Category Archives: General

Sometimes I go to great lengths explaining what I post on this blog.

But sometimes I don’t want to do that.

These are my friends – old and young.

That’s all anyone needs to know.

I should have simply entitled this post “Things At Which I Totally Suck” and been done with it. Saying good-bye and letting go – especially of friends and family – is just not one of my favorite things to do. And I tend to be bad at it – at least emotionally – so my good-byes are short, and hopefully sweet, so I can get the hell out and try to move on without too much damage. Not for wanting to leave, but for not wanting to prolong the pain.

It usually happens on a Sunday morning, and no matter how sunny or nice the day, it might as well be pouring rain and drizzling unhappiness. Often, it will be JoAnn leaving our home in upstate New York, or Kira saying goodbye in Boston – but no matter what, the same heartsick feeling results – even when I know I’m going to see them again. It’s the loss of proximity, the lost of camaraderie, the loss of the comfort of being near a loved one. That can never be matched or even very much mitigated by texting or Skyping or anything else. Sometimes you just have to be close to someone to feel better.

Liza Minnelli had one of the greatest good-byes as Sally Bowles at the end of ‘Cabaret’. As she bids her lover farewell, she turns and walks away. He watches her go, and with a little backward wave of her hand without looking back, she acknowledges the moment and continues on her way. I always thought she was crying a little when she did that – mostly because that’s what I tend to do. So if we say good-bye, chances are I won’t look back, but it’s not because I don’t want to – I just don’t want anyone to see me crying.

The same feeling settles over me whenever it comes time to leave Boston. I usually depart early, to get it over with, and to get back into the mindset of the daily grind, mentally forcing myself back to work, back to home, back to husband. I do not look in the rearview mirror, I look straight ahead – West to upstate New York, yonder to Albany. Boston is behind me, to be revisited at another time. The good thing is that only a chapter is done. There will be more to come.

If ever there was a day for me to strip naked on this site, my birthday is it. Though it seems odd to give so much on one’s own birthday, there’s no more fitting time. Besides, think of this as a thank you for all the birthday wishes I’ve gotten so far.

More to come…

Thirty-eight years ago I was born in Amsterdam, NY. According to records, it was a little after 3 PM, but I was too young to remember. A few years later that would be my favorite time of the day (as that is when R.J. McNulty Elementary School let out for the afternoon).

This is a quiet birthday year. No trips to Boston or Provincetown (and no cool art installations like this and this), and though I toyed with the idea of San Francisco or Seattle, neither was quite in the financial cards (which are largely in the red). It’s all right – some years aren’t big banner years. Better to welcome them quietly, without pomp and pizzazz, and be grateful simply to be alive. That will be the goal for the ensuing year. Gratefulness. Appreciation. Kindness. Love. On the day that’s supposed to be all about me, I tend to remember how small my life is in the world, and how someone’s birthday is just another day for everyone else.

(For the remaining 364 days, however, we’ll return to me, so enjoy this one-day respite and prepare to pay homage again tomorrow.)

“Late in the night we enjoy a misty moon.

There is nothing misty about the bond between

us.”

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

Full Moons have not always been my friend, as evidenced here and here. But a Blue Moon – that is a bit of a gift. Usually these lunar events have a difficult influence, bringing out the beast not only in me but in all those surrounding me, leading to some fierce clashes. This time around it was a calming moon. It rose in the sky as the night grew long, and the weather stayed warm and fine. I ventured back into the pool, taking leisurely laps as the moonlight sparkled on the water.

It was just me and the moon, tossing it back and forth, two drifters – only one of which could see the world as a whole, the other flailing a bit, like he always does, but calm tonight, even beneath the surface.

“I had not known the sudden loneliness

Of having it vanish, the moon in the sky of dawn.”

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genii

Summer had returned. The night was warm and for the most part still, with just the slightest breeze that didn’t so much blow as slowly move the air around, gently shifting the atmosphere, transferring a pocket of summer-sweet perfume here, the cologne of the butterfly bush there. Above it all, the blue moon, traveling in a slow arc across the sky, watching and illuminating with its ghostly reflection of sunlight.

The best part of the moon is that we all see it. No matter how far apart we might be, no matter how much time passes, we can look up on certain nights and be sure of each other, sure that we are seeing the same thing. There is solace in that, in something that can be so shared. It’s impossible to feel too lonely with the moon as your companion.

“So long as I look upon it I find comfort,

The moon which comes again to the distant city.”

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

This same moon will fly over all of our cities, sometimes hidden by clouds, sometimes barely breaking the horizon, sometimes rising out of the ocean – and each of us at some point will see it.

Everyone will get their turn – separate, but together.

Apart, but connected.

Lunar consolation.

Someone recently asked where they could find a post I wrote a few days ago. Initially I told them to scroll down to the bottom of the page and enter some keywords into the ‘Search’ box and see if the post came up. Then I realized that for anyone coming back here after some time away (you know you all need it) it’s rather difficult to find things from just two or three days ago (given the fact that the blog gets updated three times a day and only the four most recent posts get displayed on the front page). So for those who are good enough to not want to miss out on a moment of the madness, there is a way to slowly scroll back, post by painful post, if you follow these difficult directions. (This is the hard part of the post title.)

