, error message, and/or television that won’t play nice with Substack, my self-care requires some herbal remedies.

Thankfully, somewhere between the gummy and the vape, I started wondering if maybe nobody was actually mad at me. Maybe everyone was just carrying around invisible backpacks full of stress, deadlines, family drama, financial worries, existential dread, and whatever nonsense the so-called “news” cooked up that morning.

Or maybe...it was just too fucking hot. Yesterday flirted with 100 degrees.

Heat has a funny way of shortening everyone’s fuse. Patience evaporates faster than a puddle on asphalt. Little inconveniences become major catastrophes. WiFi slows down. Air conditioners work overtime. People snap.

Including me.

One thing I've noticed as I've gotten older is that I'm getting better at recognizing when I'm absorbing everyone else's energy. The harder part is remembering I don't have to carry it.

Someone else's bad day doesn't have to become mine. Sometimes the healthiest thing I can do is step away from the screen, hydrate, have a gummy, take a deep breath, and remember that tomorrow is another day.

Today is supposed to be "cooler," which in Southern California means we're only roasting in the low 90s instead of slow-cooking at 100. The morning breeze does feel noticeably cooler.

Today already feels lighter. My inbox is quieter. My patience, with myself and everyone else, seems to have returned from wherever it wandered off to yesterday. And I'm reminded that life, like the weather, tends to change if you give it enough time.

Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.

Because “Mama Said” is correct: Sometimes there really are days like yesterday.

And sometimes you have to roll with the punches. Without punching a bitch.

Keep calm and look for the good!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-28 = Alexis Arquette (1969-2016) = American actor 🌈

• 07-28 = Imke Duplitzer (1975- ) = German épée fencer 🌈

• 07-28 = Judy Grahn (1940- ) = American poet 🌈

• 07-28 = Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) = French-American artist 🌈

• 07-28 = Sarah Schulman (1958- ) = American write and historian 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.”
Marcel Duchamp

I’ve been posting more regularly on YouTube lately.

And it’s finally starting to pay off.

Over the weekend, my channel held steady at around 250,000 views over a 48-hour period. That's a HUGE jump from the 10,000 to 20,000 views I've been averaging. Those numbers include Videos, Shorts, and Live Replays.

The views are exciting, sure.

But what excites me even more is watching people discover stories, photographs, artists, and pieces of LGBTQ history they never knew existed. Every comment that says, "I had no idea," feels like a small victory.

The comments have been about 90% lovely and 10% hateful.
By YouTube standards, that's basically a standing ovation.

The kind comments remind me why I keep creating.
The hateful ones remind me why the work matters.

Because if sharing a century-old photograph of two men holding hands or telling the story of a forgotten queer artist makes someone angry, that says far more about them than it does about me. Or us.

Life's too damn short to spend arguing with strangers on the internet. So I tend to block them, report them, and move on.

My “block” button gets far more exercise than I do, y'all.

After this weekend’s tragedy in Berlin, I’m more determined than ever to keep sharing the stories, faces, art, and history that extremists desperately want erased.

Not because YouTube views change the world. But because visibility does.

Here’s the thing: We’ve always been here. We’ve always existed. We’ve always loved. We’ve always had to fight for the right to simply exist. We’ve always built communities, made art, raised families, and left our fingerprints all over history.

No law, sermon, politician, or internet troll can rewrite those basic, inalienable truths.

Every vintage photo I share, every forgotten artist I spotlight, every queer story I tell is one more reminder that our lives matter, our history matters, and our stories deserve to be told.

Visibility isn’t vanity.
Visibility is survival.

Visibility tells the scared, closeted kid growing up in a small town that they’re not alone. It reminds older generations that their stories won’t be forgotten. And it makes it a little harder for anyone to erase us from history.

They can ban books. They can pass laws. They can preach from pulpits. They can flood comment sections with hate. But they cannot erase what has already happened. They cannot erase us.

So yes, I'm grateful to the mysterious YouTube gods for throwing a few extra views my way. Every view is another chance for someone to learn something, smile at an old photograph, or see themselves reflected in history.

And to the religious extremists, the bigots, and the goddamn goddamnits trying to erase us, censor us, or scare us back into the shadows: NOT ON MY WATCH!!!

No one gets to decide whose stories are worth telling. No one gets to rewrite history.

So I’ll keep posting, preserving, and telling our stories. For those who came before us. For those who are still here. And for those yet to come.

Keep calm and keep our stories alive!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-27 = Stephen Donaldson (1946-1996) = American activist 🌈

• 07-27 = Troy Perry (1940- ) = American cleric and MCC founder 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“God did not create gays and lesbians so He could have something to hate!”
Troy Perry

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of hearing about AI.

“ChatGPT this.” “Claude that.” “Copilot this.” “Gemini that.”

