Under a Wizard’s Delicious Spell

Appearing almost magically across the street from downtown Albany’s oldest store, Wizard Burger has been around for a couple of years, but I never took the opportunity to try it out until last week – and it was a happy and fortuitous revelation, as the pickings for lunch during the week in downtown are scant to say the least. Part of my reluctance is that I’m generally a meat-loving guy, so if I’m going to have a burger, I always thought I wanted it to be a meat burger. I was wrong. All of the selections at Wizard burger are vegan, but unless someone told you that you might not necessarily notice or believe it. The flavors and combos are that surprisingly satisfying .

Asking which burger on the menu was a good beginner’s choice, I took the advice of the person behind the counter and ordered their Big Kahuna (which seemed like a bold suggestion, given the pineapple and pickled jalapeño combo), as well as an order of their Buffalo-style fries (also vegan, despite their spicy taste and breaded-chicken-like appearance). Both were insanely good – the burger also had a soy glaze and some house mayo, all of which made for a sweet and savory and spicy combination that packed more flavor and punch than any burger I’ve had in the past year. The fries were no joke either, and while the creamy sauce accompanying them bore no similarity to the potent blue cheese that one may be accustomed to, it was no less delicious for the difference. All in all, it was a crazy satisfying meal, and I’ll be back again to fall under a different spell (the Wiz Mac sounds like a magnificently magical variation on the Big Mac, while the Magicano is their jackfruit-based take on pulled pork). And I haven’t even gotten started on the other fries and burritos…

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Dazzler of the Day: John Duff

If anyone is still looking for a Pride anthem at this late date, check out ‘Be Your Girl’ by John Duff, which takes us back to the gloriously melodic whirling days of carefree disco and delicious pop hookery. Duff has made a few of these bops, and several eye-popping videos to go along with them, easily earning this Dazzler of the Day crowning just in time to end Pride Month on a high note.

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The Swedish Candy Craze

While I crave a daily sweet treat, that craving rarely comes in the desire for candy. That recently changed when the Swedish candy craze that’s been taking social media by storm deposited clips of colorful bunches of chewy, gummy deliciousness on my feed, dangling those delectable bites of sweet and tart along with their supplier links right at my double-click-to-pay fingertips. It was all too tempting to pass by, and so I ordered my first batch of sour candy mix from Bon Bon, a purveyor of Swedish candy based in New York City. Today they arrived, and they are just as enjoyable as they appear – a rarity when so much online food looks amazing until you get it into your mouth. 

This collection offers lemon, watermelon, cola, peach, and all sorts of combinations that straddle the mouthwatering line between sweet and sour, resulting in a gloriously-tart experience that explodes in the mouth like oh so many other sweetly scandalous things. 

Next up on my wish list is a sampling of their Summer mix, as well as their Jelly’Marshmallow mix. They will make for the ideal coquette sweet treat in this coquette summer. 

Life is too short not to taste the candy.

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A Strawberry Moon & Rainy Boston Beginning – Part 2

Summer is wily in its ways, and though the next day dawned in overcast fashion, the sky was light, with no rain forecast until later that afternoon. Acting strangely against knowing better, we headed out into the day without umbrellas, making vague promises and plans to be back for our afternoon siesta well before the rain returned. Famous last words…

The goal of our excursion was to find a ‘festive’ outfit for an upcoming graduation brunch for Suzie’s daughter Oona – when pressed for a more specific dress code, Suzie enlisted the help of her son Milo, who described it as “festive business casual summer night dress code”. In other words, I will wear whatever the fuck I want and everyone is going to like it. Still, it’s nice to have a little goal, especially in the summer, and it gave us purpose as we traipsed through our usual Downtown Crossing clothing haunts.

In truth, any loosely-assembled reason would have worked – the real goal has never been an outfit or an accessory, only a desire to spend time with a friend. We moved through Faneuil Hall then crossed into the North End for an Italian lunch as the clouds rolled in. Many a fun meal has been had in the North End, and I remembered dinners with Mom, Chris, Suzie, Kira, and the twins. Summer leans into nostalgia, even if it’s not my usual province. 

