A Few Rare Madonna Photos, and a Brief Defense of the Woman

Whenever I post something about Madonna on FaceBook or Twitter, there are invariably a few people who feel the need to make snarky, and often outright rude, comments about her. While everybody is entitled to their opinion on Madonna, it’s no secret that I happen to love her, so whenever I see that one of my supposed “friends” or “followers” makes a disparaging comment about her, I can’t help but feel it’s a disrespectful dig at myself. I can take a joke as well as most (and at this point far better) and I can also appreciate constructive criticism and a challenging dialogue on Madonna. But making ageist, sexist, cruel comments on her appearance and body is simply rude and hateful. Part of me thinks they do it just to get a rise out of me, or some sort of response from someone who otherwise wouldn’t even bother with them. Part of me thinks they really hate Madonna and will say anything bad about her anywhere. And part of me thinks it’s their own unhappiness that makes them, unconsciously or not, strike out at others.

I guess what bothers me the most is that they put it on my page. If they want to write all that negativity about Madonna on their page, they are more than welcome to do so, but to write it on mine baffles me. I do not like Justin Bieber, and have said as much and more on my own page and Twitter feed, but I would never write that on a Justin Bieber fan page, or to someone that I know loves him. That’s just going out of your way to be a dick, and it’s a mentality I will never understand.

Let’s be honest, Madonna doesn’t give a flying fuck about what the naysayers write. She doesn’t care about what I think or say. But if you’re my friend, I would hope you care enough about me to not bad-mouth someone I’ve loved for thirty years.

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A Well-Deserved Award for My Dad

One of the many things that has always struck me about my father was his disdain for Doctor vanity plates. All my speeding tickets and run-ins with the cops might have been somewhat easier had it been for a little ‘MD’ sign on the license plate. But my Dad was not that kind of doctor. He was never in it for the glory or the name or even the money. He had the old-fashioned doctor’s aspiration only to help and comfort the sick. Next month he will be honored by St. Mary’s Hospital with their “Lifetime Award for Excellence” – and it couldn’t go to a more deserving person.

It’s long over-due, as my Dad was one of the hardest-working and most dedicated doctors right up until his retirement a couple of years ago. Whatever shreds of humility and honor I have were instilled in me by his example. Any altruistic notion of goodness that resides in me was mostly his doing. He never complained about being awoken at 3 in the morning for an emergency call, or missing out on vacation days – his family did, but he didn’t. It was his vocation and calling, and the community of patients loved him for it. They saw a side of him that his two unruly boys didn’t always grasp, though as I grew up I understood more and more.

Recently, he stepped into a new role as Grandfather (or “Lolo”) to his twin grandchildren, and he might be just as good as that as he was at being an anesthesiologist. Congratulations to one of the most noble men I’ve had the privilege to know. (And I promise to wear something respectable to the Awards Dinner.)

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A Christmas Sundae at Sammy’s

In a tradition started a few short years ago, my brother and I made our trek to Sammy Fariello’s. After having dinner at Raindancer and making it through a security check-point on Route 30, we arrived at the venerable soda shop with little Emi Lu, and promptly sat down in a booth to order a pair of sundaes.

A collection of old-fashioned candy surrounded us, the rich smells of chocolate and sugar dancing on the air, and the memories of choosing which 5-cent treats to eat running through my head.

They even had a few jars of turkey joints (which have increased exorbitantly in price since the 80’s).

Before our sundaes arrived, we heard a large crash, and from my vantage point I could see an old man go down hard on the floor. When he didn’t get up, and his daughter screamed for someone to call 911, I did as told and relayed what had happened to the dispatcher. My brother continued texting, while I slid his daughter further into the booth so she didn’t see what was happening. (Luckily she was too concerned with the styrofoam peanuts she had found in a decorative vase on the table to notice much else.)

A few minutes later the ambulance arrived and amid much commotion our sundaes came as well. The man’s daughter had calmed down, explaining that he was a diabetic who hadn’t eaten all day until he had a banana split there. (Umm, maybe not the best dietary idea…) They helped him up and into the ambulance, and we tried to continue on with our sundaes. Emi Lu hadn’t noticed – or at least hadn’t minded – and she dug into her chocolate ice cream with relish. I had nothing to do but follow suit.

It was, all things considered, a perfect holiday moment with my family.

