While I aced kindergarten, I almost failed the first grade.

The difference? I loved my kindergarten teacher. And I hated my first-grade teacher.

After attending a parent-teacher night with the Wicked Witch of Southeast Dallas, my dad sat me down for one of his infamous “talks.” I don’t think it went quite the way he expected.

Dad: “Little man, you’re too smart to fail the first grade.”

Me: “I don’t care. I’m not learning anything from her. If I do well, it looks like she’s doing well. And she’s not. She’s mean and nasty.”

I was an opinionated six-year-old, and I’m sure I’ll be an opinionated sixty-year-old.

When I like and respect a teacher, I’m engaged and eager to learn. When I don’t, I’m one of the most difficult student in the class. It’s been a recurring theme throughout my educational career and has included more than a few memorable face-offs.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school. My dad had died unexpectedly a few months earlier, and my mother and I were having the fight of our lives over what I was going to do after graduation.

I had a job offer in California and had been accepted at both UCLA and USC. I was leaning toward UCLA. There was just one problem: paying for it. I wasn’t eligible for the kind of scholarships I would have needed to afford UCLA, much less USC, and my mother had made it clear that she would only pay for me to attend a university in Texas.

So, long story short, I went to a university less than an hour from home.

I majored in radio, television, and film. I minored in English, with a focus on creative writing. And I took as many art and art history classes as I could squeeze into my schedule.

While I enjoyed my art and writing classes, I didn’t love college.

But I knew it was my parents’ dream for me to earn a degree. So I went. I showed up. I did the work. I went through the paces.

And then I graduated.

My mother was considerably more excited about my Bachelor of Arts than I was. I even walked at graduation mostly because it would make her happy.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember learning much in college that I couldn’t have learned, and in many cases already had learned, on my own.

I’ve always been a self-starter and a self-learner. If I’m interested in something, I go down the rabbit hole. I read. I research. I experiment. I figure shit out. I’ve never particularly needed someone standing at the front of a classroom telling me what I should be interested in learning.

Which is probably why the idea that I’ll soon be applying to graduate school is fucking with my head a little.

I don’t particularly like academia.

No offense to academics. It’s just not my cup of tea.

And yet, here I am.

Because what I actually want to do with the next chapter of my life is become a licensed social worker, specializing in gay elder care and counseling.

I see myself working with gay men my age and older who grew up in a very different world from the one we live in today. Men who came of age when being gay could cost you your family, your career, your home, your community, or even your life. Men who may now be facing aging, isolation, grief, family estrangement, or the prospect of navigating bureaucratic systems that were never designed with them in mind.

I want to be someone who understands the cultural context my gay brothers and gay uncles came from because I came from it too.

I want to help people navigate the emotional and practical realities of growing older while remaining connected to who they are, where they came from, and the community that helped them survive.

Doing all that, professionally anyway, requires more than simply being a reasonably empathetic human being who has lived out loud most of his life.

• It requires graduate school.

• It requires a degree.

• It requires a license.

So here we go.

The good news is that my undergraduate degree, though more than 30 years old now, is still sitting there on my résumé, quietly doing its job. And as it turns out, it is still the primary prerequisite for most of the graduate programs I’m considering.

So I suppose my mother knew what she was doing. It just took three decades for her investment to pay off. And perhaps that’s the thing I’m finding most amusing about all of this.

I didn’t get my degree because I was passionate about higher education. I didn’t get it because I dreamed of academia. I didn’t even get it because I wanted to be there.

I got it because my mama made me.

And now, more than 30 years later, that little piece of paper may finally help me become what I want to be if and when I grow up.

Who knew? My mama, apparently.

Keep calm and learn on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-13 = Andrea Gibson (1975- ) = American spoken word poet 🌈

• 08-13 = Domenico Dolce (1958- ) = Italian fashion designer 🌈

• 08-13 = Gluck (1895-1978) = English painter 🌈

• 08-13 = Herb Ritts (1952-2002) = American photographer 🌈

• 08-13 = Jennifer Pritzker (1950- ) = American investor and philanthropist 🌈

• 08-13 = Karine Jean-Pierre (1974- ) = French-American political advisor 🌈

• 08-13 = Sam Champion (1961- ) = American tv personality and weatherman 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Many people who excel are self-taught.”
Herb Ritts

In an effort to calm and soothe my exhausted mind and psyche, I’ve returned to using my library card and sampling books that might give me a new and/or deeper perspective on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

My latest find is Mattering by Jennifer Breheny Wallace.

