ApexNomad

You’re far too kind. Thanks for brightening mine. 😘

Shirtless was the only humane thing to do—for science, for thirst, for the dinosaur.

Luckily, I’m not here for the soles—I’m here for the soul. 😉

I’ve had plenty of things happen on Zoom—technical difficulties, awkward silences, existential dread—but anal orgasms? That’s a first. Bravo!

Ed’s very handsome. Missed opportunity not having him swim shirtless, especially since he’s a real-life swim coach.

I forgot about Ed Skrein. Fingers crossed on Superman.

I’m not very savvy when it comes to cutting and pasting and addressing specific text. I like how you do that. I figured it out once, but then quickly forgot. Friendship off-screen doesn’t always translate to chemistry on-screen. I didn’t feel it in their dynamic—especially not in the moments that should’ve crackled. But fair enough if it worked for you. Re final destination. My late husband was a horror buff and I got dragged into seeing so many. You probably had the better experience. Let’s just say it felt more like a chain of disconnected wannabe wow moments than a story with actual suspense or consequence. Maybe the 3D helped smooth over some of the rougher textures—I saw it in standard format, and there were a few shots that took me right out of the moment. Re box office: 100% agree. Nostalgia often prints money. But from a storytelling standpoint? Not everything should come back—especially if it comes back hollow. The Terminator and Halloween franchises are perfect examples. And as for Koepp, that’s the part that surprised me most. He’s capable of great stuff. But this one felt like it passed through the studio sausage grinder too many times. I read an interview he gave and what he described and what I saw felt like too different movies.

As a fan of the original Jurassic Park, I was cautiously optimistic when I heard the screenwriter from the 1993 classic had returned for Jurassic World: Rebirth. That optimism didn’t just fade—it got devoured. I really disliked this movie. It’s a flavorless rehash of the first, stripped of everything that made it special. The suspense? Gone. The awe and magic? Fossilized. The plot is so thin it could be torn by a stiff breeze, and the characters feel like cardboard cutouts forced to read cue cards. There’s zero chemistry—between the actors, the ideas, or even the dinosaurs. And then there’s the opening scene. A Snickers wrapper? I thought I was watching Final Destination. It’s so laughably stupid, it cheapens everything that follows. And we come back to that lab many, many years later, yet somehow the junk food is still there… in perfect condition, with identical branding. Just sitting there like it’s waiting to be filmed. Shameless product placement. Whatever this movie was aiming for—nostalgia, thrills, emotion—it missed the mark completely. Even the CGI looked worse in parts. How do you mess up dinosaurs in 2025? This isn’t a reboot. It’s an embarrassing film with a Hollywood budget. A reminder that just because you can bring something back… doesn’t mean you should.

What this exchange reveals to me is a deeper hunger for connection that isn’t contingent on desirability—and for transactional spaces that still recognize human dignity. And that’s a tough balance to strike. But it’s not an unreasonable thing to want. There’s a subtle but important difference between having the right to set boundaries and pretending those boundaries don’t have emotional consequences for others. Yes, providers are absolutely entitled to set their terms. That includes asking for pictures, declining clients, or filtering based on whatever criteria they choose. But for many clients, the appeal of transactional intimacy is its promise of neutrality—a space where judgment is suspended, where you don’t have to qualify beyond payment and consent. So when a provider sets criteria that echo the standards of dating apps or high school lunch tables, it can hit a nerve for many. Not because the client feels entitled to your body. But because the transaction was supposed to be a refuge from the brutal economy of desirability—and instead, it became a mirror of it. Everyone has the right to protect their time and energy. That includes both clients and providers. But kindness, clarity, and humility cost nothing—and they go a long way in a business built on something as personal as human connection. We’re all more than what we look like. And we’re all just trying to feel worthy in a world that so often tells us we’re not. So if you’re a client who doesn’t want to be judged by your appearance, and a provider asks for a photo—don’t send it. Just walk away. Find someone whose boundaries align with your own. It’s that simple. No shame. No harm. No drama.

