Male supermodel David Gandy has been featured here time and time again, and as long as he keeps up the underwear front he’ll be featured here in the future. There’s a comfort and a thrill in that, the perfect encapsulation for the spark of fall just around the corner. Previous postings include his initial crowning as Hunk of the Day, his naked ass (and a peek of more), this sexy work-out GIF, a gratuitous crotch shot, a relatively classy black-and-white bonus, and a bit of bush and backside in one. A few more appearances like this and he may make it into his own category, a la David Beckham or Tom Daley.
Andy is a magician in the kitchen, as evidenced by this recent beet and goat cheese pizza. A somewhat unorthodox pizza combination, it was supplemented by peppers and red onions, resulting in the riot of warm colors you see here. Food is about more than taste – it’s about texture and temperature and, yes, presentation. While pretty dishes don’t necessarily translate to yummy eats, when the two combine it makes for a merry moment, and a merry meal.
If there was one character I related to most on ‘Twin Peaks’ it was Audrey – the young, sexy vixen who had the hots for Agent Dale Cooper, who was supremely uninterested in her. I know that song, I know that dance, and I know that no matter how silly and sophomoric it may seem, those feelings can rip apart the heart, rending it doubly difficult of loving later on. Audrey managed to be seductive and sad, a sex-pot who didn’t so much have sex as inspire it, someone who longed for the one man who wouldn’t long for her in return. Not that way. Never that way.
You can have the eyes and the desire of the world, but what good is it when the one you want doesn’t even notice? Sometimes I think that’s what drives us – the elusive other, the one who got away, the single person who will only ever like you, not love – not love in the way you need and crave and want, not love in the one way that will mean everything and turn you inside out and bring the world crashing down so they can build it all back up. No, not that kind of love. Not for her, not for me.
The breezes of fall rustled through the pine trees in my childhood backyard. The abyss of darkness, and the safety and the danger of night, stretched out unseen and unknown. I could only feel it, even when I reached out and stepped over broken leaves and matted grass. I could only listen to the rush of it, pulsating with the quickened beating of a heart – a single heart – the aching sound of loneliness. Longing is louder, but loneliness rings deeper.
The soundtrack to ‘Twin Peaks’ brings it all rushing back to my mind. I was in high school then. Practicing marching band music after school, fumbling with math proofs, and squeezing a frozen juice box into a messy accordion. On certain Friday nights, we had to perform in the football halftime show, running out into the middle of the surreal, unforgiving illumination of the football field, blaring ‘Fanfare and Entrance’ while the majorettes kicked their legs and waved their pom-poms in the air. When the halftime show was over, and Friday night fun was just beginning for others, I traipsed my way through a darkened field back up to my home. I passed dimly-lit baseball diamonds, and a patch of blackened forest that beckoned with the fate of Laura Palmer. I did not know fear then. I did not know what it was like to be unloved. I did not know how lucky I was.
When Prada introduced one of its first colognes onto the market, I drove breathlessly into Boston to purchase it. I was ready to buy it scent unsniffed, but this was my first lesson that no matter how much you may admire a brand, it doesn’t always automatically register into a love of its fragrance. As I sprayed a generous spritz onto my wrist, I instantly recoiled: it was awful. Well, maybe not awful, but awful on me, and awful to my olfactory receptors. At the time, I wasn’t ready for the complexity of such a fragrance. There is a learning curve involved in developing one’s appreciation for cologne, and at that point Prada was too much.
I revisited every new launch, but for some reason the magic of Prada always eluded me. There was something too floral about it, tinged with a chemical note that I found slightly repellant. I’m not saying they were bad, simply not suited to my taste. Yet times, and tastes, change, and the challenge of Prada that I could not quite answer years ago can be taken up and conquered now.
Pictured here is Luna Rossa – one of the new Prada fragrances. If my years of Latin are recalled correctly, I think it roughly translates as Red Moon. Perfect for a fragrance to bridge the gap between summer and fall, when the nights turn cold, and only a red moon is there to remind you of the heat that came just days before.
