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November 2016

Oh crescent moon – what secrets dangle their feet off your pointy ledge? What can you tell us to ease our journey when you’re not around? You contain the mysteries of the universe in everything we cannot see. The wink of your light is only marginally reassuring, but the rest of you will glow again when you’re free from our overbearing shadow. Sometimes we don’t know how to get out of our own way.

Sometimes we make our own darkness.

Oh crescent moon – so beloved, so often conjured in cheap poetry, cited in inspirational memes, coerced by the well-intentioned… surely there is more to you than a logo, than some mythical boy sky-fishing from your cradle, but what is it? What is your secret? What are you hiding?

How cold it must be where there are only shadows on your surface, how dim and dark and wild. That’s our fault. We did this to you. But one day, and you know this cycle well, you shall shine again.

One day, you shall be full.

This sort of selfish post is usually up long in advance, so as to give people a chance to save up some money for the exorbitant purchases I’m so shamelessly asking them to make. This year, though, I’m not feeling it as much. In fact, it wasn’t until my Mom’s prompting about what I might want for Christmas that I even gave a wish list some thought. Not that it didn’t flow easily once I remembered all the things that captured my interest this past year…

The first item is, to no one’s surprise, a bottle of cologne. Rather than a decadent but special-occasion-only fragrance that gets brought out for the holidays (Tom Ford’s ‘Santal Blush’ or Vreeland’s ‘Absolutely Vital’ come to mind) I’m asking for something more utilitarian, for everyday office wear: Bois D’Orage, by Pierre Bourdon for Frederic Malle’s lovely line, Editions de Parfums, available at Barneys.

The second, but probably more important request given my website and travel-penchant is the updated ELPH camera that I’ve had for a few years now. My little green friend is on its last legs, so I am in dire need of an upgrade, and purple is the way to go. The Canon PowerShot ELPH 360 HS (in Purple) is the current version with all the bells and whistles I need for traveling.

A pair of Tom Ford items makes it onto this year’s list, as precious as two turtle doves, and they’re actually quite reasonable when you consider the price of a bottle of one of his Private Blends. In this wish instance, there is a Hydrating Lip Balm or Anti-Fatigue Eye Treatment. [Sigh] – I’ve reached that age. And what the hell, let’s go for three: the Oud Wood Body Moisturizer.

Gift certificates are always appreciated: Brooks Brothers, Barneys, Bluefly & Sephora all work well. Or if you’re just looking for a trip to give me, make it in the name of a journey to the Southwest, where I’d love to close out The Delusional Grandeur Tour in peaceful, spa-like style. I’ve been wanting to visit Arizona for quite some time…

When all else fails, and you long for some stocking stuffers or more economical treats, there’s always my Amazon Wish List. Everyone knows I love a registry.

Finally, after several years, I continue to be taken by the elusive  Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings 3.0 “Gold”, Size 10. This is only available on eBay search, and even that will prove tricky, but t’s a dream until it becomes reality. (These are not to be mistaken for similar wing-tips that Mr. Scott has produced – these are the ADIDAS JEREMY SCOTT WINGS 3.0 GOLD SNEAKERS.)

This is no more than a shameless (and shameful) plug for my Instagram account. Once again, I was a latecomer to the Instagram scene, hemming and hawing about yet another social media time-sucker, but for the amount of photos I have, and the easy posting opportunities, I gave in and it is no one of the more enjoyable accounts. (There seems to be less room for political bullshit and other discussion, which has been bogging down everything in the last month.)

If you are so inclined, and would like to see some of the photos that finicky FaceBook has deemed pornographic, check it out and #follow.

How on earthly hell did we come to be at the start of Thanksgiving week already? ‘Hung Up’ my ass, time does not go by so slowly, and this is not a ‘Love Song’. But if you gave me ‘Diamonds & Pearls’ I might be a happy boy or a girl… You know if I’m quoting Madonna and Prince songs this early in the week, it’s going to be a long one. On with our Monday morning recap before we dive into the candied yam prep work…

Franco Noriega kicked off the week in stunning Hunk fashion.

The world seemingly went very dark, but I wasn’t in the least bit surprised.

Human kindness.

John Raspado kept things hot.

Come and meet the letter people.

Interesting art.

Ricky Martin got engaged.

A world of wood.

A much-needed laugh.

Luke Adams was finally named a Hunk of the Day.

My Magic Mike moment.

Another weekend in Boston.

Matt Cook in his turn as Hunk of the Day.

Tom Ford for Men.

The end of green… for a while.

Miscellaneous (and shirtless) male celebrities.

Got more wood?

In our own backyard.

The end of delusional grandeur… nowhere in sight.

Most of the time, we don’t have an autumn show in our backyard. One or two Japanese maples might work their magic, and a weeping larch, on a good year, burns a bright golden yellow before dropping its leaves, but the rest rarely makes anything worth relating or capturing in a photo. That wasn’t the case this year, when a patch of fountain grass and an ancient oak caught the vanishing sun one afternoon, passed it to scarlet Japanese maple, and played tag with prettiness.

A soft blue sky in the background helped set everything off to striking effect, and I realized I’m not quite ready to let go of those leaves. Not that any of us has a choice in such matters, but the heart still wants.

Somewhere smoke was rising from a fire – maybe of wood, maybe of leaves – and the tell-tale incense-like scent was carrying on the wind. A quintessential autumn odor, it signified coziness. Crackling embers echoed in my sound memory, and I could almost trick myself into feeling the heat as I approached the imaginary fire in my head.

Getting caught in the woods as dusk falls is a frightening thing, even if the woods aren’t that expansive, even if they’re right at the edge of your backyard. Dark comes quickly in a forest, quicker than it does probably anywhere else. The shade inherent in such spaces hastens its descent. There’s danger in that, and fall is filled with such dangers.

I remember one late November afternoon when I was a kid. On the edge of the wooded patch behind our house, I spied the glow of the windows, a warm golden glimpse into where dinner would soon be served, but I wasn’t yet ready to come in from the dark. I had been on a mission, and my collected treasure sat in a haphazard pile on the bare ground. A mound of evergreen boughs – mostly Eastern white pine – sat awaiting an artistic endeavor that would turn them into holiday wreaths. My hands were chilled and having trouble manipulating the rigid branches, but I would wire and forced them into semi-circular forms. The scent of pine resin was a lovely complement to the smoke in the air, and the sight of our house in the distance lent a quaint cottage-like slant to the scene. It was a happy pre-holiday moment – all anticipation, all hope and possibility. My favorite time.

Eventually the light in the sky dimmed beyond the point where I could continue working. Reluctantly, I gather what wreaths I’d made, put the wire and shears in my pockets, and trudged back to the garage. The rest would have to wait for another afternoon.

The tropical elephant’s ears that made a spectacular, if slow-starting, show this summer could not handle the colder nights we’ve been having. Their beautiful canopies of waxy green foliage were no match for a freezing spell that decimated their cellular structure, reducing their expansive surface to wrinkled hoods of drooping despair.

There is a haunting beauty in these remnants, however, and a grace to anything so stricken at the height of its life. In the span of a single chilling night, it’s as if they decided they weren’t going to put on a show anymore, choosing instead to hide beneath their mottled hoods, turning themselves inside out to reveal their veiny support system, now lifeless and limp.

There’s an integrity to anything that gives up the ghost before the real chill of winter sets in.