Monthly Archives:

March 2016

When the CDTA Runs a Red Light

Given his background as a police officer, one who had been called on many a time to rescue bus drivers from difficult situations (fights, disputes, traffic infractions, etc.) my husband Andy knows and notices things that someone largely unconcerned with the laws (me) would ignore. Such as the way in which the CDTA buses in downtown Albany routinely refuse to pull into their bus stops, even if they are free and clear of cars. (The ‘No Parking’ signs and the tickets instantly issued to those cars that are in the way usually ensure that there is no one there.) Yet that doesn’t prevent the buses from stopping in the middle of the street instead of pulling over.

This creates a back-up of traffic, particularly at rush hour times, that goes against the very purpose of having a bus-stop. I don’t know whether it’s the hurry to meet schedule demands (as Andy believes), or laziness in not wanting to have to re-enter traffic, but they repeatedly stop in the middle of the street instead of pulling over to let their passengers on and off. That’s not the point of this rant, however. Something much more illegal went down on this morning of March 31, 2016 at about 7:30 AM.

We were pulling up to the intersection of Broadway and Orange, about to take a left onto Orange, and we had a Green light and a green arrow. Andy was in the middle of making the turn when a CDTA Supervisor’s car, License plate AJ9129, sped through a red light, and almost ran right into my passenger side. Andy came to an abrupt stop so as to avoid the collision, and at the last minute the driver stopped so he wouldn’t hit us. Now, I realize you can turn right on red, however you have to stop first, and you do not have the right of way when the oncoming traffic is turning in front of you because they have a green arrow to go. The driver then gave us a dirty look as if we were to blame for his speeding through a red light and almost hitting us. That’s the part that bothered me most.

Luckily, I got dropped off for work a few feet later and watched as the CDTA Supervisor coasted into the bus lot, after which I wrote down the license plate number in the event that CDTA tried to snow us with not being able to identify which vehicle had almost caused an accident. Seeing as how they’ve never responded to any of my Tweets about such antics, or any of Andy’s videos documenting the bus-stop issue, I’m not holding my breath for a response. I just want to start my own record of what they do, as it will no doubt happen again.

While I’m obviously disgruntled with the dangerous actions of the CDTA supervisor that blew through a red light and almost hit us (hey, I was the passenger who would have gotten the brunt of the smash) I’m more dismayed by the operation of the CDTA. Having lived in Albany for the past sixteen years, and having worked downtown for the last ten, I’ve had the privilege of seeing our city grow and evolve, including the infrastructure and public transport that form the heart of any city. When things like this happen, and more importantly when they go unaddressed, it’s a detriment to everyone.

(PS – This is nothing compared to what I hear from people who actually ride the buses.)

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Don’t Turn The Light On!

“I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for it! Don’t turn the light on!” ~ A Streetcar Named Desire

Lately I’ve found myself veering away from the social media saturation that gains followers and friends. It’s been a rather natural progression as the internet and the online world seems to get more and more vitriolic. Maybe it’s the upcoming election cycle, or a world gone mad with dismal prospects, but whatever the case it hasn’t been as fun being online, so I’ve delved into other pursuits. The timing is good for such, as the gardens will soon be beckoning for attention and revamping. I’ll also be setting up some travel plans for upcoming tour stops, and being online will take a second or third seat to all that real-life excitement and enjoyment.

If there’s one thing I try to create with this blog it’s an atmosphere of calm and peace – yes, I want it to be fun and thoughtful and sexy at the same time – but most of all I want it to be a respite from the rest of the chattering and screaming and arguing that constitutes an average visit to any site that enables comments – or the general madness of FaceBook and Twitter.

I’m not promising there won’t be the occasional bit of political commentary (we have crazy clowns running for President right now) but that’s not the main theme of this place, and it never has been. Like Blanche DuBois in ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ I want beauty most of all. Kindness and beauty and a belief in the possibility of redemption, no matter where we’ve come from, and no matter what we’ve done. There’s a world full of Stanleys out there – people who will do their damnedest to lay a Queen low, people who exult in the destruction and downfall of others – but fuck all of that. Naysayers and negativity will have no place here or in my home, and I’ll banish all such nonsense even if it means leaving behind those who have been with me for many years.

Nobody can argue that I don’t face the cold hard truth head-on, but this is a choice I’ve made and will continue to make. Those who want to indulge in their bad moods and antagonistic tendencies will not be tolerated. I’m too old to care about hurting feelings. Let this be a space for kindness and contentment, for fun and frivolity, for the occasional bit of snarkiness and sarcasm, but certainly not only for that. Above all, let it be a space for beauty and prettiness and glamour and the very best version of ourselves that we can be.