I only started reading it last night, but I’m already inspired by its common-sense approach to complex human problems, drawing on simple concepts from biology, psychology, and sociology.

Wallace defines “mattering” this way:

This definition hits close to home because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how and to whom I matter.

I’m struggling with the feeling that the balance between mattering to the people in my real life and mattering to my online friends has gotten a little lopsided.

Both matter to me. Both feed my soul. Neither is better or worse than the other.

The connections I’ve made online are real connections. The people who read my words, respond to my posts, share and support my work, watch my videos, or simply pop up in my digital life are real people. Their encouragement, laughter, conversations, affection, and occasional “Hey, I needed to hear this today” messages matter.

They remind me that the things I make and write reach beyond the four walls of my little studio and sometimes make a difference in someone else’s day.

But there are other kinds of connections I’ve been missing: real-life friends and real-life friends-with-benefits.

The spontaneous conversations. The hugs and kisses. The laughter and tears. The raised eyebrows and knowing smiles. The ability to feel when someone is having a bad day without them having to type, “I’m having a bad day.”

In other words, the messy, funny, affectionate, occasionally complicated human connections that happen when we share the same physical space.

I miss those.

And, if I’m being completely honest, I miss some of the people who used to be much closer to me. Before the pandemic and depression upended my social life.

Many former dears and nears have become quite distant, while others have more or less disappeared. Of the people I considered close before 2020, only a handful remain close today. And for those who have stuck around, I am beyond grateful for their grace, love, and patience.

Life happens. People change. Circumstances shift. Relationships evolve. Or end.

I understand all of that. Intellectually, at least. But understanding something doesn’t necessarily make me miss some people any less.

Maybe that’s part of what has been bothering me lately. I have plenty of evidence that I matter. I see it daily in the messages, comments, subscriptions, conversations, collaborations, and friendships that exist online.

Yet some small, stubborn part of me still wants someone to sit beside me on the couch.

There is something deeply human about being physically present with another person. And perhaps that’s one reason a decision I’ve been quietly contemplating has started to feel less like a random idea and more like a natural next chapter.

As I mentioned recently, I’m planning to go back to school next fall. I’ll be pursuing a master’s degree in social work, with the goal of becoming a licensed social worker.

Writing that for the world to see feels more than a little strange.

Who do I think I am to think I can help other people? Especially when I’m at least as fucked up as the next guy.

Well, I’m Clint. And I’m Brian. And I think I’ve got what it takes to make a positive difference in other people’s lives.

After spending the past several years rebuilding my own life, navigating my own storms, questioning my own worth, and figuring out how to put the pieces back together in my own life, I’ve become increasingly interested in helping other people do some of the same work.

Not because I have all the answers. Far from it.

Maybe quite the opposite.

I know what it feels like to wonder whether you matter. To feel disconnected. To question your place in the world. To look around at a landscape of discord, distrust, fear, grief, loneliness, and uncertainty and wonder where the hell you fit into all of it.

I also know how powerful it can be when someone reminds me that I do have a place. That I am worthy. That my experiences matter. That I have something to contribute. That I don’t have to have everything figured out to deserve to be here.

Perhaps that’s ultimately what draws me to social work. And to Mattering.

I want to learn how to help others, gay elders in particular, recognize their own worth and value, especially when the world around us seems determined to convince us otherwise.

While we’re increasingly encouraged to divide ourselves into opposing camps, reduce complicated human beings to labels, and assume the worst of people we don’t understand, I’d rather spend my time learning how to help people find their way back to one another.

And perhaps back to themselves.

That doesn’t mean abandoning COLLIDE PRESS or the creative work I’ve spent the past few years building. If anything, I suspect these disparate puzzle pieces are all pointing toward the same things: Creativity. Connection. Community. History. Storytelling. Advocacy. Empathy. And now, perhaps, social work too.

