Friday nights ring differently when you’re 47 years old. Gone are the days of excitement over television shows, or staying up past 9 PM. Today I want for no television, and going to bed at 9 pm would be a luxury I’m rarely afforded. Instead, I sit at the desk in the attic, light a few candles, and write out these words while seeking out music that will calm and quell the worrisome heart. This song starts out with promise, but it builds into something more powerful and driving, and I’m not sure it’s what I want or need. Still, a peaceful beginning counts for something, and on a day like this maybe it’s the only peace we’ll get.
There is serenity in the attic, and now that the outside has slowly but decidedly turned slightly more inhospitable than it was in the summer months, focus returns to this calming space of our home. Here it will remain light and bright no matter how dark the winter may get.
It’s barely past 6 pm as I write this and already it’s dark out. This will only come earlier after the clocks go back. An extra hour is always appreciated, but the return to so much darkness is not as welcome. That’s when the brightness of the attic becomes integral to mental health and emotional uplift. Last winter was made bearable, if not enjoyable, by embracing and cultivating the notion of hygge in this very space, and we will light candles and hunker down in coziness to bring comfort and warmth again.
The stunning color of this Japanese maple tree is one of fall’s best finales. This glorious tree starts off as a deep maroon, and a somewhat dull maroon at that, though it provides a lovely foil to all the light green and chartreuse of early summer. (I prefer the brighter work of the Coral bark maple for early season color.) And while the latter goes up in bright canary flame, this one burns up in flaming scarlet; both are striking against a blue sky.
This fall has been especially beneficent as far as lovely skies and sunny weather goes – perfect for showing off the happy endings at work among the trees right now. Too often, fall weather is filled with rain and wind – both of which spell and early and quick demise to these scenes of beauty. This year it’s already November, and it still feels like late summer.
Even though I haven’t been talking as much about my meditation practice on the blog, it’s still happening – each and every day for twenty minutes. It usually takes place in this room, after the work day concludes, to provide a demarcation between work and home – a helpful buffer to separate the stressful from the serene. It’s important for me to maintain that line – and it helps on both fronts.
Here is where I sit and light a stick of Palo Santo, close my eyes, begin the deep breathing, and meditate. It always begins with a head full of racing thoughts and dilemmas – plans that need to be made, items that need to be accomplished, and I acknowledge each thing that comes across the mind, then let it go. Eventually the thoughts slow, and the breathing becomes the focus. Sometimes more thoughts will come – what I need to get at the store, what I need to print out for work the next day, whom I need to call or text – and once I acknowledge these thoughts they leave. By the end of the twenty minutes, my mind is clear and calm. It returns to a base level of peace and unruffled contentment, and if I was agitated or annoyed at the start of the meditation, it has invariably eliminated that. It sounds too good to be true, but it has always happened this way.
That is partly due to the fact that up until now my worries and concerns have largely been small. But even when things turn serious, meditation has proven a helpful exercise in putting things into perspective and calming me when I’m lost in the muck. It’s a common place to find myself these days.
Starring in the FX smash ‘What We Do in the Shadows’, Harvey Guillén is refreshingly breaking molds and smashing stereotypes on previously-held notions of what makes a star. As a proudly queer Mexican person of a certain size, Guillén has been turning heads and making people re-think how they categorize others – witness his recent Advocate photo shoot where he re-creates the infamous Rolling Stone cover of one Britney Spears, challenging and questioning gender roles and expectations with gorgeous wit and whimsy. For that reason and more, he is our Dazzler of the Day.
“Autumn is the season of subtractions, the Japanese art of taking more and more away to charge the few things that remain. At least four times as many classical poems are set in autumn and spring, the seasons of transition, than in summer and winter. But what that means, I realize as the years pass, is that nothing can be taken for granted; people are on alert, wide awake, ready to seize each day as a blessing because the next one can’t be counted on.” ~ Pico Iyer
The light at this time of the year may be the nicest light of all, though I suppose I say that on any particularly beautiful day. Something rings more preciously gorgeous now though, perhaps because these leaves will soon fall, and their impending loss makes them mean a little more than their spring incarnation, when others might fill the place of those that are given to the wind or some hungry rodent.
