While I usually have the company of a cherished friend along for my diner adventures, there are occasional moments when that’s simply not possible or preferable.
Diners are made for solitary dining, and no one bats an eye at the strange fellow by his lonesome at the end of the long row of single chairs near the kitchen. You can blend in at a diner better than you can blend in almost anywhere else. In a diner, everyone is an oddity, therefore no one is.
Many an artist has plopped themselves into a diner and thought or wrote or crafted something of significance, something that was more than its greasy, fried origins. Maybe because a diner represents a slice of humanity, as perfectly imperfect as a slice of pie or cup of black coffee. It is where the magnificent and mediocre meet under one tin roof, slightly rusted, and beautiful in an ancient way.
The final installment of “The White Lotus’ arrives next Sunday, and it’s reportedly a 90-minute boffo episode, because that’s the least amount of time it will take to unravel all the loose threads that have been hanging all season.
The lights of the attic are turned low, and the time is almost 10:30 PM as I write this. Vaguely mid-century vibes crossed with Scandinavian simplicity inform the tranquil space, while this musical selection, entitled ‘Asian Dream Song’ adds a third aspect that brings together three corners of the world. On this night, when spring is on the wind, and the wind is strong enough to make the rafters creak and moan, the attic feels like the coziest respite and escape from the darkness outside.
This was supposed to be the morning blog post, but this song. and this version of it in particular, is far too majestically moody to squander in a morning post. This is music for when the sun goes down, when you’re either about to begin your evening out, or winding down for the end of it. It’s the stuff of dreamy nightclubs that may or may not exist in the real world – and if they do you can only find them around midnight.
Night and day, you are the one Only you beneath the moon and under the sun Whether near to me or far It’s no matter darling where you are I think of you Night and day
Day and night, why is it so That this longing for you follows wherever I go In the roaring traffic’s boom In the silence of my lonely room I think of you Night and day
And now, as we enter into an uneventful Tuesday evening – a more dull and mundane Tuesday could not be conjured from the doldrums of average – we straddle the night and the day in a song and dance designed for a dream.
Night and day Under the hide of me There’s an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me And its torment won’t be through ’til you let me spend my life making love to you Day and night, night and day
Jelly beans were never my favorite candy, yet every year when they roll them out, we somehow end up with a bowl in the house. These pretty things were a gift from our friend Lorie – they came with a couple of chocolate bridge mixes that I devoured immediately, but these got saved for last and poured into a bright bowl for looks more than anything. We don’t decorate for Easter so it was a welcome visage.
They lasted all of a day, as Andy and I ended up eating them in quick fashion once I popped a few in my mouth and remembered how good jelly beans could be when you find a fine batch. These were from Krause’s Homemade Candy, which has always supplied insanely delectable sweet treats. Lorie lives near their store and we are lucky to get a gift from there when we have her over for dinner or join her for lunch.
I have thus far had the will power to avoid the place, because I know if I go there once that will be it for my already-problematic waistline. (I cannot afford to lose 100 pairs of pants to go up another inch – I will not do it!) But I also won’t say no to a delicious thoughtful gift.
Exclamation points are usually used sparingly here, but for a full-frontal reveal, we employe them to the utmost!!!!!!! On this special day of all special days, and coming so close to the Easter holiday, Bad Bunny is here letting it all hang out, so scroll down for a glimpse of his Easter basket, if you know what I mean! And anytime you see liberal use of the exclamation point, be on hyper-alert!! Something wicked this way comes!!!!
There’s a very long road of infamous proverbial yellow-brick that waits to be traversed before we get to the release of the second part of ‘Wicked‘ but I love the build-up and anticipation, and it’s never too early to start. In another month or two the first official trailers should be out, and our journey back to Oz will begin again.
The earliest days of spring are always a little rough. Winter’s chill hangs on in the night and mornings, and the sun still struggles to warm the day. This cute little picture popped up somewhere this past week, and it felt like the cozy embodiment of where we find ourselves. A kettle of tea to warm all the world and a ceiling of snowdrops to cover the sky… on with the weekly recap, because it’s totally dreamy.