Maybe I’ve been collecting puzzle pieces without realizing what picture they were trying to create.

Which brings me back to “mattering.”

Maybe “mattering” isn’t about choosing between online and offline, or between old relationships and new ones. Maybe it’s about recognizing the different ways we fit into one another’s lives. And being intentional about making room for the kinds of connection we’ve been missing.

Reading Ms. Wallace’s book is reminding me that “mattering” isn’t necessarily about being important to everyone. It’s about having meaningful connections in which our presence makes some kind of difference.

A little puzzle piece here. A little puzzle piece there.
A text message here. A shared meal there.
A creative project here. A hug and kiss there.
A comment from someone thousands of miles away.
A friend sitting beside you watching something stupid on television.
A stranger telling you that something you made made their day.
A furry niece waiting for you to come home.
A person who remembers something you said six months ago.
A person who notices when you’re not quite yourself.
A person who thinks the world of you. And the people you think the world of.

Perhaps that’s the smattering of “mattering” I need right now: not one grand confirmation that my life has meaning, but a collection of small reminders that I’m connected to other people. And that what I do, say, make, and give can ripple outward in ways I may never see or fully understand.

And maybe, in reminding myself that I matter to others, I can also remember something equally important: Others matter to me, too.

Maybe that’s the lesson I’m taking from this book before I’ve even finished reading the first chapter. And perhaps it’s also the reason I’m preparing for my next chapter.

I don’t know exactly where a master’s degree in social work will take me. I don’t know what I’ll be doing with it, who I’ll meet, or whose life I might eventually touch.

But I do know this: I would like to spend the next chapters of my life helping people remember that they matter. Especially when they’re standing in the middle of their own storm and can’t see it for themselves.

That feels like a pretty good reason to go back to school and keep reading this book.

Keep calm and keep going!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-12 = Cara Delevingne (1992- ) = English model and actor 🌈

• 08-12 = George Bellows (1882-1925) = American artist 🌈

• 08-12 = Gladys Bentley (1907-1960) = American blues singer 🌈

• 08-12 = Katharine Lee Bates (1859-1929) = American author and poet 🌈

• 08-12 = Merikukka Forsius (1972- ) = Finnish politician 🌈

• 08-12 = Radclyffe Hall (1880-1943) = English writer and poet 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I could be a jerk and get a lot more publicity, but that’s not who I am.”
Pete Sampras

Yesterday, YouTube announced big changes—aka “new opportunities” in PR speak—to its YouTube Partner Program (YPP), doubling many of the requirements for new creators who want to get monetized—and for Shorts creators to remain monetized—on the platform.

Because apparently YouTube looked around and thought, “You know what creators really need? More hoops to jump through.” Fucking corporate assholes.

Thankfully, none of this affects my channel all that much. I’m already monetized, and my Shorts have earned me less than $200 over the past 90 days.

Still, I’m irritated.

Because this isn’t some struggling little startup trying to figure out how to keep the lights on. YouTube is a fucking juggernaut.

In 2025, YouTube generated more than $60B in advertising and subscription revenue for its parent company, Alphabet (aka Google). Advertising alone accounted for roughly $40B, according to industry estimates. Analysts expect YouTube’s revenue to climb to roughly $70 billion in 2026.

And this is the platform telling creators that the price of admission is going up. Cool.

Meanwhile, YouTube Shorts alone now average 200 billion views a day.

Not million. Billion. Every. Fucking. Day.

YouTube CEO Neal Mohan announced that milestone in a blog post, along with another data point that puts the platform’s scale into perspective: people watch more than 1 billion hours of YouTube on their televisions a day. That’s not counting desktop, laptop, mobile, or table views.

For some damn reason, YouTube has decided to reward its staggering success by making it harder for the people creating the content for the platform to get paid.

I’m not saying YouTube shouldn’t have standards or make a profit. Lately, the platform has been flooded with low-effort, repetitive, AI-generated, and otherwise questionable content. I have no problem with YouTube trying to separate independent creators from the content farms churning out algorithmic slop.

But there’s something inherently ridiculous about making the people producing the content that keeps this enormous machine running work harder to qualify for a smaller piece of the pie.

Especially when Google takes 45% of our AdSense revenue. Generous, right?