A regular, weekly client who pays offers predictability, which is rare and valuable. That’s not a drawback — that’s a win! If the agreed-upon rate covers the service and the client shows up consistently, without drama or disrespect, then the arrangement is working as intended. Vocalizing dissatisfaction with that publicly — especially on a platform where prospective clients are watching — can come off as entitled, or worse, emotionally transactional. That kind of messaging undermines the professional boundaries both parties work hard to establish and maintain. The second client, the one trying to spiritualize the arrangement with don’t we transcend cash?— that’s clearly a red flag. But the first one? He sounds like a dream. There’s no real drawback there. If someone pays you what you agreed to, shows up every week, and behaves respectfully — what more do you want?

I saw Evita twice while in London—and I’d go again tomorrow if I could. Rachel Zegler was astounding in the role. A truly mesmerizing performance—vulnerable, commanding, and vocally electrifying. Jamie Lloyd’s signature aesthetic and direction was bold! Stark, stripped-down, and hyper-stylized—he really created a piece that pulses. He also has an uncanny knack for showcasing men in black boxers in his recent productions (a signature touch I fully support). The ensemble was razor-sharp, the choreography felt like controlled chaos in the best way, and the staging made it feel less like a musical and more like a political fever dream. This was Evita like I’ve never seen it—reimagined, reawakened, unforgettable.

I was specifically reacting to the setup described: a client chatting with a provider on Grindr and bringing up hookups with other providers. That’s not “hybridized,” that’s just socially tone-deaf. Regardless of the relationship, it’s a weird flex to me.

I was really impressed with Lambert—thought he was fantastic. Redmayne didn’t quite land for me. As for Billy Porter, I’m not sure how he’s going to approach the role. Honestly, it feels a bit like stunt casting. Not a good one too.

That’s incredibly beautiful. The kind of presence you offered—steady, supportive, fatherly even when not biologically so—is rare and deeply meaningful. It sounds like you gave those young men not just skills, but a sense of belonging and guidance when they needed it most. “Uncle by choice” might be one of the most honorable titles a man can carry.

Tell us more. 😊

That closet had a revolving door and a spotlight.

That’s hot. 👏

Stephen Dorff, Innocent Lies Giles Marini, Sex and the City

Suddenly?

You’re entitled to your opinion. But labeling something “bullying” doesn’t make it so—especially when your only evidence is that it didn’t land gently. I didn’t cite the moderator to prove I’m right. I cited it to give context—something your response continues to ignore. There’s a difference between opinion and misrepresentation. And no, not all takes carry the same weight just because they’re loud. As for the Appeal to Authority—cute line, but misplaced. I never said I’m right because I’m a lawyer. I said I won’t apologize for speaking plainly. You’re the one who keeps turning that into a flaw. You’ve called me a bully. I’ve explained why that’s both inaccurate and intellectually lazy. We’re good here.

I try to be impartial. Do I always succeed? No. I bring my own lens sometimes. Am I perfect? Absolutely not. Am I wrong sometimes? Of course. But a bully? If that’s your takeaway, you need to get out more. In the second version of this thread—yes, second—a moderator even stepped in to warn us it was a similar repost. I read that one. And the one before it. And now this. I came to my conclusion: it was bullshit. Plenty of people offered support. It was ignored, dismissed, or ridiculed. One user even shared a thoughtful video—mocked by the same man you’re now defending, to the point he deleted it and bowed out too. I haven’t commented since. And I don’t plan to. But let’s not pretend the man at the center of this is some fragile outlier. He’s a man of great privilege. I have little patience for people who confuse access with oppression. You’re entitled to your opinion. But a bully? No. I just don’t mistake performative suffering for sincerity.

Happy Father’s Day.

Let’s stop pretending this is about answering a question. The original post asked if anyone had met Santos. You haven’t. What you did was take a thread about a specific human being—who lives in a vulnerable, targeted body—and turn it into a public stage for your disgust. That wasn’t sharing. It was a calculated display of contempt. Now you’re scapegoating—claiming you’re just responding to one sentence, like that excuses the graphic contempt you unloaded. It doesn’t. You used language designed to humiliate. You knew exactly what you were doing, and now you want to frame the reaction as “precious righteous indignation,” like the real problem is that people dared to care. The issue is bigger than you. It’s about how quickly some of us turn difference into a punchline, how eager some of us are to flatten trans bodies and non-normative bodies into something grotesque. And then call it honesty. Then call it brave. You’re not being silenced. You’re being seen.