We finished lunch and managed to make it all the way back to Arlington, where we pushed our luck and browsed along Newbury Street as the clouds darkened. As we reached Mass Ave to turn around, the rain had arrived. We went store by store, starting with Muji, pausing at Uniqlo, and taking our make-do siesta at the Mandarin Oriental lobby. We wound our way through the Prudential Center and took one final break at a coffeehouse near the condo, before making a run for dryness and warmth. 

Kira promptly took a nap when we got back, and I did my daily meditation. Soon it was time for a later dinner, and we headed out into a calmer night. A lighter dinner of small plates from SRV right round the corner proved the perfect culinary ending to our weekend. On our way home, this rabbit posed for a picture

It had been a largely rainy weekend, and there was something healing in that. Without a bombastic and sunny reason to be out on an endless city stroll, we leaned into stillness and silence. It was enough just to be beside a friend who has also experienced loss, to sit together and breathe together and simply be together. 

There is beauty in the rain that only summer can elicit, and if this is how summer begins in Boston, it’s going to be all right. 

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A Strawberry Moon & Rainy Boston Beginning – Part 1

Beneath the full Strawberry Moon, a recent entry into Boston was a wild ride thanks to the lunar madness at hand, but Kira and I needed to kick off summer in whatever fashion possible. That meant dealing with a rollercoaster of weather – from the very finest sunny day that greeted my arrival, to several torrential downpours that did their best to fuck shit up, but summer is happening no matter what form it takes, and we were there to celebrate our friendship and find a bit of solace now since we both lost our fathers in the past year. It’s a different kind of club to which we now belong, and it shades summer differently because that sort of loss, once it begins, doesn’t really end.

Boston laid out its full-moon zaniness with a big-ass Celtics celebratory parade, which apparently was ending just as I was trying to find parking. A sea of people waiting to get onto the Orange Line spilled out onto Dartmouth Street, almost blocking traffic. Luckily there were visitor spots near enough to the condo, as the mass exodus of basketball fans were making their way back to where they began.

Opening the windows in the front of the condo, I let the stuffiness that had accumulated over a few days of 90 degree weather dissipate, then started the window air conditioner and set up a fan to cool things down in the bedroom. These were happy summer practices, and brought back memories of a heatwave during one my first summers living in Boston, as well as the installation of our current AC unit courtesy of Skip during an early BroSox Adventure. Summer memories are often the best memories.

When Kira texted that she was arriving at Back Bay Station, I rushed out to meet her halfway along the Southwest Corridor Park. It was resplendent in full, gorgeous bloom, and as I was bending down to take a few of these photos, Kira arrived and we picked up where we last left off, with perhaps a little more world-weariness to our steps. Kira’s had more than her share of loss over the past few years, and where I would have once filled the silence with my typical silliness and nonsense, this visit I let the quiet simply exist between us. True friendship has always proven itself in the comfort one can experience without filling the silence with words or distractions. We let the flowers speak for us, and they whispered secrets of beauty as a balm and calming background as we returned to the condo and settled in for some mocktail magnificence.

Our dinner plans were a loose hodge-podge of ideas – we started filling up with some cheese and crackers, and I brought the ingredients for a Mexican salad – but we needed a few more items, so we set out on a walk deeper into the South End to find the Whole Foods Market. As we neared it, the sky opened up and a torrential downpour quickly whipped itself into a frenzy of wind and water. The full Strawberry moon was in effect, and we were suddenly trapped as the heavy rain showed no sign of letting up, and we showed no sign of preparation being completely caught without our umbrellas. Consulting the weather report on our phones, it looked like the storms would continue until 8:30, which was much too long to wait it out at a Whole Foods, I donít care if they do have hot and fried food available for purchase. We did have some French fries to wait it out a bit, but when the rain refused to subside, I found a decent deal on an Uber and took it home. Even with that luxury, we were quite wet by the time we got back, and the summer day that had greeted our arrival had turned into a stormy evening. It felt fitting, and sleep is always more sound when rainfall is mumbling somewhere in the background…

