Without a Speaker for a week, the House of Representative had only one gavel-wielding person in charge of keeping some sort of order over all the clowns (and adults) in the room: the Honorable Cheryl L. Johnson, who mightily earns her first Dazzler of the Day thanks to grace under great pressure. Johnson was recently sworn in once again as the Clerk of the House of Representatives, and she will likely need that grace in the days to come.
With the full moon last Friday, and both Mars and Mercury in retrograde motion, the universe is rocking us all for a loop these past few days. At such tumultuous times, I tend to lay low, keep to myself, and stay as quiet as possible. There’s even a hushed tone to these posts, in the hope of making it through this with some bit of tranquility. On with the weekly recap…
Drinking the blood of a virgin.
Cheese and apples for the kids.
Adventure in the turquoise night.
Every Sunday can be Christmas if you cook this.
Vamping with the twins before Plan B.
Dazzlers of the Day included Luke Evans and Hakeem Jeffries.
Plan B is the code name for our next trip to Boston – named as much for the city as for my second attempt at a getaway-weekend with the twins. The first time we were scheduled to do this, plans were derailed due to a storm. That weekend had to move forward without Emi and Noah, but not without my promise to make it happen again at a later date.
In anticipation of that, we had them over for a New Year’s Day sleepover, and in the morning-after we posed and vamped for a few photos before and after a run to Starbucks. Everyone says they are growing up so quickly, and I see it now and then when I’ve been away from them for a while.
It’s only a matter of time before I lose them to their phones, if it hasn’t already happened. But they seem to have a good balance so far of turning them off and entering real life – and there are moments when I will be all too happy to have them distracted by something other than my incessant attempts at being entertaining. (This majesty doesn’t just happen without great effort.)
There are worse ways to spend a winter weekend, and until we can burst onto the patio and into the pool, we will have to find coziness and fun in the attic, which is happily outfitted with a treasure trove of hats and wraps and costumes to rival anything of Miss Havisham. Uncle Al’s wardrobe runs wide and deep, like the brocade carpet bag of Mary Poppins, and is just as magical.
At this point, there is a stark difference between Democrats and Republicans. If you watched any of the 14 times that Kevin McCarthy lost his vote for House Speaker, you saw that difference. Throughout it all, one party stood above the Republican clown-show circus, and one person led them in absolute unity and certainty: Hakeem Jeffries. If he is the future of the Democratic Party, we are in good hands. He easily earns this Dazzler of the Day, not least because I love a man who knows his way around alliteration. Check out his plans here and let’s work to make this country better than what the Republican House leadership have in the works.
Babs is the nickname for Barbara Costello, whose recipes and TikTok account have taken off thanks to recipes like this Christmas Breakfast Casserole. With the glorious culinary alchemy that results from eggs, sausage, cheese and bread, her Breakfast Casserole is one of the easiest and most rewarding things one can make for a Sunday brunch or special occasion breakfast such as Christmas morning. I tried it out on the twins when they had a sleepover here last weekend, and it was as much assembling it with them the night before as it was eating it the next morning.
As described, the preparation for this casserole takes place the night before you want to have it, then left in the fridge for all the flavor and ingredients to marry before baking the next morning in the magic way that casseroles have of coming together. It’s perfect as the centerpiece for a more extravagant brunch gathering, as it just needs to be popped in the oven for 45 minutes and then it’s done. According to Babs, it also reheats beautifully – the best kind of flexible dish for when other items like poached eggs or a Hollandaise are more time-sensitive. (Not that I’m doing poached fucking eggs or a GD Hollandaise – this casserole is all I can manage when watching two twelve-year-olds.)
My Mom is having our family friend Elaine over for a night this week, so I’ll put together one of these for them to bake in the morning. A dish that allows for people to socialize without excessive kitchen effort is a beautiful thing indeed.
Last night we had a full moon, on top of Mars and Mercury being in retrograde motion, which made for quite an interesting day at work. Before leaving the house, I made an intention that I would focus on three f-words for the day: flexibility, forgiveness, and fun.
Flexibility: because it’s always easier to be flexible than rigid. There are so many times in a day when being able to bend is so much more helpful and conducive to progress than refusing to yield. During times of distress or drama, being flexible and open to other opinions and ideas is often the way to finding solutions rather than making things worse.
Forgiveness: because we all need to be a little more forgiving – of others and of ourselves. It’s ok for people to make mistakes, and it’s ok to make them yourself – most of all, it’s ok to forgive and move on beyond them. This is far easier said than done, and takes some practice and loads of effort, but I’ve found it incredibly useful. It brings about a peaceful heart more than perhaps anything else.