Fuck MAGA. There, I said it, and more of you should say it. I shall not be silent in such times as these – I shall resist, and I shall put it on record, because one day your kids and their kids will look back at this moment and wonder what you did, what you said, and how you remained silent and got along to get along.
Several weeks ago Suzie Ko and I slipped quietly into the 76 Diner, where we set up shop at a table hidden near the back, ordered some diner fare, and proceeded to plot out a seven-course meal inspired by the movie ‘Babette’s Feast’. Suzie has loved the movie since her childhood; I’ve avoided it for forty years, assuming it was some soft-porn piece more aligned with Suzie’s peccadilloes than mine. When it showed up on television a month ago I decided to give it a shot, and despite the Danish language (you try saying ‘rugbrød’ the correct way) I fell in love with it too. Happily, or unhappily depending upon why you’re here, the movie has less to do with porn and more to do with a feast prepared by a woman named Babette.
“I have been with you every day of my life. You know, do you not, that is has been so? And, I shall be with you every day that is left to me. Every evening I shall sit down, if not in flesh, which means nothing, in spirit, which is all, to dine with you, just like tonight. For tonight I have learned that in this world anything is possible.” –Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
We both agreed to forego an exact imitation of the fancy French dishes that Babette prepares (it was likely that nobody in our families would take kindly to eating turtles or quail) so we settled on a seven-course menu that provided enough to approximate Babette’s wondrous work while giving us something within reach of our culinary abilities.
“Grace, my friends, demands nothing from us but that we shall await it with confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude.” – Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
After picking Suzie up, we made a stop at the market to get the last-minute items for the opening salvo of the meal. I’d already prepared the almond dessert, curry dish, and a couple of batches of the Danish rye bread, Suzie had done most of the sorbet (with assistance from Pat and Milo), and Mom was bringing the show-stopping centerpiece of Cornish game hens. We just had to make the potato leek soup, blinis, and risotto.
“Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost!”~ Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
For the opening blini dish, the batter struggled in its race against time (we may have also forgot to do this part first), but it puffed up just enough to make the gray buckwheat carriage for the crème fraîche and caviar – and unfortunately I am now hooked on the exorbitant combination (another post celebrating that is on the way, courtesy of breakfast the next day).
The potato and leek soup came together more easily, thanks to a leek-top broth and immersion blender. Finally, Suzie’s recipe for an Instapot risotto defied the typically-sweat-inducing process of a proper risotto and resulted in the creamy and dreamy bed on which the Cornish game hens would nest.
Mom and Milo helped with the dish-turnover, and Andy helped with the dishwasher-loading, and by the time the evening came to a close, our appetites for comfort and culinary decency had been satiated. Suzette’s Feast had been a success.
“Long after midnight the windows of the house shone like gold, and golden song flowed out into the winter air.” – Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
It’s nothing that I can’t handle, but it does occasionally alter my lunch plans, as it did this past Friday when I didn’t get out until 2:30, when the coffee shops were just beginning to shut down for the day. On that particular day it wasn’t coffee I was after, but a simple walk through downtown Albany. The later lunch time meant fewer people out and about, which lends a more contemplative aspect to the walk. At such times I don’t need to find a church to obtain quiet and the space for mindfulness – it is all around, there for the notice and there for the taking.
The sun would dart behind clouds, then show itself for the short duration of my walk, alternating between bold and bashful in this hide and seek game – the ultimate spring tease. Some of the trees were just starting to swell with buds but nothing substantial had been brave enough to burst forth; early days yet. Instead, I had to find my fun in the circular sticker of bananas seen here on a lamp post.
Happiest birthday wishes to my niece and nephew, who continue to astound and impress me with the young people they are becoming. Emi and Noah (along with little Jaxon) are the future of the family, and it feels like we may be in good hands. Today they turn fifteen years old, and while they will always be that pair of tightly-swaddled bundles of quiet joy we met a decade and a half ago, it’s a pleasure to watch them grow into young adults ready to take on the world. The world needs such goodness. Happy birthday, COT!
