Why does Retail want to kick Summer out of the bed so soon?
04
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
04
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
Facing A Moral Dilemma, I Choose Beauty (and Evil)
This is one of those times when I’m going to tell you to do as I say, not as I do. (Further proof that one doesn’t need children to be contradictory.) It was the summer of 1992 when I first learned about the bane that is the noxious purple loosestrife. At Brown University, my summer biology course at the Roger Williams Zoo was teaching us that most zoos were switching from simply holding animals to teaching the public about conservation and how to preserve the natural world. At the time, purple loosestrife was taking a stranglehold of the northeast, where it was choking out natives in wet wildlands. A trip along the Thruway heading south proved it – a constant flash of bright purple marked most of the roads in mid to late summer. At the zoo, it was taking hold of any place where there was moisture, and we were asked to pull it up whenever we found it. I wasn’t about to do their weeding for them, but it made an indelible mark upon my mind, and from that summer onward whenever I saw it somewhere I would shout out, to whoever was listening, there’s the dreaded purple loosestrife. (Suzie got the biggest, and probably only, kick out of it.)
As an invasive species, purple loosestrife is a danger to our native plants and habitat. Scientifically known as Lythrum salicaria, it was, for a brief period of time, sold by nurseries because its long blooming season and striking color made for a perfect perennial. I still remember a spectacular garden border at a friend’s house – I actually went there more for the garden than the company (sorry, Eric). Next to a sky-high stand of Heliopsis was a clump of Lythrum, and together they formed a glorious backdrop for bees and butterflies to pollinate and charm. I ordered one from White Flower Farm – the variety was ‘Morden’s Pink’ and they claimed it was not as invasive as the typical form encroaching on our highways. Eventually they stopped selling it when it joined the invasive species list.
Now, this is the part where I reveal my moral failings. (One of them, anyway.) Two years ago, a little bird must have dropped a seed of loosestrife in our garden. Whether it came out of its mouth or ass, I couldn’t tell you, but soon a little loosestrife plant was growing. I wasn’t sure what it was at first – the foliage of a young plant is rather handsome, and the stems were fleshier and more substantial than most of the weeds I knew. It looked somewhat refined, so I let it go. As it matured, I thought it looked like a lythrum, so I kept a careful watch on it as WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO GROW THEM HERE.
As summer progressed, it grew tall and high, and sent up those gloriously-hued flower spikes. I had a beautiful but dangerous specimen of purple loosestrife in my garden. But it was so pretty, and worked so well beside the cup plant and in front of the fountain grass that, to my continuing shame, I kept it. I even pampered it, sprinkling liberally with water whenever things got too dry. It just works too well to pull it out – providing the perfect spot of color at a time when most things are pooping out. I will also dead-head it and make sure no seeds form to prevent its spread, I promise, and the moment it moves just one inch beyond its allotted space, I will tear it down. For now, I’m enjoying its beauty and coming clean for my conscience.
I repeat, DO NOT GROW THE PURPLE LOOSESTRIFE.
Do as I say, not as I do.
03
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
Cristiano’s Best Light, In His Underwear
Cristiano Ronaldo has made a name for himself in his underwear – he has his own brand of skivvies, and is generous enough to put himself out there wearing them at regular intervals. (It’s been eons since David Beckham or Ben Cohen have done anything as thirst-inspiring.) On this August Saturday evening, let’s just chill out with these colorful shots from his last set of promotional underwear maneuvers. He’s taken it off in similar fashion here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and… well, you get the idea. Search the archives for even more.
03
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
The Archer in Summer
Summer has a weird way of turning things upside down. More than Mercury in retrograde, it bungles the mind, messing with the matter in the head. Maybe it’s the sun – that glorious, vicious, life-giving orb – pulsating and pulling us to it, never quite letting us go, keeping us in orbit, bound forever, circling in the slightest parabolic curve. It brings us back to the past, much as it pushes us ahead. Like a myth, we take our places in the firmament.