Every week there’s a new chatbot, a new model, and/or a new startup promising to revolutionize creativity, destroy civilization, or do both at the same time.

As a creative, AI has been on my radar since the first image generators started giving everyone six fingers, three elbows, and skin that looked like it was sculpted out of wax.

Since then, I’ve experimented with plenty of AI tools. Some have genuinely impressed me. Others have reminded me why some humans still have jobs.

Like any new technology, I think AI can be incredibly useful. It can help brainstorm ideas, untangle messy paragraphs, proofread sloppy writing, and save hours on tedious tasks.

What it can’t do is replace a lifetime of lived experience.

It can’t recreate thirty years of coming out, screwing up, falling in love, grieving people I’ve lost, celebrating photos of men I’ve found, or spending countless hours wandering museums, reading books, making art, talking to strangers, and collecting stories that eventually become these posts.

Those experiences are still stubbornly, wonderfully human.

On July 21, Substack rolled out a new AI text detection tool with Pangram. To say I wasn't thrilled would be an understatement. Everything I’ve read suggests AI detection tools are notoriously fickle and unreliable, regularly labeling human writing as AI and AI writing as human.

I understand why Substack did it. The internet is drowning in AI-generated slop. Every day, another tidal wave of low-effort content blasts across social media, blogs, and search results, flooding every platform known to man and machine.

The problem isn’t the goal. The problem is the detector.

Being the curious nerd that I am, I ran several of my recent posts through it.

The results were...not encouraging.

Posts I spent hours writing by hand were flagged as containing a high percentage of AI-generated text. Other sections that actually had been lightly polished with AI slipped by unnoticed. The scores bounced around so much I could only laugh.

Mine wasn’t a carefully controlled scientific study. It was one guy clicking buttons and scratching his head. But it was enough for me to conclude that this feature isn’t ready for primetime.

Here’s the statement I’ve added to my publication instead:

Here’s what worries me. We’ve reached the point where we’re asking AI to determine whether another AI helped create something. Read that sentence again.

We’re outsourcing the judgment of creativity to probabilistic (and problematic) software that regularly disagrees with itself. The irony is almost too perfect.

Good writing has always involved collaboration, both human and bot. Editors. Friends. Writers. Proofreaders. Spellcheckers. Grammar checkers.

No one accuses an author of fraud because Microsoft Word suggested removing an extra comma. AI is simply another tool in that long lineage. A much more powerful one, certainly, but still a tool.

The real question isn’t whether AI touched a piece of writing. The real questions are:

• Who did the thinking?

• Who lived the story?

• Who lived the experiences?

• Who made the choices?

• Who decided what stayed and what got cut?

Those questions matter far more than whether an algorithm suggested replacing “really good” with “excellent.”

If AI eventually becomes good enough to perfectly detect AI-generated writing, great. But we’re not there yet.

Until then, I’d rather trust transparency than unreliable percentages generated by yet another AI tool.

Because when AI starts deciding what is and isn’t AI, we’re entering a funky hall of mirrors where nobody really knows what’s real anymore. And that’s a future that worries me far more than AI itself.

Keep calm and stay curious!
Clint 🌈✌️

P.S. Before I disabled it, I ran this post through the AI detector. According to Pangram, it’s 83% AI and only 17% human. When it’s actually the reverse. Ugh.

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

• SUNDAY = How Clint's Getting His Groove Back

• MONDAY = The (Good) Bad Touch

• TUESDAY = Bridging Our Divides

• WEDNESDAY = Time, Time, Time...

• THURSDAY = Happy Birthday To Us!

• FRIDAY = Slowly I Turned...Inch By Inch

• SATURDAY = Easily Distracted

SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-26 = Mick Jagger (1943- ) = English singer-songwriter 🌈

• 07-26 = Nikki Sinclaire (1968- ) = English politician 🌈

• 07-26 = Richard Akuson (1993- ) = Nigerian lawyer, editor, and publisher 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“You only get one shot in your life, and you might as well push yourself and try things.”
Jason Statham

I woke up at 6:00am this morning, ready, willing, and able to write today’s post.

Or at least I thought so.

With just enough caffeine coursing through my veins, my brain was mostly functional. Then the internet said, “Oh, dear...we have other plans.”

The first mistake was opening my email. Next thing I knew, I was watching a video about...cubs and otters and bears, oh my! That somehow led to researching lube and sex toys. Which naturally led to a Reddit thread debating the merits of silicone- versus water-based lubes, favorite toys, and enough opinions to fill a Sex Ed textbook. Then YouTube suggested a few “related” videos because, apparently, the algorithm had decided gay sex health was on today’s curriculum.

By the time I looked up, nearly three hours had disappeared, my stomach was growling, and the blog post I intended to write was still just a good intention.

After a quick bite, I finally sat down to write. At 9:15am.

