Monthly Archives:

September 2013

Wrong Story, Wrong Person

The explanation for the title of this post will remain, as so many things do, an in-joke between me and the two lovely ladies pictured here. Only with friends like this can I let down my guard and be silly and ridiculous and not worry about any of it. This was JoAnn and Ali after a bottle of bubbly (and a vesper or two) just before dinner and a show this past weekend in Boston.

They are a hoot on their own – but put the three of us together and it’s a different scene entirely. Amazeballs, y’all. (Usually there are wigs and costumes and Amber Jewels involved.)

Ali was acting as Alice the maid, attending to JoAnn as she got her sheer shirt together.

These photos, like the friends in them, make me laugh. There is no happier feeling.

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Sunday Drive

The ride back from Boston is usually a sad one. If the weather matched my mood, it would be rainy and overcast, with a cruel, cutting wind, and a damp chill. The sky would match my tears, pouring forth salty raindrops as if ripped from the sea.

But on this Sunday, it couldn’t be more beautiful. The few drops of rain that had fallen in the night were now a memory. The sun had risen and burned any haze away. Walking down Braddock Park, I bask in the warmth of this late-summer day, smiling at the father who is teaching his daughter how to ride a bike, the two of them awkwardly and endearingly adjusting their matching helmets. Flowers bloom along the way, resplendent in the rich fullness of a season of growth. Lime green hydrangeas hang over wrought iron gates, deep purple sweet potatoes trail against gray stone, and begonias bloom so vibrantly orange that any over-saturated photo-shopping would pale in comparison.

Normally I am in a rush at this point, wishing only to get out and back into the work-week mindset. On this morning, I take my time. The calls of excited kids sound from a park. A dog and its owner click along the sidewalk. A man with sunglasses, a cup of coffee, and a mop of morning hair shuffles groggily in the opposite direction. By the time the short walk to my car is finished, I am beaming in the simple beauty of the day.

On the turnpike, the first signs of fall are just beginning to show. A stand of burning bush has been ignited. The first shades of red are seeping into the sumac. A lone maple glows bright orange in a sea of green. Someone has to start the show.

Bright bursts of cumulus clouds explode above the road, hanging low in the sky like cotton puffs on a blanket of blue. It is a brilliant scene, and this is the kind of sky that only the onslaught of early fall affords. 

Then, I do something I never do: I open the sun-roof. Ask Andy (or Chris and his ridiculous convertible in California), I’m not a sun-roof fan. Black hair + Direct sunlight = Burning scalp. Today, the wind is refreshingly cool. I raise my hand and feel the rush of it over my skin. Twisting it slowly in the fast-moving air, I feel free. I feel connected. I feel happy.

Beauty is around me. Beauty is in the other passengers in other cars. Beauty is in the goldenrod nodding along on the side of the road, in the clouds flying overhead, in the waving reeds gone to seed. It is, above all else, a pocket of peace. Such peace is rare, such moments usually rush right by me.

I pull over to get gas, but instead of getting right back on the turnpike, I pull into a parking space at the rest stop and step out of the car. The distant rush of other vehicles is muffled from this far away. I stand on the sidewalk and stretch my legs, looking up into the sky, into that brilliant sun. It feels good just to be alive.

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Flaming September Recap

The first week of September has come to a close, and the next one begins. This recap will be a quick one, as I am recapped out based on this post of gratuitous nudity and a linky-link-link extravaganza. I’m also gearing up for the best installment of this year’s project, coming up at the end of this week, along with a fuller, more comprehensive explanation of it. (Up until now it’s been hush-hush.)

The main accomplishment of the previous week was getting The Archives updated back to 2010 (including July). 

If the technical side of this site bores you as much as it does me, try out the man candy that requires no amount of strenuous thinking whatsoever, especially when the shirtless likes of David Beckham, Charlie Hunnam, Zac Efron, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and Sean Avery are at hand.