So starting in February 2027, I likely won’t make another dime from Shorts. But I will probably keep making them anyway. Because Shorts have become one of the few reliable ways to attract new viewers.

Shorts may not make much, if any, money, but they tend to get my content in front of people who otherwise might never find my channel. So I’ll essentially be making free content for YouTube, which YouTube will make money from.

Oh, late-stage capitalism. Fuck you very much.

YouTube giveth, and YouTube taketh away. Usually in the same update.

One thing YouTube has given me recently is a much larger international audience.

In June, roughly 45% of my channel’s views came from the United States. In July, that dropped to around 30%, while viewership increased significantly in Brazil, France, Germany, and Spain.

There’s something genuinely wonderful about seeing comments in languages I don’t speak. Someone in Brazil watched something I made. Someone in France found it. Someone in Germany or Spain wandered into my little corner of the internet.

That still blows my mind.

I spend an absurd amount of time researching, editing, and assembling these montages. Most of the time, I’m sitting alone at my desk with too many browser tabs open, collecting and curating the ingredients for a new video.

And then suddenly someone thousands of miles away is watching.

That part never gets old.

Which is why my relationship with YouTube is so complicated.

As a business partner, YouTube is more often than not abusive, cold, and demanding.

It changes the rules. It moves the goalposts. It takes a bigger cut. It gets twitchy about censorship and copyright. It allows Content ID fraud to run rampant and bots to run the show. With little to no human oversight.

And then, just as I’m ready to storm out and dramatically slam the door, YouTube goes: “Hey! Somebody in Brazil just discovered you!” And I’m like, “That’s so cool!”

As a distribution partner, YouTube is incredibly powerful.vAnd I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate that.

Two hundred billion Shorts views a day is a pretty compelling argument for why I probably shouldn’t abandon the platform. And that billion hours of daily TV viewing tells me YouTube isn’t just competing with TikTok, Instagram, Netflix, or traditional television anymore. For me and many others, it is television.

So I’ll keep making Shorts, even if they’re not a revenue stream. They’re marketing.

And hopefully some of those people will follow the trail back to my Substack, where I have considerably more control over what I make, what I publish, and how I connect with the people who choose to stick around.

And if YouTube wants to make it harder for creators to make money there? Fine. I’ll adapt. With all their bullshit these past few years, I’ve gotten pretty good at adapting.

But I’m also going to continue taking the wins where I can get them. Because even if YouTube giveth and YouTube taketh away, right now it’s doing something I genuinely love: It’s helping me find viewers I never would have found otherwise.

That’s the weird magic of the internet.

And despite the changing requirements and rules, I’m still here, damnit. Still creating. Still posting. Still experimenting. Still trying to turn YouTube’s increasingly ridiculous content game into something that works for me.

I can be pissed off at YouTube and grateful that it exists. Both things can be true.

And that may be the most YouTube thing of all.

Keep calm and carry on!
Clint 🌈✌️

RELATED READING

• You Tube Is Making It Harder To Earn Money On You Tube (The Verge)

• You Tube Teases Premium Lite Expansion, Doubles Channel Monetization Requirements (9to5Google)

• YouTube Monetization Requirements Are Changing in 2027 (vidIQ)

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-11 = Angus Wilson (1913-1991) = English novelist and short story writer 🌈

• 08-11 = Quinn (1995- ) = Canadian professional soccer player 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“People who put themselves on the line and sacrifice their own safety for the greater good and for others, and anyone in any profession whose concern is the welfare for other people instead of the individual, are inspiring and important.”
Chris Hemsworth

Later this morning, my roommate, his best friend, and a couple of Love Boat-style guest stars will be heading off on a four-night cruise to Mexico.

Me? I’m staying home. And doing my “homo alono” version of Risky Business.

For once, I’m more than happy to stay home. Not only does someone need to hold down the fort, I’m looking forward to taking care of my furry niece, Miss Ellie, while everyone else is off enjoying the dining and the wining. But no whining!

I’ve got four nights to myself, a puppy to spoil, some work to do, and an attitude to adjust. And after the past few weeks, I could probably use all four.