“Autumn poses the question we all have to live with: How to hold on to the things we love even though we know that we and they are dying. How to see the world as it is, yet find light within that truth.” ~ Pico Iyer
This is when the trees, and what leaves remain, burn to their final fiery finish, and the sun helps with the show, lighting it all up for one last show.
While his witty words and Boston celebrity background are what first captured my attention and adoration, his cheeky derriere-baring social media teases sealed the deal, and so it is with great pleasure that Jonathan Soroff is named Dazzler of the Day. His articles in The Improper Bostonian gave me life for all the years I lived full-time in that glorious city, and he is currently a writer and editor for Boston Magazine. His panache and flair for life personifies the most elegant and sophisticated side of Boston, and he’s managed to make his own life its own work of art.
At the start of summer, when this clematis traditionally blooms, its color is a dark violet, illuminated by the strong overhead arc of the sun during the day. This summer I fed it a weekly regimen of fertilizer, as some years it has gone neglected, but always manages to bloom. Such consistency and determination deserves rewarding. It was in the service of next year’s show, but apparently it paid some early dividends, as the clematis went into a rare fall re-bloom with our recent brush with warmer sunnier weather.
Even better than this reminder of summer is the way the afternoon sun lends a warmer aspect to the blooms, emphasizing the underlying red tones of the middle of each petal. It absolutely sets the vein-work alive with hints of magenta and fuchsia in the midst of the purple. A magical moment that could only happen in the fall.
Soup season is on, and the inaugural experiment was this basic vegetable soup, to which I added some udon noodles and soft-boiled eggs at the end. The beginning was how most soups began – with carrots, onions, and celery. For some heat, I dropped a dried guajillo chili into the pot, then some crushed red pepper flakes, salt, black pepper, and some garlic and ginger. Rounding out the vegetables were some baby boy choy, tomatoes, green beans, and peas. Boiled it gently for about 40 minutes and it was ready. Added the udon and a squeeze of fresh lemon for some bite.
This soup was to fortify and flush my body after the double-dose of the COVID and flu vaccine, and it worked. No ill effects aside from minor sore arms which lasted about a day. Peace of mind = priceless. Happy Soup Season.
This recipe, gleaned from the grandeur that is TikTok, originally had me skeptical, but after trying it out to great success, I’m posting it here in all its culinary blasphemy, and throwing caution to the Sandra Lee wind. It uses a box cake, and pumpkin, and melds the idea of a tres leches cake into its creation, so its wrong on just about every level you can think of, but the end result tastes oh-so-right. We don’t stand on kitchen ceremony here.
It’s a pumpkin tres leches cake, and you may find that it entirely replaces the need for the lackluster pumpkin pie that most people are simply over, particularly those who do the pumpkin thing out of obligation rather than genuine preference. It begins with a box of yellow or vanilla cake, mixed according to the instructions, then amended with an additional egg, a 15 oz can of pumpkin puree, and a tablespoon of pumpkin pie spice (or just some cinnamon and nutmeg – this is a forgiving thing). Bake that in a greased 9 x 13 inch pan at 350 degrees for 40 minutes. (You need not undercook to ensure a moist consistency – that comes later.)
After cooling for about 15 minutes, poke a bazillion holes in the cake (I used a fork and went up and down in neat little rows cause I’m a Virgo) and then cool another 15 minutes. In a bowl, mix 1 can sweetened and condensed milk, 1 can evaporated milk, and about 1/3 cup heavy cream and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Slowly pour this milk mixture (the tres leches of the title) onto the cake, allowing it to soak into every little hole. Cover and refrigerate overnight (or at least five hours).
Before serving, make the whipped topping, which is just 2 cups heavy cream, 1/3 cup powdered sugar, 1 teaspoon vanilla, and 1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice. Whip that shit into the desired consistency, firm, but not butter-firm (kinda the state of my ass these days) and spread it out atop the cake (the whipped topping, not my ass).
This was an absolute hit with my family, including my niece and nephew, who have given the thumbs down to my last three cake concoctions, so it’s bound to please yours. It’s November. It’s time to consider your Thanksgiving menu.