If you happen to be in London in the next six months, help me out with this gigantic favor.

Speaking of Tom Ford, I am in love with his latest Private Blend, Plum Japonais.

Finally, when it doubt, eat it. Just eat it. Eat it!

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Flowers of the Seven Sons

Behold the seven sons’ flower, which is actually the name of the small tree that carries these delicate blooms. In their third or fourth year, the two specimens we have in our backyard now tower above me (like so much else) and their bark is just beginning to peel off in the enchanting manner that first drew me under their influence.

The flowers, which just started blooming last week, appear at the end of summer, but the exact date is wildly variable. Some years they’ve begun as early as July, others as late as late September. Regardless, their sweet perfume is more than welcome at this time of the year, because it’s often a slow time in the garden. As much as I love gardening, I find my drive and excitement waning around now. My focus tends to turn inside, back to clothing and cologne, and away from the out of doors. I lose my interest in the start of the dying season, which is why I’ve never been very ambitious as far as fall bulb planting goes (and why I’m so often kicking myself in the barren spring).

It’s the same sort of thing that happens on the last day of a trip. I just want to cut my emotional losses and go. Why drag out the inevitable end? Yet lately part of me has been wanting to hold on, to make the most of the last moments of a vacation or trip, or even a season. It’s like the last-minute saving grace of a pear cocktail in Las Vegas – a final 11th hour appeal to hold onto the ticking of the clock – a plea to slow and still what cannot be stopped.

The seven sons’ flower blooms regardless of all this, always near the end of summer, just before the long slumber to winter commences. It doesn’t feel regret or remorse, doesn’t think ahead to its last gasp before a hard frost – it will bloom until it can’t, and then it will start all over again next year.

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An Ahi Moment

It figures that as soon as I start to get the hang of this cooking thing, our kitchen is about to undergo a major renovation, meaning it will be out of commission for the next few months. Oh well, it was good while it lasted, and I can bask in the glow of this sort of photographic evidence that I didn’t do half-badly.

Here is a dinner made up of grilled yellowtail tuna, grilled zucchini and red peppers, and steamed rice with black sesame seeds. We’ve got some time before the kitchen work begins in earnest, so there will be a few more posts culled from our sad kitchen, but its time is coming to a close.

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Zac Efron, Shirtless & In Motion

Zac Efron almost made it into Tom Daley, David Beckham, and Ben Cohen territory here (i.e. got his own Category), but fell short, mostly due to a rather dull and boring nature. Even dropping a condom on the red carpet did little to up the excitement ante, so until he gets caught screwing the milkman, he will not reach Category-worthy status. In the meantime, though, a few shirtless GIFs.

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Nature’s Breakfast Butter

Andy may be the best at making an omelet, pancakes, French toast, and any number of breakfast foods (which he doesn’t usually eat), but I’m the one who knows how to poach eggs. And assemble them nicely on a toasted slice of whole wheat bread, a bed of avocados, and some arugula. Hence this simple but surprisingly fancy bit of breakfast.

I buttered the toast, and added some salt and pepper to the top, but mostly this dish relies on the freshness of the ingredients, and the golden runny egg yolk, for its flavor. My favorite part is the avocado – a few slices of nature’s butter make all the difference. (Avocado hints: rub the skin with lemon to stop it from turning brown, and if you want to save half of it for a later time, leave the inner pit intact and refrigerate.)

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Sammy’s So Sweet

When we were kids, my brother and I used to go to Sammy Fariello’s to get ice cream, baseball cards, candy, and soda. We’d either walk or ride our bikes the few blocks it took to get there, and leave them outside on the sidewalk while we perused the antique shelves for pop rocks or root beer hard candies. It was a different time then. Now I don’t think kids are allowed to walk so far on their own.

The last time I was in town, my brother and I took his kids to Fariello’s, still somehow running all these years later, for milkshakes and sundaes. It’s the site of this holiday tradition, and always brings back happy memories. Noah and Emi are now carrying on one of the few Ilagan traditions, whether they know it or not.