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A Mass of Neuroses

Lately, I’ve found myself overthinking a lot of things – almost everything. Maybe it was the middle-aged rite of passage that is the colonoscopy that set the mind into extra motion. Maybe it’s the anniversary of last summer quickly approaching and reminding me of heavier days. Maybe it’s the quieter start of the season, and its tumultuous roller-coaster of weather that has the mind spinning. All of it has pushed me back into the overly-analytical and obsessively introspective mode that once formed the baseline of daily life. I thought I had moved beyond that, but maybe I haven’t quite yet. And so the coquette summer, only so recently begun, lowers its veil of lace – to obscure my excessive analysis, to quell my insufferable introspection.

Beautiful stranger sitting right there Looked up at me and my dark curly hair Looked up for a second, didn’t want to be rude I tend to fall in love on the tube Beautiful stranger sitting right there Reading the newspaper, stuck to his chair I swore that he smiled and I felt my heart drop Heard the doors open, came to my stop

Beautiful stranger sitting right there It’s fate we collided right then back there I wonder if he felt the same thing too Innocent crush on the morning commute

Bedtime used to be around 10 PM on the good night, when I could quiet my brain and calm that pesky train of thoughts. The past few months have found it moving after midnight, and when I finally do put myself down, sleep doesn’t always come immediately. I find myself regressing to the nights when insomnia ravaged and ruined the next day. That’s when things start spiraling, and shadows lend shadows to shadows. My youth was spent mostly living in my mind, conjuring stories and adventures from my imagination, too scared to set anything real in motion outside of the safety of my head. As if that was any sort of safe space…

What if I would’ve stayed on the train Dared to stand up and ask for his name Maybe we would have exchanged a few words A fairytale moment could have occurred But my beautiful stranger will have to remain A stranger until I see him again Unless I never will

Beautiful strangers passed around me in those innocent days, on trains or subway cars or airplane cabins. Glimpses of handsomeness, coupled with the occasional spark of a wink, induced a queasy promise that I might one day thrill someone without worry or discomfort or hesitation. My mass of neuroses, which would likely save my life for all the precautions and care it caused me to worriedly exercise in the years that followed, mangled and tortured the way I moved through my early twenties. Those were the years of the beautiful strangers, and all their beautiful fantasies – unfurling so perfectly because they never quite unfurled at all. Nothing real ever happened because I was too frightened to let it, and so everything took place in the mind. My overwrought, over-wrung, overly-taxed mind. I made it all so much harder than it had to be. 

A coquette summer, with all its frilly silliness, might go some way toward providing enough distraction to gently shake one out of too much thinking… rounding our little lives with that beautiful, elusive sleep… 

My beautiful stranger will have to remain A love that came and left with the train My beautiful stranger

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Dazzler of the Day: Louisa Jacobson

Joining other luminaries from ‘The Gilded Age‘ (see Carrie Coon, Christine BaranskiAshlie Atkinson, and Donna Murphy) Louisa Jacobson earns her first Dazzler of the Day thanks to her sweet turn as Marian Brook, who forms the sentimental heart of that sometimes-cutting show. A graduate of the Yale School of Drama, Jacobson began by making her mark on stage, which is where the bulk of ‘The Gilded Age’ actors originated, lending the ensemble its own stylistic grace. 

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#TinyThreads: An Insignificant Series

For the most part, I am happily immune to FOMO.

(Fear Of Missing Out.)

To those who are afflicted, it must be awful.

It just seems like such a tortured way to live, and a sure way to regret in some way, shape or form. 

Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention, and FOMO won’t be affecting my life to add to those few blips. 

Make your choices, then make the most of them. 

Most of the people I know who suffer from FOMO on a regular basis are mostly miserable. Rather than face it and address it head-on, they’ll do anything and everything to distract and pretend it’s all good. I get tired just watching them.

#TinyThreads

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Dazzler of the Day: Michael Phelps

An Olympic superstar, Michael Phelps helps continue the fanfare for this summer’s Olympic Games in Paris, France. Phelps is no stranger to the five rings, holding the record of the most decorated Olympian in history (28 medals). More recently he’s been speaking out on mental health, something that may prove just as compelling and important for those in need of support. He earns his first Dazzler of the Day for his legacy and his efforts to keep making a difference. (And his previous penchant for going naked doesn’t hurt.)