So while a few of my favorite people are off cruising to Mexico, I’ll be home here in Pasadena, hanging out with Miss Ellie, getting some actual work done, and hopefully getting my own little ship back on course.

Bon voyage, bitches. I’ll hold down the fort. Cya soon….

Keep calm and cruise on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-10 = Andrew Sullivan (1963- ) = English-American journalist and author 🌈

• 08-10 = René Crevel (1900-1935) = French writer 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“I don’t think there is a guy that played more gay characters than I have done in my life.”
Antonio Banderas

After publishing yesterday’s post, I went back to bed.

I was in a bad, bad mood. I didn’t really sleep, but I did slumber.

I also ended up talking on the phone. A lot. A trio of calls, spaced throughout the day, with lots of text conversations in between, helped me get my head back in the game. Kinda. Sorta. Mostly.

As I talked and texted with some of my favorite people, I realized that over the past year, I’ve abandoned many of the rituals and routines that helped me navigate three-plus years of agoraphobia and gave me the strength, stability, and structure to start COLLIDE PRESS.

Instead, I’ve been organizing my days around two very simple questions:

• How do I feel?

• What do I want to do?

At first, it felt liberating. No rigid schedules. No arbitrary rules. No feeling like I had to do something simply because Past Clint decided Present Clint should.

I would listen to my body. Honor my feelings. Go with the flow.

And there’s a lot to like about that method to my madness. It gives me flexibility. It leaves room for spontaneous plans, unexpected calls, social encounters, creative impulses, naps, adventures, and the occasional afternoon when the obvious answer is, “Fuck it. Let’s go do something fun.”

But there’s a downside.

When I schedule my life entirely around how I feel, I give my moods an awful lot of authority. And my moods are not qualified to be in management. Neither is my anxiety. Nor my pro-level avoidance.

And my inner procrastinator? That bitch has been embezzling time for years.

Give any of my emotions and feelings the opportunity to make every decision and suddenly it’s midnight. The dishes are still in the sink. I haven’t answered an email. And somehow I’ve fallen down another completely irrelevant Wikipedia rabbit hole.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I may have forgotten why rituals and routines are actually useful.

For me, they help me give the day some shape. They’re guardrails. They keep me from driving my life into a ditch every time I wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

Because there’s a difference between flexibility and drift.

Flexibility says, “I can change the plan.” Drift says, “What plan?”

When I do something often and regularly enough, I don’t have to negotiate with myself about it every time. I just do it.

And apparently, I need that.

Rituals and routines eliminate some of my mental gymnastics. They give the day a starting point. They create transitions. They tell my brain, “This is what happens next.”

That doesn’t mean I want to turn my life into a military operation.

I don’t want to schedule bathroom breaks in 15-minute increments. I don’t need an app congratulating me because I successfully drank water. And I absolutely do not want some productivity guru telling me how to optimize my morning.

I like spontaneity. I like flexibility. I like unexpected invitations, long conversations, wandering around museums, and sitting down to make something only to look up three hours later and wonder where the hell the afternoon went.

I want all of that.

But I also need some structure underneath it.

Once the basic life stuff is handled, there’s plenty of room for the fun stuff. The spontaneous stuff. The “let’s see where the day takes us” stuff. The stuff that makes life feel like life instead of a particularly elaborate spreadsheet.

Maybe that’s the part I’ve been missing.

I’ve spent too much time believing that getting back on track requires some dramatic course correction. A grand reset. A new system. A better version of myself.

But I know from experience that it usually doesn’t.

More often, getting back on track means doing the next small, obvious thing. Even when I don’t feel like doing it. Especially when I don’t feel like doing it. Do it anyway. And then do it again tomorrow. And the day after that.

Not because I’ve suddenly become disciplined. Not because I’ve figured out how to optimize my life. Not because I’ve finally found the perfect routine.

Just because I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

And eventually, almost imperceptibly, the dishes get done, the emails get answered, the videos get made, and I’m able to step outside with my head held high.

And somewhere along the way, I realize I’m not stuck anymore. I’m moving.

Maybe getting back on track isn’t about finding a new direction at all.

Maybe it’s simply remembering how to take the next step.