Is this what 54 feels like? Or is this just what being alive in 2026 feels like? I just can’t tell anymore.

• Every app is screaming, “LOOK OVER HERE!”

• Every notification is waving jazz hands.

• Every algorithm is basically RuPaul reminding me, "If you can't love another recommended video, how in the hell are you gonna love yourself?" Can I get an "Amen!"?

The internet has become the world's biggest casino crossed with the world's weirdest circus. Except instead of gambling with money, we're gambling with our attention. The clowns are algorithms. The monkeys are browser tabs. And while we're busy watching the spectacle, the house always wins.

To be fair, as a bear, I bear some responsibility. Pun intended.

I’ve always been curious.

One minute I’m researching vintage physique photos. The next I’m reading about the history of personal lubricants because...well...one click led to another.

My browser history probably needs therapy more than I do.

The sneakiest part is that none of it feels like procrastination. It feels like research. Meanwhile, my actual to-do list sits in the corner, waiting not-so-patiently.

I don’t think we’re suffering from attention deficits nearly as much as we’re suffering from attention overloads.

There are simply too many shiny objects competing for our eyeballs. Especially online:

• “News”

• “Texts”

• “Emails”

• TikToks

• Instagrams

• Substacks

• Podcasts

• YouTubes

• And more!

Somewhere beneath all that digital confetti is a quiet little voice asking, “Remember that thing you actually wanted to do today?” Poor little guy never stands a chance.

The funny thing is, I don’t actually want to be less curious.

Curiosity has introduced me to incredible people, fascinating stories, forgotten history, beautiful art, and enough wonderfully useless trivia to keep me entertained for the rest of my life.

I never want to lose that sense of wonder. I just want to get a little better at deciding whether I’m following my curiosity...or whether an algorithm is leading me around by the nose.

Because those are two very different things.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hit “Publish” before the internet convinces me I need to learn the history of inflatable pool toys or the mating habits of sea turtles.

Keep calm and keep curious!
Clint 🌈✌️

NEW + NOW SHOWING

SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-25 = Al Carmines (1936-2005) = American theologian and playwright 🌈

• 07-25 = Christine Quinn (1966- ) = American politician 🌈

• 07-25 = Patricia Todd (1955- ) = American politician 🌈

• 07-25 = Thomas Eakins (1844-1916) = American artist and photographer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I believe that laughter is the best emotional Band-Aid in the world. It’s like nature’s Neosporin.”
Matt LeBlanc

When I was a kid, my parents loved telling the story of how I learned to walk. Almost as much as I loved watching The Three Stooges.

Apparently, I skipped crawling altogether. I went straight from rolling around on our avocado-green shag carpet to taking my first steps.

I guess I didn’t always love being on my knees. 😎👻

Fast forward fifty-plus years, and the universe decided it was time to remind me that my knees aren’t getting any younger.

A couple of days ago, I somehow twisted my right knee while walking across a coffee shop. Not running a marathon. Not climbing a mountain. Just walking toward an empty seat.

One second I was strolling across the shop. The next, a lightning bolt of pain shot through my leg so suddenly I nearly face-planted with the floor.

I was meeting some new friends from out of town, so I did everything I could to avoid turning our coffee shop hangout into a Three Stooges sketch.

Thankfully, I made it to a chair before my knee completely gave out. I sipped my herbal iced tea, laughed through the pain, and spent the next hour getting to know this awesome couple better.

By the time we left, the pain had dulled enough for me to hobble back to my car.

I had officially graduated from “helpless old queen” to “slightly wounded pirate.”

Yesterday, I saw my chiropractor, who quickly solved the mystery.

The good news? My knee isn’t really the problem.

The bad news? My glutes and hamstrings are so tight they’ve been pulling everything around them out of alignment, including my knee.

According to my sassy-sexy-sweet chiropractor, my glutes and hamstrings are tighter than a drag queen’s tuck.

It’s a good thing he’s cute. And funny. And really, really good at his job.

Fucking ginger cubs like him are my Kryptonite.

After spending the last year and a half learning how to loosen my grip on life, apparently my glutes and hamstrings didn’t get the memo.

So my assignment for the next few days is to stay home, rest, do some gentle stretching, and avoid the temptation to clean and redecorate my apartment.

A year ago, I would’ve ignored the pain, pushed through it….and made things worse.

These days I’m trying something radical: Listening to my body. And my sassy doctor.

It turns out healing isn’t always about doing more. Sometimes it’s about doing less. Giving your body a chance to catch up with your ambitions.

It’s also a nice reminder that getting older isn’t necessarily about falling apart. It’s about paying attention before your body has to poke you right between the eyes.

Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

So for the next few days, I’ll be taking things baby step by baby step. Inch by inch.

Hopefully without any accompanying laugh track.