Everyone loves a milkshake!

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Look to the Boston Sky

This weekend I’m returning to Boston to attend a performance of ‘Wicked’ with my friend JoAnn. It’s her first time seeing the show, which is always a special occasion, and it’s a welcome diversion from all things upstate New York. September is one of my favorite times to be in Boston. Fall is one of those seasons that has a better beginning than ending, and while I usually like to wait for such rewards, I’ll take this one now.

The farmer’s markets begin to spill their gourds and squash from baskets, the flowers go from the fresh shades of spring bulbs to the autumnal hues of sunflowers and zinnias, and the scent of dying, drying leaves, warmed in the sun, rises from the ground. It is the beginning of the end, but it goes out in a blaze of glory.

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Midday Madonna

Madonna, performing one of her enduring classics on the MDNA Tour. That’s all.

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Plum Japonais by Tom Ford

Leave it to Tom Ford to turn a plum into the basis for one of the more sensual fragrances of the season. Plum Japonais marks a return to the deep, complex scents that once marked the original Private Blends line (and that went slightly by the wayside for his Jardin collection last year). The Atelier d’Orient quartet brings at least two new classics into the oeuvre, in the forms of Rive d’Ambre and Plum Japonais. The Rive was a perfect end-of-summer fragrance, while the Plum Japonais falls on the other side ~ the start of autumn. It’s too deliciously heavy for the day, but since the nights have started to descend earlier, that works out perfectly.

It does have a slight similarity to his long-ago discontinued Japon Noir (the very first Private Blend I ever procured, rumored to be the one that Mr. Ford himself wore), but whereas that was almost too deep and dark, Plum Japonais manages to remain on the lighter side, lifted by the sweetness of Japanese plum, then shaded by the likes of saffron, cinnamon, oud, amber, fir, and vanilla. Its opening is bright, the fruitiness of plum augmented by an all-too-brief burst of plum blossom and camellia, then it begins to smolder, with the spicy and enduring aspect of amber, before evening out.

The amber notes are especially powerful, and the bit of smokiness dries nicely into a vanilla middle. While I’m not a big fan of vanilla, it works well here, taking the edge off the incense-like vibe that never gets as strong as Amber Absolute (which is a good thing). All in all, this is an admirable addition to the Private Blends line, and will work well into the holiday season, visions of sugar plums and what-not.

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Plum Crazy

The prune plums are in season now, so I bought a box of them from the local farmer’s market. As a kid, I loved eating them plain, skin and all, with their sticky sweetness running over my fingers and down my chin. By some oddly-unintentional coincidence, I’d often eat them while sitting in an actual plum tree, an old, gnarled one that never produced fruit, but that bloomed in pristine white every spring. It grew on the island in the middle of our street.

Its dark foliage shaded me from the sun, and from every wound or gash it bled sticky sap that hardened into amber-hued globules that added to the texture of the tree. If you caught the sap at just the right time, you could press your fingers into it and leave a fingerprint. Bees would swarm around the sap, but never bothered me.

Up on the second main trunk, the one that leaned low to the ground after years of growth, heavy snows, and climbing kids, I sat and ate my plum, gnawing the flesh and skin around the pit then tossing the latter to the grass below. It was the end of summer. School would start soon, but for that moment there was just a plum and a boy in a tree.

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Life is Better With Bisquick

A few years ago, I documented a disastrous attempt at making pancakes from scratch. I thought that would be much more authentic and good than relying on pre-made mixes like Bisquick, so I printed out a well-reviewed recipe by the Barefoot Contessa, Ina Garten. No offense to the Contessa, and it was probably no fault of the recipe, but the results were, well, awful. Even with butter and non-stick spray, the batter stuck to the grill. When I did get the first pancake up and flipped, it ended up somehow both burnt and raw at the same time. Oh well, I thought, most people say you lose the first two to practice anyway.