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Banging the Wall By Harvey

Like so many other tidbits of integral knowledge, I first heard of Harvey Wallbanger from an episode of ‘The Golden Girls.’ (There is much I have learned solely through Golden Girl episodes). In this one, Sophia’s friend was waiting for her at a bar and was drinking a Harvey Wallbanger. “Seeing a lot of Mr. Wallbanger lately, aren’t you?” Years later, for our most recent holiday party in fact, my friend Scott made a Harvey Wallbanger cake, and suddenly I was sold. Making use of that bastion of 70’s liqueur – Galliano – some vodka, and fresh orange juice, this is one sweet and moist cake. I liked Scott’s version enough to try it on my own, and with the exception of the Galliano and some pudding mix, we already had all the ingredients on hand. If it’s easy enough for me to handle, you can handle it too. The recipe follows:

Harvey Wallbanger Cake Recipe

Ingredients:

Cake:

1 box (about 18.75 ounces) yellow cake mix

1 cup vegetable oil

4 large eggs

1/4 cup Galliano liqueur

1/4 cup vodka

1 package (3-ounces) vanilla instant pudding mix

3/4 cup fresh orange juice

 

Glaze:

1 cup sifted powdered sugar

1 Tablespoon fresh orange juice

1 Tablespoon Galliano

1 teaspoon vodka

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 350 F. Grease and flour a Bundt pan or spray with floured vegetable spray.

Place cake mix, oil, eggs, liqueur, vodka, pudding mix, and orange juice into a large mixing bowl. Beat on medium speed for 2 minutes.

Pour evenly into prepared Bundt pan and tap gently on the counter to release any air bubbles. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes. A toothpick inserted in the center should come out clean. (Do not overbake or it will become dry.) Let rest for 5 minutes. Gently loosen edges around the rims with a thin rubber spatula. Invert and unmold from Bundt pan onto a cake platter, then glaze while warm.

For the glaze, mix powdered sugar, orange juice, liqueur, and vodka until smooth. (If it is too thick, add more orange juice a few drops at a time to get a drizzling consistency. If it is too thin, add more powdered sugar a teaspoon at a time.) Drizzle over the warm cake and let cool to room temperature for glaze to set.

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Glitter & Be Gay

Before this world ends, a bit of the bright and bubbly, in the form of one brilliant Kristin Chenoweth in her blazing version of ‘Glitter and Be Gay’ from ‘Candide’. Though it was her turn in ‘Steel Pier’ on Broadway that made me an instant fan, it was this performance that truly galvanized my love for her. In these dark days, a little sparkle is needed more than ever. (Bonus Diva Points for Patti LuPone’s entrance – and exit.)

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4 Minutes to Save the World

On this day of supposed reckoning, a re-tread of the Madonna Timeline entry for ‘4 Minutes’. Grab a boy and grab a girl.


 

 

 

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One Potato, Two Potato, Three Potato

These Baby Yukon Gold potatoes look better than any other potato I’ve ever baked, thanks to a nifty trick culled from the Barefoot Contessa again. Ina Garten found this method of preparing the tubers while in London, and it adds a delicate flair to an otherwise simple and hearty side dish. It’s quite simple – you skim off the bottom of a potato so it stands solidly without rocking. Then you cut almost to the bottom in 1/8 inch slices, so that the potato stays intact, but sliced. Coat in olive oil and a mixture of rosemary, salt and pepper, working both oil and spices in between each slice. Bake at 425 for about half an hour. Pretty, easy, and perfect for a holiday dinner.

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In Brotherly Tradition

Tonight my brother and I are planning on marking a relatively new holiday tradition – sharing a sundae at Sammy Fariello’s – our childhood haunt in Amsterdam, NY. Back when we were kids, it was baseball cards, Big League Chew, and root-beer-flavored hard candy. These days it’s turkey joints, sundaes, and my niece and/or nephew. As much as things change, they also stay the same. This is only the third year of our tradition, but they have to start somewhere. In their infancy, they also seem less onerous, less a case of drudgery and more a case of wanting to do them, to share the season with a loved one.

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Red Radishes

Growing up, the sliced radish was the one part of a salad that I couldn’t stomach. It was too spicy, too harsh, too biting – and like Fritos and pizza and lobster, I didn’t go back to it for many years. But while I returned to those favorites and grew to love them, my return to radishes has only just taken place, spurred on by an episode of the Barefoot Contessa Goes to London, wherein the root vegetable formed a colorful addition to a ploughman’s lunch. Ms. Garten has featured the radish before, honoring it as a popular French snack, served with sea salt and a baguette of French bread smeared with salted butter.