Keep calm and hobble on with me, y’all!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-24 = Amelia Earhart (1897-1939) = American aviator and pioneer 🌈

• 07-24 = Anna Paquin (1982- ) = Canadian-New Zealander actor 🌈

• 07-24 = Gus Van Sant (1952- ) = American filmmaker 🌈

• 07-24 = Robert Graves (1895-1985) = English writer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Everything’s changing so fast that it’s sometimes hard to keep up.”
Gus Van Sant

For me, birthdays have become less about counting the candles on the cake and more about counting the blessings in my life. Thankfully, I’m lucky to have quite a few.

Today, though, I'd like to celebrate one blessing in particular: my best friend and brother from another mother, , who’s blessed my life with his friendship for the past thirty-one years.

Way back in 1995, back when the internet made noises that sounded like a fax machine arguing with a robot and meeting someone online was considered a bit scandalous, I wandered into an AOL M4M chat room.

That’s where I met Drewski.

We started chatting simply because we shared the same birthday. Though I’m older by just a year, Drewski looks younger now than when we first met. You’re ruining the bell curve. Good thing I love you, boo! 👻

We also happened to be in remarkably similar places in life. We were both coming out, navigating the dating world for the first time, and thrilled to have a co-conspirator along for the ride. I was living in Dallas. He was in Los Angeles.

What started as almost-daily chats soon turned into weekly phone calls. For those too young to remember, this was back when long-distance calls cost extra. So every conversation was basically an investment in our friendship.

Considering we still talk (and/or text) almost every day more than three decades later, I'd say those long-distance charges were money well spent.

Eventually, while flying home from a business trip, I intentionally booked a weeklong layover in the City of Angels so we could finally meet in person.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Thirty-one years later, he’s still one of my favorite humans.

More than a friend, Drewski is my chosen brother. He was the first person I consciously added to my chosen family. Through career changes, relocations, heartbreaks, breakdowns, breakthroughs, celebrations, existential crises, medical emergencies, shopping sprees, road trips, and more birthday cakes and candles than either of us cares to admit, he's been there. A true friend indeed…

Today we’re not able to celebrate together, but distance has never been much of an impediment for our friendship. We’ve been texting since early this morning, and over the weekend we had an early birthday breakfast at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

I left that meal with a belly full, an even fuller heart, and yet another reminder that family isn’t always the one we’re born into. Sometimes it includes someone you met in an AOL chat room in 1995.

So today, I'm celebrating more than just another trip around the sun. I'm celebrating thirty-one years of friendship, fifty-three years of Drewski's life, fifty-four years of my own, and all the adventures and misadventures that somehow keep finding us.

I have a feeling the best chapters of our lives are still being written.

Thank you for being a friend, Nerrrrrd!
Clint 🌈✌️

P.S. I mean every single word of this song. From the bottom of my heart. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-23 = Charlotte Cushman (1816-1876) = American actor 🌈

• 07-23 = F. Holland Day (1864-1933) = American photographer 🌈

• 07-23 = Gavin Lambert (1924-2005) = British-American writer 🌈

• 07-23 = Ruth Ellis (1899-2000) = American activist and centenarian 🌈

• 07-23 = Samuel Steward (1909-1993) = American tattooist and pornographer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“My main hope for myself is to be where I am.”
Woody Harrelson

Today is my last full day of being 53.

Tomorrow I turn 54. Which means another revolution around the sun, another excuse to eat cake, and another reminder that time is somehow both the fastest and slowest thing in the universe.

Some years disappear in the blink of an eye.
Others deserve their own Ken Burns documentary.
For me, fifty-three somehow managed to be both.

When I look back, I'm amazed by how much happened. Not because everything went according to plan. Because it most definitely didn't. I'm amazed because, somehow, I kept adapting. I kept moving forward. I kept making it work. Mostly.

If anything, my setbacks taught me more than my victories ever could.

Last July 26, just days after my 53rd birthday, I found myself in the emergency room after a freak accident that could have ended far worse than it did. It wasn’t exactly how I imagined kicking off the year. Or how fucking cute my medical tech was. Swoon.

Moments like that have a funny way of clarifying what matters.

Life isn’t guaranteed. None of us knows how many birthdays we’ll get, so I think every single one of them is worth celebrating.

Thankfully, the year wasn’t all hospitals, health scares, and hard lessons.

I also got to set sail on a trio of cruises, disconnect from everyday life, and reconnect with the simple joy of wandering somewhere new. There’s something magical about watching the shoreline disappear and realizing your biggest decision for the day is whether to order another cocktail or another slice of pizza.

I highly recommend both.

Even better than the places I’ve been are the people I’ve shared them with.

Some are the chosen family and friends I’ve known for decades. Others I’ve only recently met. And more than a few began as tiny profile pictures on the internet before becoming real people sitting across the table from me, laughing over a beverage or a bite.