Part of my prior Prada reluctance was due to the fact that I was making quick decisions based on sample sticks and hasty dry-downs. This time around I boldly spritzed some on and let it linger on me for a while, and that’s when the transformation took hold. Those chemical aspects dissipated quickly, replaced by warmer shades of something richer and earthier. Spicy notes crept into the mid-section, and the evolution of this cologne on the skin restored my faith in the Prada name. Patience and perseverance are often rewarded, particularly when it comes to fragrance. For that reason, Luna Rossa may not be for everyone, but if carefully employed can be an elegant addition to a gentleman’s cologne arsenal.
There’s something special about Matthew Rettenmund‘s relationship with Madonna. I first wrote about that moving connection here, and to this day Matthew will always remind me of Madonna, and often vice versa. Far beyond that of fandom, Rettenmund has long connected on a deeper level with the iconic goddess, bringing a sharp and erudite reading to all of her work, calling her out when she’s faltered but mostly praising her work in an intelligent and scrupulous manner.
Almost two decades ago, he wrote ‘The Encyclopedia Madonnica’ – a book that more than lived up to its epic name, and one that remains a definitive record of Madonna’s life and career until that time. Of course, Madonna has gone on to do a great many more things since the publication date of that seminal tome, and Matthew Rettenmund is making moves to update that in this brilliant Kickstarter pitch.
Forget ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ or ‘The Godfather 2’ – this one looks to be the definitive sequel that surpasses the original. Much of Madonna’s richest work has come after 1995 (witness ‘Ray of Light‘ and ‘Music‘ and ‘Confessions on a Dancefloor.’) The best has yet to be written, and Mr. Rettenmund is the ideal man to flesh it out in print. While it’s an ambitious undertaking, Matthew (not unlike another certain ‘M’-monikered icon) has the drive, determination, skill, and talent to pull it off. Support his noble efforts here – there are a number of nifty rewards at every donation level, including some very special Madonna items.
Where is the time going? We are almost half-way through the month of September. How is this even possible?? I’ve been out of town at a Bachelor Party weekend in Washington, DC, but I’m recapping the events of the previous week before we get to the rather tame shenanigans of this past weekend.
Has a more sensual pairing ever been found? From its fig leaf connotations to its sticky-and-sweet honey goodness, this is a couple for the ages. It’s sexy, sweet, and just a little bit sinful. Forget the apple, Adam and Eve should have gone straight for the figs and honey.
Nothing great is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig. I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen. ~ Epictetus
A great fig should look like it’s just about to burst its skin. When squeezed lightly it should give a little and not spring back. It must be almost unctuously sweet, soft and wet. ~ Yotam Ottolenghi
Life is the flower for which love is the honey. ~ Victor Hugo
Who writes poetry imbibes honey from the poisoned lips of life. ~ William Rose Benet
These easy-to-care-for annuals provide this fancy foliage until the frost will strike them down. Near the end of the season, I allow them to flower (something I prevent from happening earlier by pinching off the buds. This allows for bushier plants and a longer look for freshness. While flowering is pretty, it zaps a great deal of energy from the plant. A number of plants expire after flowering and going to seed. It takes that much energy.) By September, there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable, and so I let them develop their buds and flower.
In the case of this coleus, the blooms will be insubstantial, but interesting. They come in a blue-purple hue that contrasts dramatically with its foliage. Salvia-like and spiky, they are better viewed up-close. If these manage to make it out before the frost, I’ll try to capture the final show.
There is only one day of the year that this blog does not feature a written post, and it was yesterday. It’s been that way since the beginning, and it will always be that way, because as anyone who was alive on that seminal day will attest, it cannot be forgotten. Unfortunately for those whose birthdays fall on that date, birthday wishes and honors have to wait until today. That means my Dad’s birthday, now forever unforgettable, is always marked the day afterward. (And occasionally the day before.)
Luckily, Dad doesn’t so much mind, as he was never one to make a big deal about his birthday. In many ways, that’s a lot like how he goes through life. More than any other man I know, he has shown me what it’s like to put everyone other than himself first. Thankfully, that usually meant his family, but it also meant all of his patients and co-workers during his time as an anesthesiologist. That sort of service is what made him such a good doctor – and in many respects such a good Dad.
And so, a day later, but without further ado, a great big Happy Birthday wish to my Dad!