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Wacky Wednesday: Porking

Behold the pig. Both beloved and bemoaned, adored and abhorred, what other animal garners such extremes of praise and condemnation? I’ve been in a pig state of mind lately, from all the Easter ham to a recent revisit of the amazing movie ‘Misery’ – which remains a frightening film.

When you think about the pig, for purposes of eating, it’s also quite a variable creature. The traditional pork – nicknamed the other white meat – is from the same source as those spirals hams, yet they look nothing alike. And where does bacon come into play in this conundrum? So much confusion, all from a single oinker.

Porky or Peppermint, give me a pig and I’m a happy camper.

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Now We Are Six

Today marks the 6th Birthday for my niece and my nephew. I still remember the rainy day on which they came into this world, and how tiny and cute they were. They’re still a little of both, and they are just beginning to come into their own and develop their own personality quirks. We celebrated with a gathering at the Saratoga Children’s Museum (after which I insisted on a dinner at Sperry’s – because we all need a little light at the end of the kids’ party tunnel.)

I’d been told by friends who have children that this was a great spot. I guess they were talking about the children, as I found nothing of interest here. However, with those who have retained a child-like imagination, who remain entranced by a bit of make-believe, I can see the allure and the fun in the space. In fact, if I were six again, I’d have loved this place, so watching them run around and play their little games was amusing, and made me glad they were still kids.

The birthday boy and girl enjoyed the various rooms and set-ups, stocking up in the pantry…

And answering the phone at the reception desk.

As always, Andy enjoyed playing with the balls and surveying transportation replicas.

There were farm animals on hand too, in plastic form so as not to make a mess of things.

My favorite part, however, may have been in capturing the following series of shots wherein the twins are enjoying their birthday pizza and cake, with my brother unintentionally mugging in the background.

This group of photos is crying out for captions beyond which I’m willing to give – so I’ll let them speak for themselves.

As I’ve seen at many of these things, much of the time finds the men (and women) standing around awkwardly, which is about all a supportive Dad can do. (And a supportive pair of Uncles.) Our work finished, we headed to Sperry’s. We’ll catch up with the twins to give them our gifts at a quieter time. For now, we wish them a Happy 6th Birthday!

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Easter Mayhem

Our Easter Holiday was spent with the Ilagan family, such as we are these days, but one of the tribe – Noah – was out sick and spent the majority of the day napping. (Until he woke up and started running around immediately, at which point it was time for us to go.)

Noah’s sister Emi, however, was very much awake and in (thankfully) rare form – as evidenced by the photos below (which are the best ones of the lot, so you can imagine.)

As is most often the case, the day was all about the food for me, and the traditional ham-centered dinner was served with some delicious glazed carrots and creamy potatoes as made by my Mom.

I’m just glad that the time for bunnies is over for another year.

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A Brother’s Birthday, Belated

The family-friendly trend of posts that started over Easter weekend continues with this one about my brother’s birthday. It was belated when it happened, and belated to be posted, but it’s here now and that’s all that matters. One of his gifts, the one that he’s trying on in the photo below, is a re-gifting of a coat he’d given me way back in 1995. I wore it to the infamous New Year’s Eve gathering in which one of my so-called-friends berated me for the crazy things I wore. As such, it holds a special place in my heart.

Anyway, my brother had given it to me because he didn’t like or want it, and it quickly became a favorite for its warm furry lining and cold-blocking hood. I hadn’t thought much about it until this past winter when he asked if I still had it because he wanted it back. Not to be outdone in dickery, I gave it back. As a birthday present. Happy happy!!

When you reach a certain age, you need a little help in blowing out all the candles.

The more help, the merrier, as demonstrated by Noah and Milo.

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A Cocktail, Not a Cock Tale

A cocktail fit for an Easter Sunday – or any Sunday for that matter – as there’s an egg white in it, this is the Ramos Gin Fizz. Some shy away from raw egg whites, but I love what they do for a drink. (Prairie oysters, anyone?) Protein and froth and tiny bubbles – perfect for a brunch treat. This one also packs a deceptively strong gin kick, while the addition of orange flower water sends it into another stratosphere of perfumed glory.

The Ramos Gin Fizz was invented in the 1880’s by Henry C. Ramos, and remains one of New Orleans‘ most famous drinks. I’ve had a love-affair with New Orleans ever since I lost my gay virginity on the banks of the Mississippi River, but that’s another story somewhere else on this blog. (This is not a cock tale.)

History has it that Louisiana governor Huey Long brought Mr. Ramos to New York’s Roosevelt Hotel to have him train the bartenders there how to make the Ramos Gin Fizz the right way. Further proof that knowledge is power.