Well, I managed to lose the first twelve (out of twelve) to this same scenario, and by that point the kitchen was so thick with the smoke of burnt butter, raw yet blackened batter, and one charred plastic spatula (my only real mistake), that Andy had been awakened from his slumber. At the frazzled end of my already-limited patience, and wanting nothing more than a simple freaking pancake, I begged him to take over.

Literally ten minutes later, a pile of perfect pancakes sat on a plate, awaiting butter and syrup. If I wasn’t so grateful for the sight, I’d have stormed off in a huff of shifted blame. As it were, I gratefully accepted the plate and ate them down, looking over at my dismal try with defeated eyes. I asked him how he did it and he pointed to the Bisquick.

“But that’s not from scratch,” I whined. He said he never heard of anyone making pancakes from scratch. “Umm, have you heard of the Barefoot Contessa? Do you think Martha Stewart uses Bisquick?!” He shook his head and left the room. I finished the pancakes.

Later on, I asked a few friends and it turns out the whole freaking world uses Bisquick, or a pre-made mix for pancakes. Apparently this is one of those things that everyone just knows, but that no one taught me ~ like how to pump gas, or how to tie a shoe without making bunny ears.

When I saw a container of ripe blueberries sitting on the counter a few weeks ago, and felt a hankering for pancakes, I checked to make sure that Andy was still asleep and gave it another try. This time I used the Bisquick recipe ~ and every single pancake, from the first to the last, came out perfectly edible. I was eating them by hand waiting for the next batch to start bubbling. It turns out that in matters of pancakes, Bisquick beats the Barefoot Contessa.

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Helping Out Friends In Need: Albany Damien Center

One of the more noble organizations in the area, the Albany Damien Center, experienced a devastating fire last week, destroying the building which had previously provided life-saving services for a number of individuals living with HIV/AIDS. These are just a few of the things that the Albany Damien Center has done in the last year alone:

• Provided over 22,000 meals combined with nutritional health education.

• Facilitated support and access to care for 421 people and an additional 1,000 family members with over 6,700 visits to our drop-in living room setting open 5 days a week.

• Helped 172 pets and 104 pet owners with in-home care, 12,800 pounds of pet food, and veterinarian assistance from PAWS.

• Gave over 1,800 household items from the Treasure Chest to members in need.

• Provided prevention education sessions to over 1,203 people and distributed 17,000 condoms.

• Began helping people return to work and school while ensuring they are stably housed through the launch of our new Foundations for Living Program.

Without a base of operation and without immediate assistance, many of these programs and services will be severely compromised. It’s difficult enough to maintain an organization like this with the dwindling support of the government’s financial aid – something like this fire could be enough to effectively end the good work they are doing. Luckily, the support of the Albany community, and the center’s own volunteers and workers, particularly the unfailing spirit of Executive Director Perry Junjulas, are making sure that this admirable work continues.

There are a number of ways to help this organization get back on its feet. The easiest and most direct way is to donate through their 2013 Annual Fund, now more important than ever, at this link: http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/perry-junjulas/albanydamiencenter2013annualfund

On September 8, 2013 at 5 PM there is a benefit drag show at Rocks at 77 Central Ave. hosted by two of the best in the business, Duchess Ivanna and Penny Larceny. A whole gaggle of illusionists are showing up in support of this event, and it looks to be a fantastic show.

On October 11, 2013, A Fashion Show and Art Auction will take place at 11 North Pearl Street in Downtown Albany to benefit the Damien Center, featuring fashion, food, and drinks, complete with a red carpet.

On October 12, 2013, Valentine’s will be putting on a benefit show for the Damien Center featuring some great bands, with doors opening at 6 PM.

If you can contribute anything to help the Albany Damien Center at this time, it would be greatly appreciated, and badly needed. As much as I sometimes slag off Albany, I know that our community always comes together to help each other out – especially for a place that has so selflessly done so much for other people.

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