In fact, in a few hours, I’m meeting a fellow Substacker and his partner in real life for the first time. I’m taking them out to lunch at one of my favorite barbecue restaurants. Good food. Good people. And a great excuse to enjoy some cornbread. Priorities, y’all.

I'm excited to meet them. Not because I expect us to become instant best friends, but because I love watching online friendships spill over into real life. It's a chance to swap comments and DMs for face-to-face conversation, break (corn)bread, and get to know each other beyond our devices and screens.

One of my favorite things about living in the Los Angeles area is that people are always passing through. Over the years, I’ve shared breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and happy hours with internet friends from all over the world.

Whenever I hear someone I know virtually is coming to town, I try to make a meet-up happen. Schedules don’t always line up. But when they do, it’s almost always magical.

Some of those meet-ups have lasted hours.
Some of those friendships have lasted for years.

That’s one of my favorite surprises of the Internet Age: sometimes the people you’ve met online turn out to be every bit as wonderful in person. Occasionally even funnier...and prettier.

Maybe the biggest things 53 reinforced for me are:

• Progress isn’t linear.

• Friendship isn’t linear.

• Healing isn’t linear.

• Life certainly isn’t linear.

Sometimes you take two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes you sprint ahead. Sometimes life tackles you, steals your lunch money, and sends you back to the starting line.

The good news is that you get to start again.

And if you’re paying attention, you don’t start from scratch.

• You start with more experience.

• You start a little wiser.

• You start a little kinder.

• You start a little more patient with yourself.

• You start a little less interested in proving yourself and a little more interested in enjoying yourself.

Over the past year, I’ve made mistakes, missed opportunities, gotten in my own way, had setbacks, and changed course more than once.

But looking back, I don’t think those detours slowed me down.

I think they made me who I am today.

So here’s to 53.

• Thank you for the lessons.

• Thank you for the laughter.

• Thank you for the friends, the adventures, the scares, the second chances, and the daily reminders that life is meant to be lived, not merely survived.

And here’s to 54.

I have no idea what’s coming next. But for the first time in a long time, I’m ready for whatever adventures and misadventures come my way.

Keep calm and reflect on!

Clint 🌈✌️

P.S. To celebrate my birthday tomorrow, I’m offering 54% off annual subscriptions. Today and tomorrow only. So if you’ve been thinking about becoming a paid subscriber, now’s a great time. Let’s get this birthday party started!

P.P.S. To everyone who’s already a paid subscriber or patron, THANK YOU! Your continued support helps make this wacky, weird, and wonderful experiment possible. And to all my free subscribers, I’m so grateful you’re along for the ride. Thank you too!

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-22 = Emily Saliers (1963- ) = American singer-songwriter 🌈

• 07-22 = Grover Dale (1935- ) = American actor, choreographer, and director 🌈

• 07-22 = Frederick Rolfe (1860-1913) = English writer, artist, and photographer 🌈

• 07-22 = James Whale (1889-1957) = English director and actor 🌈

• 07-22 = Rufus Wainwright (1973- ) = American singer-songwriter 🌈

MAN CRUSHES OF THE DAY

“A director must be pretty bad if he can’t get a thrill out of war, murder, robbery.”
James Whale

“I definitely have a Luddite’s approach to what’s going on. I find that as I get older, I get stupider.”
Rufus Wainwright

Every time I open Scruff, the gay dating/hookup app, I feel like I’m browsing the world’s weirdest and wildest version of Zillow, the real estate/valuation app.

• “Love hiking and hijinks”

• “Dog dad with a dad bod”

• “Gaymer4Gaymers”

• "NSA ISO LTR"

• “No drama or open relationships”

• “Chunky and funky”

Even though half the profiles sound like they were written by a chatbot having an identity crisis, I keep doom-scrolling anyway, in search of signs of intelligent life in the universe...and hopefully a few guys interested in exploring a friends with benefits (FWB) situationship with me.

The funny thing is, the older I get, the less interested I am in everyone's labels and the more fascinated I become by what we all have in common.

Which is kind of ironic, because I didn't exactly major in Men 101 growing up.

Yes, I'm gay. But my closest friends were almost always girls and women. Around them, I could simply be myself. I didn't feel like I had to prove anything or perform some version of masculinity that never quite fit.

Meanwhile, boys scared the shit out of me.

Not all of them, of course. My dad and a handful of male relatives embodied the kind of masculinity I still admire today. They were gentle without being weak, strong without being intimidating, and confident without making everyone else feel small.

They taught me that real strength isn't about dominating a room. It's about making the people around you feel safe enough to be themselves.

But most of the boys I encountered growing up? Hard pass. They were loud, unpredictable, and oddly committed to solving every disagreement with either a fist or a football.

Fast forward a few decades, and I'm still getting to know men. Not just romantically, but as friends, neighbors, coworkers, and strangers on the internet.