 

INGREDIENTS:

  • 2 ounces gin
  • ½ ounce lemon juice
  • ½ ounce lime juice
  • 1 ounce simple syrup
  • 3 small dashes orange flower water
  • 1 ounce cream
  • 1 egg white
  • Soda water

METHOD:

Shake all ingredients except the soda water without ice very vigorously for at least one minute, more if possible (you should shake until your arms give out). Then add ice and shake for 1-2 minutes until extremely cold and frothy. Strain into a Collins glass, or a large old fashioned glass, and top with soda water. Stir gently.

The only word of warning I have to give is on the orange blossom water. It’s potent stuff, and its fragrance is so lovely that you’ll be tempted to use a lot more than the prescribed three dashes. Be strong and resist the urge, as a little of it goes a long way. You don’t really want to taste it as much as smell it vaguely on the surface. I also didn’t bother straining anything, as I enjoy a frothy mix, and a few bits of lemon and lime never bothered anyone who had their priorities correct. All in all, this will be a great early summer cocktail, and the perfect pairing with Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino. (Yes, I match my cocktails to my cologne. What kind of heathen doesn’t?)

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A High Holy Days Recap

 If we took a holy day, oh yeah, oh yeah, took some time to celebrate, come on, let’s celebrate. Just one day out of life – just one day – it would be… it would be so nice! No, this isn’t some warped Madonna timeline (we have yet to hit ‘Holiday’) but it is a weekly recap, filled with all the mayhem that Monday usually affords. This is the week we exit March, hopefully like a lamb, but before that we were in the weeds…

The best way to ease into a new week is a stop at the South End Buttery.

The second-best way is this post of a shirtless Nikolaj Coster-Waldau.

And if you like male nipples, this is probably your favorite way to greet the week: Landon Falgoust.

The only way I know how to start something new in your life is with a little Madonna – are you ready?

Who is ready for some naked and nude Jason Derulo?

If you want a good recipe, with a little kick in it, try this one and eat it.

Have you done your Koegel exercises today?

The high holy days arrived with Good Friday

and the delusions returned.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour came out of the woods and into the winter.

An owl and a top hat – that’s all I need.

Easter came, and with it an egg-cellent stream of memories.

Easter Bunny mayhem!

And a golden egg.

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Easter Egg Hunt

There’s only one Easter egg hunt that I recall with some detail. It was at the old Nichols store on Route 30 in Amsterdam. In a storage area with high unfinished ceilings, and a cement floor strewn with straw, a bunch of kids were let loose to find a golden egg. The one who found said egg would win a prize – in this case an enormous chocolate rabbit from Fariello’s. My lactose-intolerant ass was largely uninterested in that much chocolate, but it would be nice to find such a special egg among all the cheap plastic pastel bullshit that kept turning up as I waded through the smelly straw. I was in it to win it, and I scrambled with the rest of the kids, including my brother, as we searched and sought out the elusive golden egg.

Our baskets filled with the colorful also-rans, and I soon grew anxious that others were going to find it first. Part of me also slowed, not wanting to accept the notoriety and attention in which finding that golden egg would result. My shyness was almost crippling as a child. I hesitated and paused, going through the motions but not actively pursuing paths others hadn’t yet taken. Luckily, someone else found it first, which ended any dilemma of stumbling upon the pretty oblong object and dealing with all that attention. And it just happened to be my brother.

The prize was almost as tall as he was (though it ended up being hollow, much to our collective disappointment) and I think the local newspaper took a photo of him beside it. We ended up eating chocolate for months, even if it upset my stomach. One doesn’t look a gift bunny in the mouth.

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A Visit With The Animals (Including that Dreaded Easter Bunny)

We heard the cry of the cock before we saw it atop its cage. Filling the greenhouses with his trademark ‘cock-a-doodle-do’, the cries echoed along the cement floor as we made our way into the collection of animals on display for a Palm Sunday treat at Faddegon’s Nursery. The twins were happy to say hello to the chickens and the mules (a cross between a horse and a pony, apparently) as well as the baby goats. I was just happy to find a bench that didn’t have goat turds all over it. Those things have no shame when it comes to shitting in public. No manners.

After a quick greeting of farm animals, Noah and Emi settled into the imagination station, beginning with a bit of coloring. As goats tried to eat their work, they crafted a couple of drawings and I helped them color in some pre-drawn scenes of spring fun.

The exhaustion of coloring things required the fortification of cookies and punch, both of which were eagerly snapped up by these little sugar-addicts. Hey, I wasn’t watching them after this, so the more they wanted to have, the more they did have.

I must not have paid enough attention to the complete list of activities, because I was NOT expecting to see the frightening creature that rounded a corner and made straight for me like an owl hones in on its cute and cuddly prey. Now, I’ve had a bad run-in with an Easter Bunny, as everyone so fondly remembers, and that horror-show had on a collar of purple tulle. Just like the one that was closing in on me in a greenhouse stocked with axes and saws.