Fun: because we are only human, we will make fools of ourselves and fumble through the human experience in all sorts of awkward, ridiculous manners. The best thing to do when any of that befalls you is to laugh it off. Whatever setback or conundrum or fluke that happens, whether it be the full moon or planetary retrograde motion or the simple foibles of an average day, if you go into the world ready to laugh instead of cry, you’re already one step nearer to happiness than misery.
And so I made my way through the day with those words in my head. With every red light, slow/bad driver, or wayward pedestrian along my commute to work, I paused before rising to road rage, allowing myself a deep breath or a smile and chuckle, and when I arrived at the office, that mood was able to hold. It was no small feat, as a full moon/retrograde day in the office is often a nightmare. Somehow, I was able to keep this little trio of f-words in my head, and respond to whatever came up in better form, without resorting to screaming something like “Fuck around and find out!” at the top of my lungs. Hey, sometimes it’s the simple achievements that matter the most.
I also decided to go into the evening with an intention of peace and calm, to rein in the energy of a full moon and the Mars and Mercury retrograde and focus it toward an inward practice of meditation. For too long, I’ve discounted the power and capability of intention, dismissing it as some new-age concept of empty words and meaningless tripe, but I now think there I something to it. We set the mental scene for our days and nights. We hold the power. And now I hold those thoughts to keep me on track.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain – and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
The very first Dazzler of the Day for 2023 goes to Luke Evans, who brigs some much-needed heat to these proceedings, and never met a Speedo he didn’t don for our viewing pleasure. Evans earns this crowning for far more than his ability to look good on the beach (or naked) – his vocal talent (he has a new album out here) matches his acting prowess, making him a threat on multiple levels of entertainment. His charisma shines through every role, even as he disappears into his characters. He makes a dazzling beginning for 2023.
Tom Ford has a knack for scintillating fragrance monikers. (Hello ‘Fucking Fabulous‘, ‘Rose Prick‘ and ‘Lost Cherry‘.) One that has an overused-emoji already in place for its glory is ‘Bitter Peach’. While it came out a while ago, this one is a recent addition to my cologne cabinet thanks to a Christmas present from Andy. I’ve loved peach as a fragrance for years, but never experienced it in a perfume or cologne.
At first I was skeptical, as Ford’s fruity excursions (like ‘Lost Cherry’) have veered too close to the sugary mainstream stuff that celebrities like Britney Spears or Jennifer Lopez put forth. Upon an initial quick spritz at a nearby Sephora store, I remained unconvinced – however, when I tried it out again a year later, the bit of bitterness was enough to keep me intrigued, and the bright peach that opens it so gorgeously made it worth the ask.
There’s also a perfect backing soundtrack to this scent, provided by Prince in a B-Side cut from his collection of ‘The Hits’ – this is ‘Peach’:
It’s certainly a ripe song for a Tom Ford Private Blend fragrance – it gives sass and sex and just a touch of raunch – though the fragrance itself is more subdued and graceful. ‘Bitter Peach’ is a brief puff of summer sweetness, immediately tempered by a spicy gourmand vibe from some cardamom, blood orange, rum and cognac. An element of promised bitterness comes in at the end of the opening. While the base notes are a little voluminous (the literature lists Indonesian Patchouli Leaf, Vanilla, Tonka Bean, Sandalwood, Benzoin, Cashmeran, Styrax, Labdanum and Vetiver) they marry well and end up settling into something elegantly restrained – the bright and sexy peach fuzz transforming into the softest cashmere.
At that point, the one drawback of such beauty occurs: it goes away too quickly. Topping out at about an hour or two, that initial voluptuousness fades to a whisper that stays quietly close to the skin, demanding repeated application throughout the day – not necessarily a bad thing, but something to consider with its hefty price tag.
This is one of those rare Ford Private Blends that can, and probably should, be used year-round. Many of his creations work well only in certain seasons (‘Mandarino di Amalfi‘, ‘Costa Azzurra‘, and ‘Venetian Bergamot‘ for spring and summer; ‘Amber Absolute‘, ‘Vert D’Encens‘, ‘Ébène Fumé‘ for fall and winter) ‘Bitter Peach’ would work well in summer, fall, and even winter, thanks to its spicy accents of bitterness and the warm softness of its dry down.
Such multi-faceted use mirrors the double and triple entendres for a scent called ‘Bitter Peach’ – the likes of which could be explored for days. You’ll have to settle for this cheeky blog post and all its innuendo and butt-baring outuendo.