The more deep, honest conversations I have with my fellow man, the more convinced I am that we've all been sold a bill of goods about what separates us.

These days, it feels like everyone wants us to pick a side:

• Left or right?

• Red or blue?

• Gay or straight?

• Religious or atheist?

• Masculine or feminine?

Every conversation seems to come with an invisible loyalty test, as if we're supposed to squeeze ourselves into one neat little box and stay there forever.

I’ve never been much of a box guy. Mainly because I usually fall somewhere in the middle, more interested in understanding people than putting them into categories.

Unfortunately, algorithms don’t make money from nuance. They thrive on conflict. They reward outrage. They keep us doom-scrolling, doom-posting, and wondering whether civilization has another See You Next Tuesday or Taco Tuesday left in it.

But something funny happens when I put down my phone and spend time with actual human beings.

The labels fade. The caricatures disappear. And men become...men again.

I’ve noticed the same things over and over:

• Most just want to feel respected.

• Most carry regrets they rarely talk about.

• Most worry they’re screwing something up.

• Most want someone who laughs at their dumb jokes.

• Most are doing the best they can with the tools life handed them.

• Most are trying to be good sons, brothers, husbands, partners, fathers, friends, or simply decent human beings.

And underneath all the muscles, or lack thereof, there's usually a sweet little boy who's still asking the same question: Am I enough?

• Enough of a man.

• Enough to be loved.

• Enough to matter.

The more I listen to other people's stories, the more I realize we're all carrying around variations of the same hopes and fears.

• We want to love.

• We want to belong.

• We want to be loved.

• We want to laugh more than we cry.

That's why I'm becoming less interested in finding people who think exactly like I do and more interested in finding people who are curious enough to have a conversation.

• People who know how to laugh at themselves.

• People who understand that kindness isn’t weakness.

• People who can disagree without becoming disagreeable.

The internet and legacy media have made a fortune convincing us that we're enemies.

But real life keeps reminding me that we're neighbors and fellow travelers. We're all perfectly imperfect human beings trying to make sense of this weird little ride on this weird little planet, traveling through time and space together.

Maybe that’s the real lesson: The labels aren’t meaningless, but they’re rarely the most interesting thing about us. Our politics, religion, sexuality, careers, bodies, and dating profiles may tell part of our story. Our humanity tells the rest.

• Here’s to giving each other a little more grace.

• Here’s to crossing more bridges than we burn.

• Here’s to asking more questions than making assumptions.

Because beneath all the labels, we're all looking for many of the same things:

• A little understanding.

• A little respect.

• A little laughter.

• And a safe place where we can finally love ourselves and each other.

Turns out, we really are more alike than we are different.

And we’re better together, y’all.

Keep calm and carry on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-21 = Hart Crane (1899-1932) = American poet 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“And I have been able to give freedom and life which was acknowledged in the ecstasy of walking hand in hand across the most beautiful bridge of the world, the cables enclosing us and pulling us upward in such a dance as I have never walked and never can walk with another.”
Hart Crane

Around the turn of the millennium, two pop culture masterpieces entered my life:

1. “Samantha Jones” from HBO’s Sex and the City

2. “The Bad Touch” by Bloodhound Gang

Somehow, they’ve both been living rent-free in my head for over twenty-five years.

One taught me about friendships, relationships, and situationships.

The other taught me that "you and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals."

Honestly? They’ve both aged better than I expected. (Maybe I have too?)

Back then, while channeling my inner Samantha, I saw "The Bad Touch" as a dumb, catchy anthem for horny frat boys.

In 2026, I hear it differently. Beneath the innuendo and silliness, the song accidentally stumbled onto something true. Not about monkey noises. But about touching.

Over the last couple of years, as I've crawled out of anxiety, depression, grief, and my Captain Caveman era, I've learned something I wish we talked about a lot more:

Human touch is magical as fuck!

It’s not necessarily sexual. And it’s not necessarily not sexual. It’s just…human.

• A hug after a hard day

• Holding hands crossing the street

• A reassuring hand on your shoulder

• Falling asleep with your head on someone's chest

I can't speak for everyone, but my entire body melts at the very thought of being touched by someone I like, respect, and trust.

My stress melts away. My blood pressure drops. My nervous system finally stops acting like it's being hunted by velociraptors.

For me, touch is basically a biological fast charger. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, too many have made touch complicated and weird. Some have convinced themselves every cuddle is foreplay to fucking and every display of affection deserves a relationship status update on social media.

No thanks.

• Sometimes a cuddle is just a cuddle.

• Sometimes it’s foreplay.

• Sometimes it’s “therapy” with pillows.

• Sometimes it’s all of the above at the same time.