Somehow, I maintained my composure and stood in line with the twins until they had a turn for a hug and some candy. I snapped these photos from afar, relieved when it was all over. They proved braver than me, approaching without trepidation. (Of course, they didn’t deign to sit on this creature’s lap, as I’d had to do… but my painful memories digress. We don’t abuse kids like that anymore.)

Anyway, what I’m trying to say in this post is, ‘Happy Easter!’

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Easter on the Mainland

Easter memories have become more and more faded over the years. Unlike the more hyped and heralded arrival of Christmas, this particular Catholic holiday doesn’t enjoy as much mainstream appeal, and as such its memories haven’t held as steadfastly. For someone growing up in the strict religious world of St. Mary’s, however, I understood that these were the real high holidays of the year, and the resurrection of Jesus Christ was the miracle of all miracles.

As for those faded memories, mostly they involve trips to Hoosick Falls to visit my grandma, who would cook a ham dinner, and have big beautiful Easter baskets filled with chocolate bunnies and sugary eggs and lots of pastel Easter grass. These were formal occasions that required a stiff and starchy suit – not exactly the preferred mode of dress for a boy, even a fashion-forward boy such as myself.

But it was all worth it for the moment to see our Gram, and pose with our Easter baskets. Somehow we even managed to sit still for the sugar-fueled, hour-long ride home. Eventually, when Gram was unable to accommodate us, we made other Easter plans. A few years we had lunch at home in Amsterdam, with a visit to Suzie’s back when she was still on Locust Avenue. I remember posing in a sea of Scilla siberica and making her take a whole roll of photos.

More recently, we took to Boston, exorcising previous bunny traumas and enjoying quiet Easter brunches where someone else was responsible for the cooking and serving. Coupled with a morning viewing of ‘Easter Parade’ it was a low-key but just as satisfying way to celebrate the recently risen.

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The DG Tour: Winter Top Hat ~ Part II

The snow was silent. It fell in the night. The soft coos of an owl disappeared into the thick blanket of white. During this, I slept, and the forest was dark to me. Unaware of what flew above and what scurried below, I drifted in a dreamland, lost in hazy focus and soft edges. I slept to escape. I thought I slept to find oblivion. It turns out that I slept to restore, to rejoin, and to reload.

Dreams of magic, of top-hatted magicians, filled the night. Wands of quicksilver slipped solid from their fingers to drip onto mine. All the while, more and more snow fell until I couldn’t see anything but white. In the deep winter, our deepest slumber brings a peaceful respite. There is magic in the passing of a season.

Magic in the night…

Magic in the hat…

Magic in the hoot of an owl…

Who – the head-spinning wise bird asks in the darkness – who, who?

All of my delusions spill into the night, from the lofty branches of a tree to the second floor vantage point of our pied-a-terre.

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

Upcoming Stops: New York, NY; Washington, DC; Boston, MA; Cape Cod, MA…

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The DG Tour: Winter Top Hat ~ Part I

It is winter when at last we make our way out of the forest. The scarlet cape has slipped from our shoulders, and the lush green foliage that covered our sins and masked our mistakes has been torn from the branches. On their bare limbs, a blanket of snow rests. The city sleeps. The world is quiet.

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The Delusions Return…

The Delusional Grandeur Tour is stationed on the home-front this weekend, with Easter dinner and the twins’ birthday party taking up the post-crucifixion days. That doesn’t mean the Tour Book won’t get its next few pages posted, however, so stay tuned for tomorrow’s installment. Until then, let’s rewind to what has most recently happened in the pages of this final tour…

We went into the woods, and saw where the cover art originated, beginning with this post on the Red Riding Wood Section. At first glance (and according to Sondheim) the woods are just trees, and the trees are just wood, but such prettiness can be a mask for darker and more sinister workings. The path into the forest may look beautiful, yet temptation often comes in the guise of such gorgeousness, and trepidation should be taken to avoid the danger. By the time you realize you’re in harm’s way, there’s often no chance to go back. Thus, you must forge ahead. To get back to the light, you may have to go through the darkness, and by the time you make it out of the woods, it might be winter again…

Get ready for the snow…

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: Last Stand of a Rock Star

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A Lenten Rose for Good Friday

This gorgeous stand of Lenten Roses can thank a mild winter in Boston for a relatively early, and beautifully bodacious, showing of blooms. They were almost hidden behind a brown patch of shrubs not yet daring to show their green finery this early in the season. I walked around to get some shots with the light behind the petals, as most people simply hurried by on Boylston Street.

On days like this, when guilt and religion and a man dying on the cross all run together in sickly confusion, we need a little balm of beauty. I give you the Lenten Rose.

 

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