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Origin story.

Many of you readers of this blog have probably wondered--as has anyone who's seen me on twitter, instagram, and even grindr, for that matter--what the hell "palmerpink" is about. Well, I'll tell ya.

It all began sometime back in high school. I could leave it at that, but that would be boring.

I had this shirt; this sort of burnt orange old navy shirt. Somehow or another it got discolored or faded in the wash. No idea how, but it was fate at work.

He's almost got it...
Being a dork, I wore it anyway--this weird kind of faded, burnt orange-salmon color. I genuinely didn't care what I wore then. Oh, those were the days.

Soon, my loving friends, who called me simply "Palmer" at that point, took to calling the shirt's peculiar color "Palmer pink." Of course, it wasn't long before, by some rules of linguistic transformation I'm not remembering right now, I became known as "palmerpink" instead. I'm pretty sure I wasn't out then, hilariously enough.

After high school, I distanced myself from the nickname. I didn't hate it, per se; I just, for whatever reason, wasn't keen on being associated with it. I went by various other names among friends and used various other (stupid) handles online--"chrispalmer0" or "pinkpalm" and so forth. But never palmerpink.

I'm not sure what changed--nostalgia? recognition of its brilliance?--but at some point I embraced the old nickname and started using it everywhere I could online. I've since built a gratifyingly consistent empire of "palmerpink" handles across social media. I even signed up for snapchat the other night just so I could claim my moniker and further my brand.

I even found a cool theme for this blog (at least, I think it's pretty cool...) with what is arguably palmerpink as its main color. #winning For those wondering, the guy in the picture is Arnold Palmer, the golfer; he also happens to be wearing pink, though it's not quite palmerpink. Letting our good name down, but oh well.

The name's a bit kooky and kinda gay, so in a lot of ways, it's not unlike me. Although people sometimes scoff for a moment when they first hear or read it or give me a funny look, I think I'll keep it around at least a little while longer.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know