If you’ve reached the last featured post, go to the bottom left of the post and click on the ‘Continue reading’ option. It will bring you to what looks like the same page you were on, but if you scroll down on this page you should see another option for ‘Older posts’. I’m not sure why there’s that middle-man moment, but I’m too lazy to try to figure it out or change it up. Besides, only a select few will really feel the need to go scrolling back like that, but every once in a while a new visitor will come along, and want to see a bit more. If that’s you, welcome aboard, and scroll away! (And please don’t be a stranger.)

We are sailing all-too-quickly through this month, and I want only to slow things down, to savor the moment, to be present for the light when it is this beautiful. Looking back can do that, somewhat. It can stall, or at least prolong, if only in our heads, what has just come before. While it’s never safe to look back too often, once in a while I’ll indulge, as we do on Monday mornings, especially after weekends you wish didn’t have to come to an end. It’s a coping mechanism. So let’s cope, together.

Much of last week was spent in Boston, where beauty reigned, gardens glowed, and we said good-bye… for now.

Last week proved slim pickings on the Hunk of the Day front, but to male models maintained the sizzle factor of this site, so many thanks to Allen Clippinger and Elijah Johnston for taking their shirts off and keeping things hot.

We battled the groundhog, with no clear-cut winner (only clear-cut sweet potato vines).

August is proving a good month for birthdays, as evidenced by Madonna, and myself.

There is nothing better than a poem to ward off insomnia or heal heartache.

My soon-to-be-no-longer-under-the-radar-project had its latest unheralded installment.

And, finally, if you’ve never been slapped by a brownie, you need to be.

Make all the ‘Needless Mark-up’ jokes you want – if it costs a little extra to get impeccable customer service, I’d rather drop it at Neiman Marcus than anywhere else. Though I’ve occasionally gotten the wary eye when I haven’t been decked out, it’s nowhere near the bitchy third-degree I get at the Barneys at Copley Place. The fragrance reps at Neiman Marcus are also the best in the business, particularly when it comes to representing Tom Ford. When I wanted to sample his new Private Blends, I wrote to the fragrance counter and soon received several vials of the intoxicating elixirs, with personal hand-written notes recommending favorites. That’s the sort of customer service you don’t often see today.

I know I tend to complain about poor service and shoddy customer treatment (hello Starbucks), and the truth is we really only hear about the bad experiences instead of the good, so I’m making an effort to balance things out. To that end, this is a little shout-out to those folks who make shopping a joyful experience, to those who go out of their way to personally respond to queries, and to those who make the effort to be friendly. Having worked in retail for a few years, I understand that it’s not always easy when the customer is always right (especially when they’re dead-wrong), so for those who still put on a smile and help out the hapless public, I offer this small bit of gratitude. When shopping is a favorite past-time, it makes all the difference.

You have exactly one week before my birthday arrives. Hopefully you’ve already picked out your gifts. (And remember, the Tom Ford Rive d’Ambre has already been procured, and I’ve excised the two Hermes selections from the list as they were not quite what I expected. In fact, there’s only one Tom Ford scent I want (and I want it really badly): Plum Japonais. As for birthday plans, I finally have one. Initially, I wanted to fly West – it’s been a few years since I’ve been to San Francisco, so that was my first choice. I also considered San Diego and Seattle, since I haven’t been to either since the 90’s. In the end, though, costs proved prohibitive. And since we did the Boston/Provincetown trip for last year’s birthday, I’m keeping it simple and close to home. Not every year can be a banner year, and quiet birthdays are sometimes more sweet. Especially when Tom Ford is involved.

As for the actual plans, I’m thinking of heading to a garden, an outlet, and a dinner – and I’ll have the details and photos after it’s done. In the meantime, have a look back at last year’s birthday fun in Boston and Provincetown.

It drops into the yard and alights upon the cup plant, forgoing the butterfly bush oddly enough, or maybe it hasn’t noticed it across the yard. High in the air, at least a foot taller than me, it rides the gently undulating stalks. The afternoon sun squints through the pine trees as the monarch feasts upon the nectar of the lemon-hued flowers. A cicada beats in the distance. The sounds and the scenes of summer. It is not quite done with us yet. It is reminding me to slow down. I do pause there, holding the sight, watching the butterfly work.

They travel thousands of miles – all the way from Mexico I’ve read – and they’ll continue on through Maine. We’ll see them there in October, a riot of striped orange on magenta cosmos or deep purple asters, swarming the gardens by the shore. Against a bright blue sky, they flit and flutter, assured of their magnificence, deceptively cloaked in the most frail-seeming of flashy outfits, but such armor has brought them all the way across the continent.

Vestiges of the caterpillar remain, because you can never completely shed your past, no matter how far you fly, no matter what costume you wear.

