Alan Ilagan

This is Lady Gaga at this year’s MTV Video Music Awards. Sadly, the Alexander McQueen gown she is wearing was the only thing worth watching. The Lady was the only bit of glamour at the event, even if she didn’t perform. The much-hyped battle between Taylor Swift and Kanye West fizzled in the form of their two sad songs… zzzzz….

As I sat watching Chelsea Handler awkwardly handle hosting duties, I recalled how I used to anxiously await the Fall arrival of the VMAs. It was the only thing that made returning to school bearable. The excitement of the real rock-stars and their over-the-top bad behavior (not Britney and the other Mouseketeers), the wacky fashion choices (not the waxed Jersey Shore trash), and the surreal presenter pairings that MTV brilliantly (and sometimes dismally) orchestrated.

All of that edgy excitement was missing this year (though to be fair, the VMAs are usually hit-and-miss, with more off-years of late than on). What happened to the days of Madonna rolling around on the stage of Radio City Music Hall, writhing in a wedding dress hiked up just far enough to give a peek of her underwear, and singing “Like A Virgin” in ‘84? Where was the naughty dress-lifting and daring decolletage of Madonna’s Marie Antoinette finery for “Vogue” in ‘90? And what became of the unexpectedly jaw-dropping girl-on-girl-on-girl Britney/Madonna/Christina kiss in ‘04?

Alas, the common denominator was nowhere to be seen this year, so Lady Gaga had to shoulder the Madonna mantle, even if she didn’t perform. Her three outfits (and eight wins) were almost enough to keep me mildly interested, but I still had to switch to ‘Mad Men’ before the show was over.

That meant missing the main shot of the day – Gaga in a meat dress receiving one of her moon men from Cher (straight out of 1990, having turned back time through sheer iron will, countless operations, and God knows how many wardrobe tricks to keep everything in place).

No matter, I wouldn’t trade the tortured ruminations of Don Draper for the vapid VMAs – at least not until Ms. Ciccone makes her next triumphant return.

Every few months I like to change up my cocktail of choice. There are a few constant companions (a Belvedere martini, incredibly dry, with olives, for instance), but there are others that I’ll fixate on for a while, then keep them in mind for when I want to return to that place at a later date. A Tanqueray and tonic reminds me of summer in Provincetown. An amaretto sour recalls my first heady cocktail days in New Orleans. And a sidecar will always remind me of the month I got married.

I was looking for a classic cocktail to kick off the weekend, and having been inundated with episodes of ‘Mad Men’, I was feeling a 60’s vibe, so the first thing that came up was a sidecar. (It was actually recommended by a wise friend – the same one who introduced me to Boodles gin, and that has made all the difference in a traditional martini.) The sidecar packs a punch, but is seductive enough to go down smoothly, a little too smoothly sometimes, not that I’d ever complain about smoothness. Here’s the rough recipe (search online for more accurate measurements – this should be enough to jog a good bartender’s memory):

2 parts cognac (or brandy)

1 part cointreau

½ fresh lemon juice

It’s such a simple recipe, which may be one reason for its iconic status and, if I have anything to do with it, its returning popularity. The classics never go out of style, or taste. This one is refreshing enough for Spring, but pungent enough for fall, and I can certainly see its amber hue glowing perfecting before a fireside.

For all of that, I’m not sure it has the modern-day renown of most martinis, which is both a boon and a bane. Several local bars (including a certain establishment named after a burnt-umber-hued hat that has yet to deliver a knowledgable bartender), just don’t know how to make a decent sidecar, which is truly tragic (and annoying). However, if that keeps it from cosmopolitan-like saturation, I’ll deal with it. (One can only hope that it’s not in the new Sex and the City movie… those bitches don’t know when to stop beating a dead horse.)

Those who have known me for any length of time could fairly make the claim that I’m a pretty cynical guy. Jaded, perhaps. An old soul. Someone who has little to no tolerance for any sort of earnest, innocent, hopeful nonsense. However, for exactly one hour a week, I suspend my constant cynicism and give in to the unabashed, over-the-top feel-good fun of Glee. I don’t watch much television – in fact the last two series I tried were both on DVD by the time I got around to seeing them (Ugly Betty and Mad Men). But a musical dramedy? I would not and could not miss it.

To be honest, I don’t always find Glee to be the superlative-inducing, groundbreaking show that the ads, and the Gleeks, would have us believe, but every time I question the wide-eyed lip-syncing or improbable plot twists, they pause to deliver some poignant, hope-filled jewel of a moment (Kurt’s coming-out to his Dad, Rachel’s yearning duet with her mother). And for that hour, once a week, my crusty cynicism is shaken to its core, and I am reminded of sunny high school days in Spring, when the lowest drudges of loneliness and alienation met the loftiest brushes with love and affection, and the heart and eyes swell with moist remembrances of a time when you felt so much the only way to let it out was to dance and sing.

{The above photo is of a Crate & Barrel couch – the Petrie sofa - which is under serious contemplation…}

I don’t know if it’s the sunny sitcoms of the sixties (I just sat through a few Bewitched episodes on DVD at Andy’s urging), or Charlie’s house in A Single Man (the lemon tree walk-through, the half-circle couch – how could she be so unhappy?), or the stylish goings-on of Mad Men, but I’ve finally come around to appreciating and enjoying the retro-modern feel of 50s/60s furniture fashion. Andy has longed for a couch in such a style, but I’ve resisted because they just didn’t look comfortable. (Odd, as I’ve always embraced style over function.)

There’s no easy way to pinpoint or explain such shifts in style preference, and it used to drive Andy crazy that I was so changeable, but he’s learned to accept it. My style shifting is far less drastic than it once was (there was a time when my bathroom had a new coat of paint every other month, and my comforter changed with the seasons) but I still get antsy when things get stagnant.

Which brings us to the next new thing in our home: a couch. I’d love to see a simple make-over of the family room in 60’s modern style, centered around a low, tufted couch in Tiffany blue, and for once I think it might intersect with Andy’s taste. That would mean redoing most of the room, however, except for the coffee table, and we’re in no position to do so, but I’m always at my best when planning ahead – and a dream can become a wonderful goal.

{Above is exactly what I’m looking for, albeit in a different color. This version is available from Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams and is called the “Dexter” – which also happens to be one of Andy’s favorite shows, but I’m guessing it’s prohibitively expensive – I’ll find out for sure this weekend in Boston.}