Keep calm and get your routine on!
Clint 🌈✌️

ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

• SUNDAY = I'm Feeling A'ight...A'ight?

• MONDAY = Hugs + Kisses

• TUESDAY = Press On To Impress

• WEDNESDAY = Old Dogs + New Tricks

• THURSDAY = Love + Light Never Go Out Of Style

• FRIDAY = Again + Again

• SATURDAY = Wake Me Up When They Go-Go

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-09 = Amanda Bearse (1958- ) = American actor, comedian, and director 🌈

• 08-09 = Dan Levy (1983- ) = Canadian actor and comedian 🌈

• 08-09 = Eileen Gray (1878-1976) = Irish architect and furniture designer 🌈

• 08-09 = Justice Smith (1995- ) = American actor 🌈

• 08-09 = Michael Kors (1959- ) = American fashion designer 🌈

• 08-09 = Sarah McBride (1990- ) = American activist and politician 🌈

• 08-09 = Tove Jansson (1914-2001) = Finnish artist and author 🌈

• 08-09 = Whitney Houston (1963-2012) = American singer and actor 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“In my head, I’m a purist that doesn’t require anything but a group of good friends and a bottle of wine. In reality, I’m co-dependent on my iPhone and fully conscious of the fact that my attention span is corroding.”
Dan Levy

I woke up to the news that overnight the cowardly GOP senators in Washington, D.C., had confirmed Todd Blanche, Chump’s personal attorney and henchman, as the Attorney General of the United States of America.

Gross.

Apparently, the Senate held its vote quietly, late on a Friday night. Because why not? If you’re going to do something shameful, you might as well do it when most of the country is asleep and blissfully oblivious to the impending political shitstorm.

I’m sure worse things will happen by Monday, right?

I was so disgusted by the news that I threw my phone across the room, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Honestly? It felt like the healthiest response available.

I don’t know about you, but I am beyond tired. Tired of con men and women winning so often. Tired of grifters, opportunists, bootlickers, hypocrites, liars, and professional bullshitters turning public service into a vehicle for personal power and enrichment.

I’m tired of watching people who are supposed to represent the American people instead represent whoever has the deepest pockets, the loudest microphone, or the most power.

And I’m tired of pretending this is normal.

For all their faults, at least previous administrations and generations had the decency to pretend they weren’t selling us out to the highest bidder.

Now the grift seems to be the point. And the spectacle never ends.

When the so-called “Leader of the Free World” seems more interested in building an illegal ballroom, settling personal vendettas, or pointing fingers over a botched, rushed reflecting-pool restoration, you know we’re in trouble.

Deep trouble.

I try not to pay too much attention to what’s happening in the world. Not because I don’t care. Quite the opposite. I care too deeply. And my blood pressure is high enough without adding all of this bullshit to the mix.

There’s a limit to how much political stupidity one human nervous system can process before it finally says, “Nope. Game over.”

So I try to remain mostly ignorant. I try to remain relatively positive. I try to focus on the things I can actually control: my little corner of the world, my creative work, the people I love, the art I make, the stories I tell, and the occasional good thing happening somewhere beyond the political circus.

But sometimes the bullshit comes knocking anyway. Sometimes it kicks the door in. Sometimes it wakes me up before breakfast, makes me throw my phone across the room, and sends me crawling back under the covers.

And honestly?

I’m exhausted by the gerontocracy of grievance, greed, ego, and entitlement that seems determined to keep running this country into the ground.

I don’t need these old bastards to die. (Though I won’t mourn when they do.) I just need them to go the fuck away and shut the fuck up. I need them to go home already. To retire already. To get the fuck out of the way of progress already.

It’s time to make room for some people who still believe government is supposed to be about something bigger than themselves. Because I’m tired of waking up to this kind of shit. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being disappointed. I’m tired of wondering what fresh indignity is waiting for us tomorrow. And the next day.

So, for now, I’m going back to bed. Please wake me up when they go-go.