It is understood that we are only just now seeing the light from stars that may have been extinguished or imploded (or whatever happens when a star dies) years after the fact. Is that comforting or disturbing? I can’t quite decide. It’s certainly a bit of a mind-fuck when it comes to time and perception and the purpose or pointlessness of our tiny place in the universe.
A similar sense of displacement and fuckery is at work when I find myself on the verge of sleep and wake, suspended in that dream-like bardo of worlds where what is real blends confusingly with what is past, what may have never come to pass, and what has yet to come to pass. Ghosts haunt that borderline realm – the ghosts of time: past, present and future – like some Ebenezer Scrooge parable.
This haunting cover of ‘Superstar’ by The Carpenters gives me similar pause, an echo of the original that I posted about earlier. The song somehow becomes even more evocative in this version, a hazy visage drained of color like dreams or memories, and if the first post was one of youthful clarity, this one feels fuzzy and messy and the result of all my time on earth.
For almost half a century, I’ve looked up at the same stars – the light from thousands of years ago. While my body aches and creaks and says so much time has passed, in relation to the stars this is merely a blip in the story of the universe. It lends all of us a certain humility, and humility will always be one of the most beautiful features of any human being. Too many of us (including myself too much of the time) forget to access or exhibit that at key moments – and every moment can be key when it comes to humility. At so many points, just a little dose of humility could have changed the course of history – personally and universally. When you think of how small we really are in the grand multi-dimensional scheme of time and space, it is gorgeously humbling.
My mother introduced us to the Carpenters, or maybe it was just her easy-listening radio station that did it. Whatever the case, the melodies of that musical group informed the early years of my musical education, and ever since I’ve been a sucker for a hook and melody delivered in earnest, dramatic fashion.
Leave it to Madonna to remind me of this song during a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the filming of ‘Evita’. She and some of the other actors were sitting around between takes and singing a few songs by the Carpenters. This was one of them, and whenever I hear it I’m instantly brought back to that winter of ‘Evita’ and all its now-acknowledged loneliness.
Once upon a long time ago, there was a boy who played his guitar for me ~ a nameless boy, on a drunken night, before I found true love. After a brief tussle in his flannel-sheeted bed, I laid there as he found his guitar in the darkened room and sat down on the edge of the mattress, strumming snippets of a few folk songs. I knew instantly we would never be together – his naked act was so raw and vulnerable even I would not approach damaging him in the way I had damaged others, and would damage more.
It wasn’t as selfless as it may seem – at the moment I understood I was saving myself as much pain as I was saving him. Still, I lingered when I should have been somewhere, anywhere else, and let him play his music for me. Barely illuminated by the gray light coming from a dirty window, he was mostly a silhouette, a tender shadow only given away through the movements of his arm and the strumming of the strings. He sang along a bit too – the voice of a young man when we were both still in the early stage of youth when we could be careless of heart and head and still maybe make it out unscathed. Maybe.
I dressed quickly when he paused in his songs. He tugged at my shirt a bit as I hastily worked to button it, and I left it mostly undone in my rush to get out of there. He never saw my eyes well up from the beauty of his act.
One of life’s greatest mysteries is the single shoe left in the middle of a street. For all my questionable nights of tipsy shenanigans, I’ve never once lost a shoe. Yet a single shoe or sock or sipper is often seen on the sidewalk or street after any given weekend. How that ends up happening has always puzzled me – and the mind concocts all kinds of possible scenarios, because it has to be something more interesting than a person tripping and tossing off a shoe then not having the frame of mind to retrieve it. I’d like to think there was something more dramatic – an abduction or a fight or a modern-day Cinderella story.
There is a ghostly element to it, especially in the rain and the light of day, and a certain sorrow to the scene. It feels like something is missing – a notion of loss that is evoked when we are so accustomed to seeing shoes in pairs. Out on its own, a lone shoe looks lonely.
Recently featured as a Dazzler of the Day here, Dominic Albano launches his first foray into underwear this week, drawing on years of modeling and fashion experience. His self-monikered line features the sort of sexy designs he’s so proficient at showing off for other designers, and it’s always a treat when the designer can say they have walked a mile in the clothing they are selling.
Albano is coming off a scintillating retro-styled piece for the online version of Playgirl Magazine, and a retro-feel informs the promotional images for his current underwear campaign. The lighting and feel are moody, evoking and playing up the sultry gaze that Albano has come to embody in much of his modeling work. It’s the perfect sales pitch for underwear, which is largely about selling sex, but should also come with comfort and function. Both seem to play a part in the new line, which keeps the flashy and colorful excess of many other underwear offerings to a minimum, relying on basic neutrals and classic cuts.