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A Blue Not Found in the Flag

The scent of carved wood seeps out when the air reaches the right temperature and level of humidity in the Victorian entryway of the house where we spent my childhood Fourth of July celebrations. In a large vase, a sumptuously-full bouquet of garden flowers taken at the height of their glory sprawled out from their perch. The majesty was mostly made up of a gorgeous collection of delphinium blooms – the kind that Lee Bailey once decried as too finicky and difficult to grow in his Bridgehampton gardens. 

It was one of the first times I’d see their legendary blue blossoms up close, and I wasn’t supposed to dwell very long in that deserted entry way. The party was outside, in the massive side yard where we had to play softball, and along the driveway, where enormous tires of ice held all sorts of Adirondack sodas. Typical Fourth of July trappings in upstate New York, filled with beer-swigging adults, rowdy kids, and the sort of crowd I wanted mostly to simply avoid. And so I took my time in the ruse of seeking a bathroom, and here is where I found that bouquet, and the magnificence of the delphinium

Back outside, in the heat and sun of the day, I followed the driveway deeper into the yard, and away from the crowd. I reached its end and continued on into the lawn, extending down to the back of the property, where voices grew dim and muffled, and the quiet that I always craved came back in temporary relief. A secluded row of gardens revealed itself behind a wall of hedge, and I found the source of the flower vase filled with delphiniums. There were only a few secondary blooms left behind, but they were just as beautiful, perhaps more-so with the imperfect zigging and zagging of the awkwardly-angled stems that didn’t make the show.

Too few flowers give us the blue of the sky. Maybe the sky is enough for all the varieties of blue it wears. Maybe the flowers wanted to fill different voids, shine in different ways. In this secluded, secret garden, I waited out a bit of the party, happier in the quiet company of the unchosen delphiniums. 

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Sunsetz… Skize

A little more coquette music for a coquette summer.

The sky mirrors the mood – tentatively pink, tenderly salmon – deceptively soft, enough to mask the tumult behind the clouds. Colors like Taylor’s ‘Lover’ album. Music dreamy and divine, with a touch of dirty decadence.

And when you go awayI still see youThe sunlight on your face in my rearviewThis always happens to me this wayRecurring visions of such sweet days

Hurled into the clouds, they suddenly dissipate. There is only light there, and color, a feeling more than anything else. 

And when you go awayI still see youThe sunlight on your face in my rearviewWhen you go away I still see youThe sunlight on your face in my rearview

Summer ambivalence, coming so early in the season, sets a dramatic sky into motion. The obfuscation of a blog post to cover my emotional tracks. Ghosts of last summer linger and tap my shoulder. The hurt still haunts. I shall endeavor to escape into the sky. 

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Pink in the Night

Queasy summer shower, steam off the pavement, evening coming on too quickly no matter how late the light lasts. A preponderance of pink in the night, a song by Mitski to accompany the mood, a fan of pink feathers to wave away the heat. Coquette summers are all about the exquisite ache, the untethered longing, the there-but-not-there emptiness of loss. Summer gains darkness as the years go by, so we need a little pink glow to get us through the night.

I glow pink in the night in my roomI’ve been blossoming alone over youAnd I hear my heart breaking tonightI hear my heart breaking tonightDo you hear it too?It’s like a summer showerWith every drop of rain singing“I love you, I love you, I love youI love you, I love you, I love youI love you, I love you, I love you”

Sigh of decadent dismissal, smile of weak and shaky form, movements of languid timidity. Sentences broken into pieces of phrase, words cut and shattered, grammar torn. Cruel, abrupt, clipped summer. Evocation and adoration too. Summer carves out its space, removing its heart.

I could stare at your back all dayI could stare at your back all dayAnd I know I’ve kissed you before, butI didn’t do it rightCan I try again, try again, try againTry again, and again, and againAnd again, and again, and again

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