Keep calm and protest on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-08 = Michael Urie (1980- ) = American actor, producer, and director 🌈

• 08-08 = Ralf König (1960- ) = German comic artist 🌈

• 08-08 = Randy Shilts (1951-1994) = American journalist and author 🌈

• 08-08 = Rudi Gernreich (1922-1985) = Austrian-American fashion designer 🌈

• 08-08 = Vivian Forbes (1891-1937) = English soldier, painter and poet 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“Prejudice makes prisoners of both the hated and the hater.”
Randy Shilts, And the Band Played On

In the past two weeks, I’ve seen Hadestown: The Musical three times in theaters and listened to its original cast recording more times than I care to admit.

I can't remember the last time a show captured my imagination quite like this modern retelling of two ancient Greek love stories. I'm a bit obsessed...and more than a bit obsessive.

Somewhere along the "Road to Hell," I stop feeling like a middle-aged man with a never-ending to-do list and start feeling like a kid who can’t get enough of his favorite story. The kind of kid who insists on hearing it "just one more time," even though he already knows every line by heart.

Maybe that's the highest compliment we can pay a work of art.

From the very beginning of Hadestown, Mr. Hermes tells us exactly what we're in for. He tells us it's an old song. He tells us it's a tragedy. And then he says something that has stayed with me ever since: "We're gonna sing it again."

Again and again. Like we always have. For thousands of years.

At first, that almost seems absurd. If we already know the ending, why bother? Why revisit a story that's destined to break our hearts? Because that's what we humans do.

We reread our favorite books. We rewatch beloved films. We play treasured albums until they're practically etched into our brains. We return to museums to stand in front of paintings we've already seen. We revisit old neighborhoods, family recipes, photo albums, and memories.

Not because they’re new. But because we are.
Every retelling reveals something we missed before.

The first time I saw Hadestown, I was swept away by the music, the performances, and the spectacle. The second time, I noticed details in the choreography and lyrics that had slipped past me. By the third viewing, I found myself paying less attention to what was happening onstage and more attention to what was happening inside me, why it was affecting me so deeply.

The show hadn’t changed. But I had.

The more I think about it, the more I realize this phenomenon isn't limited to theater.

Maybe repetition isn’t the enemy of appreciation. Maybe it’s the proof of it.

We live in a culture obsessed with the new and the novel. New shows. New music. New restaurants. New gadgets. New experiences.

Sometimes we wear "I've never seen it before" like a badge of honor. But there's something profoundly satisfying about revisiting an old favorite. About sitting with something long enough for it to reveal another layer. About allowing a great work of art to become a companion instead of merely a distraction.

The same could be said of the people we love.

Healthy relationships aren't built on constant novelty. They're built through countless ordinary moments repeated over time. Another conversation. Another shared meal. Another walk. Another hug. Another "How was your day?" Again and again.

Love itself is repetitive. So is kindness. So is hope.

Maybe that’s why Hadestown resonates so deeply for me. Beneath the mythology and unforgettable score lies a simple, stubborn act of faith. We know how the story ends. We know Orpheus will look back. We know Eurydice won’t make it out.

Yet we tell the story anyway. Again and again. Not because we expect a different ending, but because hope springs eternal.

Every generation sings the old songs in its own way, with its own voice. Every audience brings its own heartbreaks, hopes, and hard-earned wisdom into the theater. Every performance reminds us that the greatest stories don't endure because they're surprising. They endure because they continue to reveal something true about what it means to be human.

Maybe that’s why Hermes smiles and invites us back one more time.

Not because tragedy is entertaining.

But because love, even when it loses, is always worth singing about.

Keep calm and play it again and again!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-07 = John Glover (1944- ) = American actor 🌈

• 08-07 = Katie Sowers (1986- ) = American football coach 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“You can go through life and actually speak your mind and do it in an articulate fashion and with a really intelligent point of view.”
David Duchovny

The older I get, the more convinced I am that life is an endless game of emotional interior decorating. Every so often, I look around my life and think, “This room could use a little more light.”

The last few years have reminded me that life is too short to spend sitting in the dark.

Fear has a way of moving in uninvited. Fear of getting sick. Fear of losing the people we love. Fear of whatever tomorrow may hold. It can be loud and relentless, like the peacocks that wander my neighborhood, screaming as if the whole world needs to hear them.

Thankfully, fear isn't the only voice around here.

Love has always been here too. It doesn't need to squawk. It speaks with a quieter kind of truth.