Centering it all is Albano’s focused determination on building a brand and his familiarity with the product. There is a carefulness and deliberate cultivation of his image, but also a courage in doing things entirely his own way. Check out the new line of underwear at his website here.
When Tom Ford released the scandalously-monikered ‘Lost Cherry’ it was somewhat of a let-down. Like ”Fucking Fabulous’ before it, the name was more exciting than the fragrance, and while I love and enjoy ‘Fucking Fabulous’, it doesn’t walk into a room and announce its presence with fanfare and electricity. It seduces in a quieter manner. ‘Lost Cherry’ simply lost me, with a rather cloying sugary element that might appeal more to the youth of today than the old curmudgeons like myself who want more oomph than sweetness.
So it was with a dose of skepticism intermingled with hope that I heard about two new cherry frags from the Tom Ford Private Blend collection – ‘Cherry Smoke’ and ‘Electric Cherry’ – whether they will be flankers or stand-upright on their own remains to be seen. Of the two, ‘Cherry Smoke’ sounds the most promising, and I could totally get on board if they’re going for a darker cherry vibe. That said, my nose tends to favor the fruity, as evidenced by the ‘New York Oud’ by Bond No. 9 which entranced me despite my reticence to sweet and fruit-like scents (nothing really Oud about it) so perhaps ‘Electric Cherry’ will be the one that brings me into Ford’s cherry-popping glory.
The new releases come at an opportune moment, right before Valentine’s Day, not unlike his exquisite Rose release last year. That one resulted in one of the more beautiful creations of Private Blend history – ‘Rose de Russie’ – which I enjoy to this very day. Will any of these new cherries strike similar sparks? We shall hopefully see…
A piece of music has the power to paint its own pictures, just as much as a book or a play or a fable. Sometimes it can create more than a painting or a sculpture; those are set and stationary, whereas music is more malleable in its images. Such is the case with this magnificent work by Kayhan Kalhor – ‘Blue As The Turquoise Night of Neyshabur’ – here performed by Yo-Yo Ma and The Silk Road Ensemble. The stories that may be spun from hearing it run through the mind along myriad paths, each one slightly different, taking new turns and twists depending on the listener. It begins in a calm if slightly mysterious and tense tone, before gradually unfurling into a rollicking adventure.
Maybe it’s a love story, with all the tumult and passion of a first kiss. Maybe it’s a realization – a mystery slowly solved over the course of its fifteen minutes. Maybe it’s a journey, a trip we have taken to a new place, a new city, a new country. Maybe it’s a party, from the anticipatory preparation through the tense starting minutes to the bombastic climax when all the guests have assembled and the state of happy camaraderie crests in loud laughter and the majesty of merriment.
Listening to this on a dark January night when all that lay ahead were more dark January nights, I felt the gentle and insistent tug of art and beauty, the tantalizing wisp of imagination and inspiration, the call of some distant muse or siren. It was a tempting invitation to travel from the comforts of a conversation couch to any number of far-off lands and worlds. Why limit our experiences to what we can physically achieve when the body is so bound by time and place?
And so I listen to this piece of music, not looking up its genesis or background, not wanting to be influenced or nudged into something for the first few times I experience it. I want it to make its own way, choose its own adventure, conjure its own castles of creation. Make its own memory from a pile of mental rubble. My wrists ache, my knees are sore, my eyes are failing by the minute – the body begins the downward slope. The brain, such as it ever was, remains mostly intact – and the imagination, my one shining strength in a world of largely unimaginative comrades, is still sharply honed. It’s kept me going for all these 47 years, and it pushes me forward on this turquoise night, when I hear music that makes me feel like I can fly…
They were skeptical at first, the way they are with every new thing their Uncle Al has ever shown them, but after a dozen years of having their skepticism turn to delight, they were up to trying it. For this dinner on New Year’s day, after feasting at the family’s early lunch, we assembled a hodge-podge of random items after making a hasty trip to Price Chopper to procure whatever additional ideas they each had. Noah chose fruit and Emi chose Cheese – a Vermont Sharp Cheddar.
I told them to try it with a slice of apple. They looked at me as if I was kidding, or trying to get them to do something they wouldn’t like, even though I always end up giving them the best of what I’ve enjoyed thus far. And so they sampled a slice of cheese and apple and marveled at the wonder of them together. The way their eyes lit up, the surprise and delight they genuinely felt as the textures and tastes combined – this was the thrill of raising kids, and I rarely got to see such moments.
This summer, I will introduce them to melon and prosciutto.