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT
I SAY I DON’T WANT THAT, BUT WHAT IF I DO?
‘CAUSE CRUELTY WINS IN THE MOVIES
I’VE GOT A HUNDRED THROWN-OUT SPEECHES I ALMOST SAID TO YOU
EASY THEY COME, EASY THEY GO
I JUMP FROM THE TRAIN, I RIDE OFF ALONE
I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
Some of us suit up, preparing for battle. Better to go out fighting than waiting to win. A victory of being right is always a valediction of some sort, because who could put up with that for too long? But we won’t give up that easily. The fight rages because the heart knows no reason. Summer fuels the madness. And a summer moon… well, who has a chance? We will ride out in the night…
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
DARK SIDE, I SEARCH FOR YOUR DARK SIDE
BUT WHAT IF I’M ALRIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT HERE?
AND I CUT OFF MY NOSE JUST TO SPITE MY FACE
THEN I HATE MY REFLECTION FOR YEARS AND YEARS
We build our castle, and I make it as pretty as possible. A spear-studded iron barricade of youth, rusted and entwined with a climbing hydrangea. A glass windowpane, unbroken, and impossible to put together again if it were any other way. Memory rides on the breeze. On humid nights, the old Ko House organ releases scents and molecules from a lifetime ago, when we’d peek around their banister to see if the adults were still by the fire at Christmas. It still carries its song, music like scent, senses placing us back in our childhood. The summer stickiness pulls me back there then jerks me back to the present.
I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, I PACE LIKE A GHOST
THE ROOM IS ON FIRE, INVISIBLE SMOKE
AND ALL OF MY HEROES DIE ALL ALONE
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER,
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
SCREAMING, WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
These floors of wood once felt so solid, once felt so secure. They creak now, a bit battered, a bit worn, even a little warped. They’ve seen the seasons, they’ve paced the years. Crumbling into their waves, my body is not what it used to be. It creaks now too. It buckles and cracks and brings pain. It goes down, brittle shell meeting splintered resistance. This will not hold you like the earth. No arms will embrace you. Nothing will give you what you want. Nothing will give you what you need.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
‘CAUSE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME?
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
A summer fairytale. Why would we ever trust the words of a fairy? And why ever in the summer, of all available points of time? That sun is on the rise. That heat is waiting to ascend. That army is ready to assemble. One crisp white shirt. One suit striped of pin. One tie of silk and elegance. Black belt in leather. A pair of shoes tipped with wings. Armor isn’t just steel and metal mesh. Looks can kill.
ALL THE KING’S HORSES, ALL THE KING’S MEN
COULDN’T PUT ME TOGETHER AGAIN
‘CAUSE ALL OF MY ENEMIES STARTED OUT FRIENDS
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
The war has always been within. Storms may circle, shots may strike, but the battle for your soul can only be won, or lost, by you. That’s the most difficult battle of all. Usually it’s impossible. Have you ever tried playing chess against yourself? Or any game for that matter. We are our own worst enemies. We know our weaknesses, we know our strengths, we know just where to strike to pierce the most vulnerable piece of heart. We know and so we guard against it, but in doing so we cut off all other aid or support. A self-fulfilling summer prophecy, cut with shards of sunlight and salty sea water.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
WHO COULD STAY?
WHO COULD STAY?
WHO COULD STAY?
YOU COULD STAY
YOU COULD STAY
YOU…
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT.
Maybe it’s time to end this war.
Maybe I can put down my weapons.
Maybe I can put down my hurt.
Maybe I can…
02
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series
Some memes are really good.
If ever there was a time to LOL, this is it.
Though I have yet to literally LOL.
Or figuratively LOL for that matter.
Anyway, I got a kick out of this one.
02
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
Dad Bod By Nick Jonas
What kind of a fucked-up world are we living in that people are complaining about Nick Jonas and his body? These photos may reveal that’s not in the impossibly-killer shape he was in a couple of years ago, but if anyone thinks that kind of perfection is easy to attain, much less maintain, they are too dumb to read this. Personally, I like the supposed Dad bod on display here – this is something I can make happen this very summer. And if it’s an indication that Mr. Jonas has found a comfort and joy in wedded bliss, well, no one should find fault with that. I feel happier when other people are happy too. Good for him.