As for me? Hi. My name is Clint, and I'm a cuddle addict. But I don’t think I need a twelve-step program for it. Yet anyway. Give me a comfy couch, a soft blanket, a good movie, and a good man I like, respect, and trust, and I’m beyond a happy camper.

Cue Samantha Jones casually sipping a cosmopolitan: “Honey...why stop at one?”

Clutch your pearls if you must, gurrrls. But some of my favorite memories involve what can only be described as cuddle puddles. Friends with benefits. Lovers. Boyfriends. Partners. We'd watch movies, talk for hours, laugh until our stomachs hurt, or accidentally fall asleep like a pile of sleepy puppies.

Sometimes sex happened. Sometimes it didn’t. The point wasn’t the destination. The point was feeling close to people I cared about. Safe, comfortable, and connected too.

And that’s the part I think we’ve forgotten: Touch doesn’t always have to lead somewhere. Sometimes the destination is the touch.

The older I get, the more I appreciate affection for affection's sake. Maybe that's because life has kicked my ass enough to remind me what really matters. Or maybe I've simply become Samantha with a slightly mellower libido and fewer stilettos. Probably both.

Either way, I have zero interest in pretending that healthy, consensual touch is somehow embarrassing. In a world that often feels lonely, disconnected, and glued to our screens, it might be one of the most healing things we can offer one another.

So yes, I’ll probably keep humming “The Bad Touch” for the rest of my life.

Only now, I hear it differently.

The song isn’t really about sex.

At least not for me anymore.

It’s become a reminder that we were never meant to navigate this life untouched.

And with the right people, a little trust, and enthusiastic consent...”the bad touch” turns out to be one of the very best parts of being human.

Keep calm and cuddle on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-20 = Paul Fasana (1933-2021) = American librarian and archivist 🌈

• 07-20 = Randal Kleiser (1946- ) = American filmmaker 🌈

• 07-20 = Roberta Achtenberg (1950- ) = American attorney and activist 🌈

• 07-20 = Rokas Žilinskas (1972-2017) = Lithuanian journalist and politician 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Optimists are usually wrong. But all the great change in history, positive change, was done by optimists.”
Thomas Friedman

If you had asked me eighteen months ago what my five-year plan was, I probably would've answered, "Maybe I can leave the house before another wildfire threatens to kill me and wipe out my neighborhood."

Yeah...the bar was very low.

If you’re new here, the last year and a half have been one hell of a ride for me.

I’ve had breakdowns. I’ve had breakthroughs. Sometimes both before lunch.

Hollywood loves a makeover montage. Real life is a lot less glamorous.

• It’s crying on a Tuesday because the Wi-Fi stopped working.

• It's celebrating because I drove across town without talking myself out of it or having a panic attack.

• It’s realizing the world isn’t quite as scary as your anxiety insisted it was.

• It’s discovering that progress is measured in inches, not miles.

One of the biggest surprises is that, somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to become the guy I used to be.

My old self definitely had his moments. He was clever, creative, and stubborn enough to survive some pretty rough chapters. But I like this newer version a whole lot better. He's funnier. Kinder, too...at least most days. Maybe even a little wiser. He's finally learning that asking for help isn't a character flaw, and that taking care of himself isn't selfish. It's basic maintenance. You can't keep driving the car if you never change the oil.

I also learned something I really wish I’d figured out years ago: healing is a team sport.

We love the myth of the rugged individual who pulls himself up by his bootstraps, but that’s mostly Hollywood nonsense. Sometimes you need a therapist. Sometimes you need a friend who answers the phone. Sometimes you need somebody to drag you out for coffee, remind you to eat something besides cereal, or simply sit beside you while life feels impossibly heavy.

It turns out none of us were ever meant to carry everything alone.

My longtime friends loved me through my ugliest chapters without trying to “fix” me. They just kept showing up.

Then there are all of you. My friends and supporters on the internet.

Some of my closest friendships today started because somebody stumbled across one of my rambling posts online and thought, “This weirdo seems interesting. What's his deal?”

The internet can be an absolute dumpster fire. But every once in a while, it connects me to people who quietly restore my faith in humanity. Who knew?

Am I "cured?" Oh, hell no. I'm still perfectly capable of spiraling into an existential crisis because someone replied with a thumbs down emoji instead of actual words.

But these days, the good days vastly outnumber the bad ones.

• I laugh more.

• I venture out more.

• I’m making art again.

• I’m making plans again.

• I’m making friends again.

And maybe that's what healing actually looks like.

Not becoming a completely different person.

Just becoming more yourself than you’ve been in a very long time.

The version of you that laughs a little louder. Trusts a little easier. Says yes a little more often. The one who starts looking forward to tomorrow instead of bracing for it.

Healing isn’t always linear. It’s more like trying to walk home after last call at the local gay bar: a little wobbly, occasionally undignified, and almost guaranteed to involve at least one questionable decision.