With her sensational TikTok series ‘Days of Girlhood’, Dylan Mulvaney has been documenting her transitioning journey, giving voice and heart to her own transgender experience. With effervescent charm and beguiling grace, she disarms potential opponents with a relentlessly kind and positive enthusiasm. If this is what it means to find one’s authentic self, it’s a powerful testament to all of us finding our own true way. Mulvaney earns her first Dazzler of the Day crowning thanks to her inspiring words and earnest activism.
Somehow November is suddenly upon us, which feels somewhat unfair because my mind is still just clicking into September. Maybe all the fine weather we’ve had this fall is playing tricks on us – and these are tricks by which I’ll happily be fooled. May they linger and wreak such havoc all the way into winter.
As for you, November, we have some old scores to settle, and for some of them I will be to blame. Just remember, disarmament is sometimes a battle ploy. When the past continues to attack the present, when the deeds from our youth come back to haunt us, there is but one way out – and that’s to go back and deal with the demons, even if the demon is you.
If there’s a song that personifies what my website has been doing for almost an entire double-decade, this may be the one. Courtesy of the adorable Meghan Trainor (who doesn’t get enough credit for her song-crafting skills) give a listen to ‘Made You Look’ which is all about the bait-and-switch of the superficial versus the substance, and that battle has been gloriously waging here since we first went up way back in 2003.
I could have my Gucci on
I could wear my Louis Vuitton
But even with nothin’ on
Bet, I made you look (I made you look)
Given that timeframe, this blog has been doing its thing since before Instagram, Twitter or FaceBook even existed. Those social media outlets took the work by storm, and I use my accounts mainly to drive visitors here, to these blog posts, and the daily writing and photographic rituals that have been cathartic artistic outlets. How to get noticed in an increasingly-fractured and splintered world, where content turns over within seconds, and the average lifespan of a website is under three years. The lifespan of a personal blog is probably much lower. Simply being here, almost twenty years now, is a feat in and of itself, and the recipe for my success is simply making this a labor of love and creative expression. That said, it’s always more fun when guests visit, and to make that happen I’ve employed a simple thirst-bait-and-switch formula, where provocative images draw the viewers in, and then the words, ideally, get them to stay for a bit.
I’ll make you double take
Soon as I walk away
Call up your chiropractor
Just in case your neck break
Ooh, tell me what ya, what ya, what you gon’ do? Ooh
‘Cause I’m ’bout to make a scene
Double up that sunscreen
I’m ’bout to turn the heat up
Gonna make your glasses steam
Ooh, tell me what ya, what ya, what you gon’ do? Ooh
Sadly, I realize that ideal scenario is preciously rare; it’s a losing game trying to convince even my closest friends to stop by these parts. That used to bother me, before I understood how it drove my pathology and inspired me to create things that were worth reading, that would get even those weary and worn down by my antics to take a moment and check in. That was also the sort of guy for whom I fell, over and over: the one who wanted nothing to do with me. When the people who matter most to you don’t seem to notice anything you do, you learn to thrill the world, or you give up on it. For all my jaded cynicism, I haven’t given up on anything.
When I do my walk, walk
I can guarantee your jaw will drop, drop
‘Cause they don’t make a lot of what I got, got
Ladies if you feel me, this your bop, bop
(Bop bop, bop)
I could have my Gucci on (Gucci on)
I could wear my Louis Vuitton
But even with nothin’ on
Bet, I made you look (I made you look)
Yeah, I look good in my Versace dress (take it off)
But I’m hotter when my morning hair’s a mess
But even with my hoodie on
Bet, I made you look (I made you look)
And once you get a taste (woo)
You’ll never be the same
This ain’t that ordinary
It’s that fourteen karat cake
Ooh, tell me, what ya, what ya, what you gon’ do? Ooh
When I do my walk, walk
I can guarantee your jaw will drop, drop
‘Cause they don’t make a lot of what I got, got
Ladies if you feel me, this your bop, bop
(Bop bop, bop) ohh
This little bop reminds me of a simpler time, back when the internet was a safer, softer, sillier place. It gives off a sense of superficial glam, only to reveal something sweeter and slightly more substantial – the hat trick of what has kept this blog going. A bit of a tease, a bit of a please, and a bit of the bee’s knees. Nothing too serious, unless you look beneath the surface. Most won’t bother making it this far, but for those who do, and those who continue to return, I’ll do my best to make it worth your while. If I happen to fail, which will sometimes occur, then I will play this song and try to remember the fun in life, the frivolity, and all the foolishness that once made the world go round.