Of course, if you’re missing the former form of Mr. Jonas, you can find that in numerous posts here.
01
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series
Not allowing the phone charger cord to get tangled is easier than untangling a tangled phone cord. Prevention is often simpler than correction.
01
August
2019
No comments
August
2019
A Hunky Two-fer
Hunky goodness times two, in the forms of Tom Daley and Nile Wilson. Both have been featured as Hunks of the Day: (see Mr. Daley’s here and Mr. Wilson’s here). But they both have been in other skin-baring posts too, and I’m going to leave that to you and the ‘Search’ feature to see what treasure trails are buried in the archives below. Seek and ye shall find…
31
July
2019
No comments
July
2019
Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series
From a box of pins, it’s the bent one that gets picked first.
31
July
2019
No comments
July
2019
The Madonna Timeline: Song #153 – ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ – Summer 2019
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
I suppose I should be grateful that the worst songs from Madonna’s ‘Madame X’ album are getting thrown out here first, not unlike the way the roll-out happened earlier this year. It will make the cuts to come that much sweeter. This is the dour ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ and the sooner it’s finished, the better. I like the sonics of it but the lyrics are messy and the melody mostly misses. Almost every Madonna album has a head-scratching clunker. (Even ‘Like A Prayer‘ had ‘Act of Contrition‘.) This is the one for the otherwise-excellent ‘Madame X’ opus.
I WILL BE GAY, IF THE GAY ARE BURNED
I’LL BE AFRICA, IF AFRICA IS SHUT DOWN
I WILL BE POOR, IF THE POOR ARE HUMILIATED
I’LL BE A CHILD, IF THE CHILDREN ARE EXPLOITED
I KNOW WHAT I AM
AND I KNOW WHAT I’M NOT
Despite my non-enthusiasm for the song, I’m interested in seeing what Madonna does with this for her Madame X Tour. It’s screaming for drama, and nobody does drama better than Madonna. It may also grow on me. I was playing the album while lounging by the pool and this one was surprisingly effective. Maybe it was the sun and mental meanderings of Portugal. Maybe it was the tequila.
I’LL BE ISLAM, IF ISLAM IS HATED
I’LL BE ISRAEL, IF THEY’RE INCARCERATED
I’LL BE NATIVE INDIAN, IF THE INDIAN HAS BEEN TAKEN
AND I’LL BE A WOMAN, IF SHE’S RAPED AND HER HEART IS BREAKING
I KNOW WHAT I AM (GOD KNOWS WHAT I AM)
AND I KNOW WHAT I’M NOT (AND HE KNOWS WHAT I’M NOT)
DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE? (MM)
WILL WE KNOW WHEN TO STOP?
SONG #153: ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ – Summer 2019
30
July
2019
No comments
July
2019
Hamlet & Horses
You won’t catch me in Saratoga until the track season is done. They got off to an earlier start this year, but we managed to sneak in a dinner at 15 Church before our little sabbatical from the August Place to Be. We also tried out Hamlet & Ghost for a pre-dinner cocktail, and I’d highly recommend it if you’re looking for a carefully-curated cocktail selection (and the careful measurements and high-cost that go with along with it).
I love a cocktail that you can drink with your eyes beforehand, so feast upon these and stop by Hamlet & Ghost if you’re strong enough to brave the August crowds. We’ll be back in September.
30
July
2019
No comments
July
2019
Missing Mornings, Recalled to Life
Due to a new work schedule, I’ve had an extra hour or two each morning before I’m scheduled at the office, and it’s been a happy reminder of how much I missed being up in the morning (and how much I can actually get done in the early hours, such as writing this post). As much as I love music, there’s something equally riveting about the morning silence. Actually, change that: morning has its own music, the world just needs to be very quiet to hear it.