#2 and #1 ~ In which the birthday blog posts were part of all those lost in a revamp. We lived then, offline, and in all the glory that being off the grid entails.
This slightly infamous blue speedo made its debut in The Divine Diva Tour Book: A Fairy’s Tale way back in 2005, in photos featured within the spread seen here. My body is currently a far cry from the one so flagrantly on display below, and I’ve come to terms with it in relative peace. In fact, most of the tantrums of getting older seem to be had by some of my straight male friends, whose sensitive nature is such that they won’t be named or called out, but they know who they are. As a gay man of a certain age, I don’t pretend not to notice the chill that gray hair and a burgeoning belly has on the spell I could once cast on an unsuspecting public, but I’ve always preferred going unnoticed than having all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus…
This particular photo shoot inspired one of my favorite artists, Michael Breyette, to immortalize me in one of his pastel portraits, which has been one of the greatest honors of my life. To be stilled in time by such a hero, frozen in a summer moment that I would never capture again, fills me with gratitude. Far more than that, it’s proof that I was young once, that I existed, that I roamed and romped on this earth, and long after I’m gone a gorgeous remnant like this might remain.
As I approach my 50th year on earth, I feel differently about time – less frantic, less rushed – which is odd because by reason I should be feeling the opposite in the fleetingness of it all. And yes, I do sense the rush of it, how the days seem to move faster and faster, but I’m better at letting the rush brush by me as I keep to my own pace.
I’ve always taken a little longer to get things; I still don’t know how to tie a shoe without making bunny ears because they simply went too quickly that day in school and I was too shy to ask them to slow down.
The contradiction is apparent and always has been. Devilry and divinity each exist because of the other. To be divine is to master the art of not being a devil, but to paraphrase Milton, better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. Inspiring infuriation has always been a talent. A naughty wink or a naughty pucker – both with an exquisite and delicious taint…
And so closes another chapter of The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale – reminding me just what a hot mess I was back then, and how delightfully messy this whole project was.
Dream, when you’re feeling blue Dream, that’s the thing to do Dream while the smoke rings rise in the air You’ll find your share of memories there
Remembering summer days is most often a waste of a winter, even if it feels good. If you learn to embrace the winter as much as you embrace the summer, you’ll find that life is a lot happier. Summer feels richer then too.
So, dream when the day is through Dream, and they might come true Things never are as bad as they seem So, dream, dream, dream
But this is spring, and in spring we dream. The Divine Diva Tour is about to take a turn into dreamland – into the fantastical forests of our childhood, when magic reigned and a unicorn lurked around every corner. The tale of a fairy isn’t always a fairy tale, but you’ll see that soon enough. You also have to meet a powder blue ice princess before we head into the woods. Mother said straight ahead, not to delay or be mislead…
Dream, when the day is through Dream, and they might come true Things never are as bad as they seem So, dream, dream, dream, dream So, dream, dream, dream
The recent online posting of ‘The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale‘ dovetails neatly with the spring dream theme currently playing out on our website, as our latest entry rekindles a dreamy summer day in the pool – harkening to the past and hinting at the summer to come. Such a crux is fertile ground for mental rumination, and to set the tone, keep scrolling to hear a dream-themed musical selection for your aural gratification.
Every night I hope and pray A dream lover will come my way A girl to hold in my arms And know the magic of her charms ‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
Dream lover, where are you With a love, oh, so true And the hand that I can hold To feel you near as I grow old
‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
Someday, I don’t know how I hope she’ll hear my plea Some way, I don’t know how She’ll bring her love to me
Dream lover, until then I’ll go to sleep and dream again That’s the only thing to do ‘Til all my lover’s dreams come true ‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
While it took place over twenty years ago, I still remember this photo shoot – it was a rare one that Andy agreed to do since I was tired of trying to grapple with a tripod in the pool. We’d had a delivery of steaks from my parents, and I hastened to make use of the dry ice in a martini glass.
Fluff and filler, the pictures formed a bit of padding in an already frivolous tour book, but there were darker turns to come, and knowing this I let the photos have their moment.
Please don’t make me dream alone I beg you don’t make me dream alone No, I don’t wanna dream alone…