Love shows up with casseroles and at coffee shops. It sends random texts that simply say, "Thinking about you." It remembers birthdays without Facebook's help. It offers hugs, laughter, terrible puns, and shoulders to cry on.

Love lets the light back in.

The older I get, the more I realize I need a lot more of that kind of light in my life.

That realization has changed the way I think about relationships.

For years, I assumed loving someone meant hanging in there indefinitely. I believed loyalty, no matter what, required endless patience. That if I just extended enough grace, enough understanding, enough second chances, everything would eventually work itself out.

Sometimes it does. Sometimes...it doesn't.

Lately, I've been thinking about friendships as emotional bank accounts. Every conversation is either making a deposit or a withdrawal. Every thoughtful gesture adds to the balance. Every broken promise takes a little away. Every time someone checks in, remembers what you're going through, celebrates your victories, or simply does what they said they'd do, they're making another deposit.

Healthy relationships don't require perfect bookkeeping. Sometimes life gets messy and things get all lopsided.

When someone is grieving, sick, overwhelmed, or barely keeping their head above water, the other person naturally carries a little more of the weight.

That’s not keeping score. What’s compassion.

But healthy relationships eventually find their balance and rhythm again.

They breathe. They ebb and flow. Sometimes it's give and take. Sometimes it's take and give. Sometimes it's simply give and give. Over time, everyone benefits and contributes. No one keeps score because no one has to.

For me, the trouble starts when one person only seems interested in making withdrawals. They stop showing up. They stop keeping their word. They expect grace, patience, forgiveness, and understanding, but rarely offer those same gifts in return.

Eventually, the emotional bank account becomes overdrawn.

And no relationship can survive endless withdrawals without an occasional deposit.

Recently, I lost a friendship after I finally called an old colleague out for being a flake. He was surprised I'd bring up something he considered "trivial." For the record, my time isn’t trivial. And it’s no one’s to waste but my own.

Long story shorter, affection without reliability eventually becomes disappointment. And love without reciprocity becomes exhaustion.

You can love someone with your whole heart and still recognize they’re no longer capable or willing to be the kind of family member, friend, or even lover you need.

That’s a painful realization. It’s also a freeing one.

One of the unexpected gifts of getting older is realizing that not every relationship is supposed to last forever.

Some people stay for a lifetime. Some stay for a chapter. Some arrive to teach us how to open our hearts. Others teach us where healthy boundaries belong. All lessons are valuable.

I don’t regret loving people freely and generously. I hope I never become cynical or stingy with my affections. I’d much rather risk caring too much than not enough.

But I’ve also learned that generosity without boundaries isn’t kindness. It’s burnout.

These days, I’m trying to invest my time, energy, and love where there’s mutual effort. With the people who answer the phone. Who show up when they say they will. Who celebrate my victories as much as I celebrate theirs. Who ask how I’m doing and actually care about the answer.

Because here’s what I know after everything the last few years have thrown my way:

• Fear will always exist. Darkness will always exist.

• But love and light never go out of style.

And sometimes the most loving thing we can do isn’t clinging to relationships that have run their course.

Sometimes it’s thanking someone for the part they played in our story, wishing them well, and leaving the porch light on for the people who know how to bring a little more light than darkness into our lives.

I’m finding that life is a whole lot brighter and lighter this way.

Keep calm and love on!
Clint 🌈✌️

FROM THE ARCHIVES

NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube

BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 08-06 = Andy Warhol (1928-1987) = American artist, photographer, filmmaker, and publisher 🌈

• 08-06 = Carole Pope (1950- ) = Canadian rock singer-songwriter 🌈

• 08-06 = Howard Hodgkin (1932-2017) = British artist 🌈

• 08-06 = Jess Collins (1923-2004) = American artist 🌈

• 08-06 = Jim McGreevey (1957- ) = American seminarian and politician 🌈

• 08-06 = Martin Duberman (1930- ) = American historian, biographer, and playwright 🌈

• 08-06 = Paul Bartel (1938-2000) = American actor, writer, and director 🌈

• 08-06 = Steve Endean (1948-1993) = American activist and HRC founder 🌈

MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

“There should be a course in the first grade on love.”
Andy Warhol

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

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