A bouquet of pink chrysanthemums (daisies, for all intents and purposes) stands in an old-fashioned vase, blinking sleepily in the morning haze.
Water vapor rises from the pool, the welcome coolness relief from a string of hot days.
And then the song: a gentle trilling of bird chirps, the call of a distant insect, the pitter-patter of squirrel feet on the roof. Muffled, moving, and contemplative, it’s a music that matches the mist of morning, before the veil of the day gets lifted and folded gently into sun-soaked oblivion.
29
July
2019
No comments
July
2019
One Last July Recap
How sad – we are almost at the end of July! Where did it all go? Personally, I’m not totally unhappy to see it go – tomorrow marks the last day of this terribly-wretched bout of Mercury in retrograde. Lots of crazy shit happened during this one – not the least of which was me almost burning down the kitchen… but that’s another story that need not be told so soon after the fact. Peruse the links below – I’ve included a few extras because this is going to be a light day on the blog. It’s summer. Go out and get it.
The main event of the week was this Pier 1 Imports pillow debacle. Customer service is dead. So are all the items that Pier 1 puts in redline status.
Andy and I have been together for nineteen years. Don’t do the math.
Roger Frampton is stretching me out. He can do you too.
Make the tool do the work it was designed to do.
A floral frag fit for a Flower Party.
Once upon a time: a kids-unfriendly fairytale.
Hunks of the Day included Daniele Sibilli, Jack Berges, Rafael Losso, Matt Baumgartner, and Juan Pablo di Pace.
And for further linkalicious fun, in case you’ve missed any and all of this heat-fueled month, check out this Hotsy Totsy Recap, this Perfectly-Mid-July Recap (already so far away!), and this super Hot July Recap.
28
July
2019
No comments
July
2019
Florabotanica by Balenciaga
When throwing a Flower Party, the featured fragrance should be, well, floral, no matter how non-groundbreaking that may be. At the very least, the invitations should have a floral scent to them. Enter Balenciaga’s sumptuously flowery ‘Florabotanica’ -which is what I used when crafting summer invitations earlier this season.
Oddly enough, I never used to be a fan of florals for fragrance. There are exceptions, and summer is the time when they happen: I love a neroli or a bergamot for the hot days – and any sort of citrus blossom is enough to bring back sunny memories that may or may not have actually happened. The feeling it invokes is so sweet, however, that it doesn’t matter. They’ve come to exist on a memory plane that belongs solely to them.
Balenciaga created a pair of fine florals a couple of years ago, and Florabotanica spoke to me because it had a green freshness that worked to temper the sweetness of its floral focus. The literature for this fragrance is as over-the-top as the scent itself, so of course I adore it:
The astonishing FLORABOTANICA came to life in a four-hand score. The two composers are Olivier Polge and Jean-Christophe Hearault. These two internationally renowned noses have written a music of scents that play on two major accords, like a plant world within a world. The Vetiver, Amber and Caladium Leaf accord to create a resonance of mossy and mysterious dark wood. And the Rose, Carnation and Mint accord like an exhilarating note with juvenile freshness. It should be specified that we are not talking about those extremely well-known roses from the Vulgaris Rosacea family. It is a hybrid rose born of the olfactory imagination of our two orchestrators. We cannot reveal all the secrets of these two floral, alchemists, but the Experimental Rose finds its origins in opulent Turkey. To give it a fairytale air, the two perfumers have added a formula of psychosensory plants, making it particularly enchanting. This Experimental Rose has the power to endlessly charm.
This isn’t one for everyday wear in my world – it’s too potent and dramatic. (And if I’m saying that, take heed.) But it is a beauty, one that opens up like its proverbial rose inspiration, and dries down to a slightly more delicate form. It is definitely floral as fuck, and shot through with enough greenhouse dreaminess to entwine the wearer with wreaths and tendrils of jungle sweetness. A guaranteed precursor of a summer swoon to those brave enough to try it on.