But somehow...you still get home.

Keep calm and get your groove on!
Clint 🌈✌️

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

• SUNDAY = Ding Dong, Lady G Is Gone

• MONDAY = Back In It To Win It

• TUESDAY = The Fuckery Of Flakes

• WEDNESDAY = Serving 'Tiny Desk' Realness

• THURSDAY = Keeping Up With The Substacks

• FRIDAY = Back To The Bare (+ Bear) Essentials

• SATURDAY = Back To Studio Saturdays

MORE NSFW MONTAGES
On Substack

MORE SFW MONTAGES
On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-19 = Alice Dunbar Nelson (1875-1935) = American writer and activist 🌈

• 07-19 = Danny Roberts (1977- ) = American recruiter and tv personality 🌈

• 07-19 = Jaiyah Saelua (1988- ) = Samoan international football player 🌈

• 07-19 = Joseph Hansen (1923-2004) = American writer 🌈

• 07-19 = Marcel Moore (1892-1972) = French illustrator and photographer 🌈

• 07-19 = Zanele Muholi (1972- ) = South African photographer and artist 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I think people tend to live, whether they like it or not, influenced by what’s next door to them.”
Campbell Scott

Once upon a time, back during my agoraphobic “Captain Caveman” era, I accidentally stumbled onto one of the healthiest creative habits I’ve ever had.

I called it Studio Saturdays.

The concept was delightfully low-tech: spend at least part of the day reading a book, watching a movie, tumbling headfirst down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, flipping through old photography books, doodling, daydreaming, or learning something that seemed completely useless at the time but might prove surprisingly useful six months later.

Basically, I gave myself permission to play.

As a kid, Saturday mornings meant cartoons, a bowl of sugary cereal, and an entire morning stretching out in front of me with absolutely nothing I had to do.

Studio Saturdays became the grown-up version of that feeling. Less Bugs Bunny cartoons, more physique photography. Fewer Cap’n Crunch commercials, more queer art and artists.

The funny thing is, those “unproductive” Saturdays laid the foundation for some of my favorite work.

A random article became a montage. A forgotten photographer inspired an entire collection. A half-baked note scribbled in a notebook eventually turned into a blog post, a design, or a video.

Turns out creativity is a sneaky little bastard. It usually shows up after you stop chasing it around with a clipboard.

Somewhere over the past year, though, I quietly abandoned the routine.

Not for any dramatic reason.

Life just...life’d.

I moved. I unpacked. I procrastinated. I rearranged my studio apartment roughly seventeen times until everything finally felt “right.” Well, “good enough.” Before I knew it, Saturdays had become just another day for emails, errands, and pretending that being busy was the same thing as being creative.

Spoiler alert: It isn’t.

Maybe it’s because I turn 54 next week, but I’ve come to believe that creativity isn’t fueled by productivity alone. It needs breathing room. If all I ever do is crank out posts and videos, sooner or later the well runs dry. Like every artist, writer, musician, designer, and professional daydreamer, I need time to refill it.

Or, in my case, refill it with obscure LGBTQ history, vintage beefcake photos, forgotten graphic designers, mid-century typography, and whatever wonderfully weird rabbit hole catches my eye that day.

So today, after a pre-birthday breakfast with my best friend, I’m officially bringing sexy back. I mean...Studio Saturdays back.

No deadlines. No metrics. No algorithms. No guilt for spending three hours researching something absolutely nobody asked me to research.

Just a few hours to doodle and noodle, read and research, and wander wherever my curiosity decides to take me.

Will I discover my next big project? Maybe.

Will I spend forty-five minutes learning about an obscure typeface nobody has used since the Eisenhower administration? Also possible.

Will I somehow end up watching someone restore a 1938 toaster on YouTube? Not likely, but you get the idea. Some of my best ideas just showed up one day without me looking for them.

They showed up while I was “just playing” around.

So here’s to the return of Studio Saturdays. May they once again be filled with curiosity, serendipity, and just enough goofing off to accidentally create something worth sharing.

Keep calm and play on, player!
Clint 🌈✌️

NEW + NOW SHOWING

MORE SFW MONTAGES
On YouTube

FROM THE ARCHIVES

MORE NSFW MONTAGES
On Substack

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 07-18 = Dick Button (1929-2025) = American figure skater and analyst 🌈

• 07-18 = Elio Di Rupo (1951- ) = Prime Minister of Belgium 🌈

• 07-18 = Elizabeth Gilbert (1969- ) = American journalist and author 🌈

• 07-18 = Laurence Housman (1865-1959) = English writer and illustrator 🌈

• 07-18 = Lillian Faderman (1940- ) = American scholar, historian, and writer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I don’t care who you are, the pressure is on to go to the next task immediately. What happened to the days of hanging out in the hammock all afternoon?”
James Brolin