Without radishes from the garden (we are, as FUSSYlittleBLOG pointed out, far from radish season – he directed me to Buenos Aires), I looked in Fresh Market, which had a few in their organic section. I found some cheap sea salt there as well, but forgot that Marshall’s is the real secret place to get decent spices at much more reasonable prices. With that in mind, I stopped by their Homegoods store and found some Himalayan Pink Sea Salt in its own grinder. Pink just makes everything better.

As for taste, the radish is just as I remembered it, though the addition of a little pink sea salt added another layer of welcome interest. Served with a buttered baguette, it made for a simple preamble to dinner, and I can see how it would make a good after-work snack. Nothing that I’ll do with any regularity, at least not until I put some radishes in my own garden, but a nice enough break to winter monotony.

(My favorite part was still the Himalayan pink salt. I mean, it was pink.)

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Jewels of the Season

These precious gems are pomegranates, and once removed from their encasement they shine like jewels. The trick to excavating them and not getting your hands stained with their potent color, is to cut the whole fruit in half, then work to remove the seeds in a bowl of water. It just takes a bit of practice, and soon you’ll have a gorgeous pile of antioxidant-rich fruit, ready for snacking, cocktailing, or just sprinkling on melon or salads.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #81 – ‘Devil Wouldn’t Recognize You’ – Winter 2009

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

As quiet as it is tonight
You’d almost think you were safe
Your eyes are full of surprises
They cannot predict my fate
Waiting underneath the stars
There’s something you should know
The angels they surround my heart
Telling me to let you go…

This is one of those ‘morning-after’ songs, when you look at the world through the dim lens of regret, a look that is both frightening and unforgiving. Perhaps it’s the death knell of a relationship, or the realization that you’ve been betrayed. Perhaps a friendship has fallen apart and you understand and accept that there is no way to right it. Perhaps it’s the simple acknowledgment that what has passed is indeed, and finally, in the past, and we can never be the same. It is a chilling notion, and this is a chilling song.

From the 2008 album ‘Hard Candy’, this is Madonna at her most brittle and bitter, but there is beauty at work too. Resignation can be redemptive, and the cleaving of heartache a necessary, if brutal, form of self-preservation.

I bet he couldn’t
I bet he couldn’t recognize
But I played right into it
Who am I to criticize
So now I’ve been through it
And you won’t even realize
You’ve fallen for your own disguise…

Drugs or drink, sex or danger, debauchery or depravity – we all have our demons. They prey upon us in the night, they use and expose our vulnerability, they turn us inside out. “I know what it’s like to be bad. I’ve been bad…” In the gray light of dawn, the morning that always comes, no matter how late, we pick ourselves up, and clean up the mess. There is no happy ending, no quick and easy resolution, and we will do it all over again until it is all we know.

It’s like over and over
You’re pushing me right down to the floor
I should just walk away
Over and Over
I keep on coming back for more
I play into your fantasy
Now that’s its over
You can lie to me right through your smile
I see behind your eyes
Now I’m sober
No more intoxicating my mind.
Even the devil wouldn’t recognize you
I do…

Like her best songs, this one can be read on multiple levels – but in the end I think it’s as much about pointing the finger at yourself as it is about blaming others, confronting the visage in the mirror, the person we don’t always want to recognize, the person we pretend isn’t really there.

You’ve almost fooled yourself this time
Let all of the saints be praised
You hide your sadness behind your smile
And you keep your lost heart raised
With steps that edge along the ledge
It’s much higher than it seems
But I’ve been on that ledge before
You can’t hide yourself from me…

On her ‘Sticky & Sweet Tour’, Madonna performed a haunting rendition of the song, cloaked in black for much of its duration, only rising and revealing herself toward the end. In a career made out of pretend, it is a magically stark moment.

Song #81 – ‘Devil Wouldn’t Recognize You’ – Winter 2009
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Through the Portal

This is going to be a rather slow day here, so I’ll direct you to The Pictures portal for your perusing pleasure. That’s where the featured picture was culled from, and there’s a whole Winter gallery to whet the appetites of those fiending for snow. I’m not quite ready for the white stuff, but to each their own.

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Video Ode to Male Nudity

It’s difficult to determine what exactly is being sold until the end, butt does it really matter?

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