I could have my Gucci on (Gucci on)
I could wear my Louis Vuitton
But even with nothin’ on
Bet, I made you look (said, I made you look)
Yeah, I look good in my Versace dress (take it off, baby)
But I’m hotter when my morning hair’s a mess
But even with my hoodie on
Bet, I made you look (said, I made you look)
Halloween is traditionally my day off. I wear enough nonsensical costumes throughout the year that this has always felt like amateur hour, and I’d rather just do sweats and a roomy, cozy shirt that’s not slim fit on this day when everyone else is trying so hard (or hardly trying as the case may be). Not that Halloween here will be a total bust – come back later today for a post that will totally make you look… for now, on with the weekly recap.
Clouds and cool air moved in just as the full moon began its ascent. Shadows elongated as the sun lowered itself. The sky working its magical machinations as it did for all these centuries, confusing and confounding human logic and reason in wonderful wickedness.
The nature of a secret is to keep itself.
Seasonal ornaments lent the days a cozy and benign aspect, anything to blunt how cold and crisp the nights could suddenly get. Pumpkins of orange and sage combined with asters in purple and fuchsia to thrilling effect. Electric duets of saturated color sang their blaring songs, while the sweet call of a wood witch sounded like an echo, all faded and chipped by the wind.
When I look out my window Many sights to see And when I look in my window So many different people to be
They’re strange, so strange It’s very strange to me
You’ve got to pick up every stitch (gonna be) You’ve got to pick up every stitch (gonna be, gonna be) You’ve got to pick up every stitch Oh no, must be the season of the witch Must be the season of the witch Must be the season of the witch
Channeling the moonlight that sifts through the suddenly-bare branches of the trees, the wood witch basks in the absent glow of the done day. The crunch of the crisp oak leaves, the snap of a brittle, barkless branch, the whistle of the wind through the tattered remnants that cling to the trees – this is the wooded realm that he knows best. It was here where he came into existence, here where he roamed as a boy, here where his innocence was hidden.
When I look over my shoulder (what happens then?) What do you think I see? (Mm) Some other cat looking over (shadoop, shadoop) Over his shoulder at me (ah, at me)
And he’s strange, so strange (so strange) He’s very strange to me
A woolen hood and cloak in a brighter shade of burnt umber, as far from a whiter shade of pale as one could get, floated about his shoulders, as if an article of clothing could conjure its own life and move of its own volition. Such a strange thing, the wood witch, lying buried so many days of the year, some years not stirring at all, and others reclaiming his rightful place amid the soon-to-slumber forest.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown of the wood.
You’ve got to pick up every stitch (gonna be) You’ve got to pick up every stitch (gonna be, gonna be) Beatniks are out to make it rich Oh no, must be the season of the witch Must be the season of the witch Must be the season of the witch
Sunday Tea Dance once meant something vastly different than it means to me now, but that feels a world away. Today, Sunday tea is a very literal ceremony of having a simple cup of tea and mindfully sipping it slowly and quietly. On a Sunday.
This is a day meant for slowing down and being mindful. A day for meditation and contemplation. A day for stillness. A day for quiet.
A day for necessity.
The art of a proper tea ceremony is far too complex and involved for me to ever research and pull off now, and I don’t feel the need to explore that fully. Sometimes it is enough simply to find a small moment of mindfulness in a day that too many of us pack with weekend activities, trying to finish whatever we might have started yesterday. That detracts from the purpose of Sunday.
And so I stop to sip from this cup of tea. A delicate and earthy green tea, it sits without fanfare on the tongue, going down gently without screaming its presence, and I adore that unassuming simplicity. Every sip is a path, every lifting of the cup a journey. We travel together around the globe without leaving the home.