This is all that remains of a once lush and robust pot of sweet potato vines. In one night, a groundhog stripped every last leaf from what had once been dense and gorgeous growth. At first I suspected a rabbit – they are notorious for decimating a garden in one fell swoop, but it seems the groundhog is a far worse menace. Andy saw the culprit chewing on a bush in the front yard, and it looked like the thing had been trying to burrow under the fence. Somehow, it had gotten in during the night, and feasted upon this poor sweet potato.

The next night, after I had put the pots close to the house and on pedestals, Andy saw the beast climbing onto a bench beside a plant, practically looking in the house. Andy peered out and the creature didn’t budge. (I had read that putting up a mirror would be enough to deter them, as they were supposedly scared and skittish. Not so – at least not this rabid, bold escapee from hell.) Andy barged out the door and scared him off, but it took more than a stupid mirror. (And who in the hell is scared of a mirror? Humans aren’t the only vain ones on this earth.)

The next day I spotted the animal in the garden by the pool, munching on morning glories. I opened the door and clapped my hands and it took off. A few minutes later it was back, spotted by Andy, who promptly threw a shoe at it. ‘This is what it has come to,’ I thought. At least I hated those shoes.

I read that fox urine works as a deterrent, but if I can’t get my own niece and nephew to pee on cue, a fox sure as fuck isn’t going to do so. I read too that human urine worked to keep them away, but peeing all over the patio just felt wrong. A number of people suggested just shooting the thing, but according to Andy we’re not allowed to use firearms in the backyard (he may have just been making that up to deter me. Not all beasts crawl on four legs.) I couldn’t bring myself to shoot anything anyway, so for now we’re just staying vigilant, keeping the potted sweet potatoes up in the air and close to the house. The next step would be a trap, and if another patch of flat-leaf parsley gets stripped we may go that route – but once it’s in the trap, what do you do? I don’t think it’s legal to release them anywhere else… not that legality has ever been a concern of mine. Hopefully the thing will see this post and know enough to stay away. Hey, if it worked on Starbucks it could work on the groundhog. The squeaky wheel gets the grease.

We’re in some bar/restaurant in the Lower East Side. They make some mean tequila drinks here, and how we ended up on tequila after all those Manhattans, I’ll never know. It is January or February, and I left my favorite scarf in the taxi, but I won’t discover that until later. The bar glows, warm and bright in the middle of the night, and my friend Chris is shooting the shit next to me. My cocktail is cool, but spicy hot, and we’re reminiscing of warmer climes, of a vacation in Puerto Rico, the beaches of San Juan, anything to get through the chill of a New York winter night. An incongruous glass of cognac, a $300 bar tab for two, a waitress named Yahaira, and loads of dookey love. The nonsensical meaningless in-jokes of a friendship going on two decades.

Afterward, a couple of slices of pizza, with a side of ranch dressing for Chris. ‘That’s so gross,” I tell him, before busting up in laughter. He shrugs and eats it down. The hours are young – only one or two – but it might as well be mid-day. We’ll take it now and sleep it all off later. We’re still young enough to do that, still unattached enough to get away with it. We walk a couple of blocks. Robert Pattinson spills out from some hole-in-the-wall, alone and seemingly unrecognized, but I feel foolish telling him what a good job he did in ‘Harry Potter’, so I simply stare a bit and move on. Chris has no clue who he is anyway.

It’s been a good night, but we’re out of money, and running out of energy. Maybe we’re not young enough anymore.

It seems a recap or two has escaped me in the early days of August, mostly because I’ve been out of town and busy with, well, real life. But when the goldenrod starts blooming by the roadside, and the nights begin to cool down into the 60’s, it’s a reminder of the passage of time. Fall will be upon us next month, and in anticipation of that I’ll work a little harder to get back into the swing of things. Onto the past few weeks, and what you’ve missed if you were out enjoying the summer days.

Our summer vacation was in Maine – it started with some magnificent food in Portland, a moving marriage ceremony,  and even more food. Andy and I both fell under the spell of Portland, and vowed to return.  From there we went to Ogunquit, where we were greeted with flowers exploding around every corner. Of course, there was some amazing food there too, and we got a beautiful day at the beach before the moon turned everything upside down, and I walked the Marginal Way at midnight.  A parting glance at Stonewall Kitchen left us with the memory of beauty.

For the most part, I’m a law-abiding citizen, which is why I was shocked when I got thrown out of Starbucks.

It’s important to smell good, even – and especially – in bed.

Be careful what you wish for.

Not all cocktails are winners, because not all bourbons are created the same.

The poached egg. It works wonders.

There were Hunks galore, with the shirtless likes of Tom Daley, Ben Hunt, Nick Jonas, James Deen, Matthieu Charneau, a Tom Ford model, and a bunch of classic Speedo shots.

Wow, I must have graduated from high school when I was five.

Boston maintained its magic and mystery.

There is no better balm for the soul than good friends, old and new. I didn’t want it to end.

This birthday wish list already needs to be modified, as I couldn’t resist purchasing Tom Ford’s Rive d’Ambre during a tax-free Massachusetts weekend, and the two Hermes scents didn’t quite pass muster.

You’ve got style, that’s what all the girls say.

And thanks to you, yes you, this site just hit a milestone.