To see us through the lunch-time hour, the artful out-of-focus side of a bath time photo shoot, and how best to hide the twig and berries. With some creative cropping, a few fortuitously-floating islands of bubbles, and one disappearing sponge, these shots should be safe for work. The next set may not be, so come back when you get home.
Talking politics always makes me feel dirty, so there’s no better time to take a bath than today. Actually, it was the other day, so hopefully I’ll have some residual cleanliness to see me through what will likely be a very long evening. When we redid our master bathroom a few years ago, both Andy and I decided a tub was unnecessary. Neither of us took baths, and the lines of a shower-only bathroom were much cleaner and more open. Though I still prefer this, every once in a while I find myself craving a long, hot bath, particularly when we approach the winter, and cold nights aren’t staved off by hot showers alone.
When I’m lucky enough to be staying in a decent hotel, I’ll scope out the tub, fill it with hot water, and add a few drops of tea tree oil and some lavender bubble bath. Throw in a new sponge and I’m happy as a pearl being rescued from an icky clam, re-purposed for some pretty lady’s sweetly-scented neckline. It’s the poor-man’s version of a massage – an indulgent moment of pampering that takes the edge off of the day.
The comfort of bubbles, the way they tickle the nose and the ears, adds to the playful notion of taking a bath. All that’s missing is a rubber ducky.
The only thing that sometimes creeps into my OCD head is the thought that by the end of it you’re basically sitting in a pool of dirty water. That’s why I have to take a quick shower afterward. There was actually once a doctor who said that was actually the best way to get the most clean – a bath followed by a shower. Works for me.
In honor of election day, and my intention to stay far from politics, there will be nothing but bath posts coming up later – as per a promise I made to the Duchess. Now then, who’s a dirty boy?
When I was a kid, I was raised as a Republican. Well, actually, I was raised as an Independent, but my parents voted uniformly along the Republican line for fiscally conservative reasons, and it rubbed off on me. They were a different party then, and not the anti-gay, anti-women party of racist hate-mongers that they’ve become in recent years thanks to the hijacking by the Tea Party. Yet even if you believe in being fiscally conservative, the plans put forth by Mitt Romney (or not put forth as the case may be) are too scattered and frightening to convince me. Does Mitt Romney know how to run a multi-million dollar business and make a ton of money? Absolutely. Does he know how to run a middle-class home with an income far less than $200,000? Not in the least. (The fact that Paul Ryan will work to end Medicare and take away the choice of women, whether you want to face the fact or not, scares me even more.) For those reasons I will be voting for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. And for those uninformed idiots who want to claim that the Republican party is not anti-gay, I suggest you read the official Republican Party platform, in which it is written that they will do everything in their power to ban same-sex marriage. For a party that wants less government interference, they sure want to get the government involved in my love life at any cost. Regardless of finances and taxes, a vote for Romney is a vote against the love between Andy and I – against the love shared between two people who have been together for twelve years. Yes, it is that simple. It’s in the Republican platform, and there’s no way around it.
That said, because it is so personal, I am, from this point forward, going to have to emotionally remove myself from what happens, particularly if it goes the wrong way. (You may recall that someone already predicted this.) That would be an irrevocable blow to my sanity at this point (never something all that stable to begin with…) On election night, if we don’t have a clear indication of the winner by 8 PM (and we likely won’t), I am going to bed. I’ll read, I’ll listen to music, I’ll start writing out holiday cards, and I’ll say my prayers before going to sleep, but I won’t be anywhere near a television. In other words, it’s going to be just another Tuesday night at home. And, hopefully, some of my prayers will be answered.
Continuing in the tradition of crazy-ass half-delirious blog posts concocted in the midst of fever-like delirium – wait, delirious delirium? Damn! – I offer a Monday morning entry to ease us into the work-week. With a few days of missed work last week, and an already-behind-schedule holiday plan, I’m just going to wing it for the next few days, pray that Madonna makes it to Madison Square Garden and the show goes on, and do a little Noreaster prevention dance. I did manage to make it to Boston and Falmouth this weekend, to see Kira for a belated birthday dinner, and then my friend Kim in ‘Sunset Blvd.’, but I was still slightly under-the-weather and just trying to keep my head above-water.
As for those holiday plans, it’s just the usual mayhem and craziness. Doing the holiday cards, the party invitations, the outfit planning, the gift buying, the decorating, and, yes, even a bit of the cooking (hello candied yams) has already amped itself into a most onerous list of tasks. Each year I tell myself that I will get it done early and just enjoy the season. And each year I fail – not miserably, but enough. We’ll see if I can get this train back on track, or if it’s going to go all Polar Express on my ass. Toot-toot, beep-beep.
And PS – To all those people I texted in the feverish states of doped up drunken madness I reached this weekend, I warned you. You all wanted me to get texting, now you deal with the monster you created. Don’t call me Dr. Frankenstein.
The notion of gaining an hour of time has always fascinated me. The myriad ways and manners one chooses to use that hour is an imaginative playground in which my mind could romp for the days before and after Daylight Savings Time makes its change. Only once did I forget to move my clocks back. I was in college, and probably not minding much news (I didn’t have a TV in my dorm, nor the internet – it was early 90’s!) On the Sunday of the time change, I went into Boston to catch a matinee. As I handed the guy my ticket he said it wasn’t time for the movie yet. I looked at my watch and said that the movie started in five minutes. He shook his head. I was adamant, telling him what time the movie started, showing him the time printed on the ticket, and again explaining that it was going to begin in five minutes. He shook his head again and pointed at the clock over his shoulder. As he did so it dawned on me that I missed the time change. Sheepishly, I smiled and excused myself, telling him I’d see him again in an hour. He wasn’t amused.
Just in case the Hunk of the Day wasn’t enough, I offer you this trio of GIFs of Tom Daley taking his shirt off while getting showered with water. Hey, haven’t we all been caught by the shower when our shirts were still on? Saves on the laundry work. Not that I do the laundry work, but someone does at some point, so consider this my new method of contributing to the household duties while saving the environment. Never let it be said that I didn’t do my part. And never let it be said that Mr. Daley didn’t do his. Sometimes taking your shirt off is contribution enough. I totally just forgot what we were talking about. Sorry, this post was created when I was delirious with a fever of some sort. Did somebody say ‘Fever‘? It always comes back to Madonna. Are you Linked Out? Or are you LinkedIn? Or are you LinkSys? Or is this ‘The Legend of Zelda’?
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{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.}
The lead-off single from Madonna’s latest album ‘MDNA’, ‘Give Me All Your Luvin’ actually leaked as far back as November of last year (which is when I first heard it and the first memories of the song were etched into my mind) and it’s now fittingly almost an exact year to that date. I was packing for a trip to New York, and managed to put it into the iPhone for the train ride. I’d been wondering why the song had been on my mind of late, and then I remembered. Aside from fragrance, music is one of the most powerful memory -triggers for me.
Walking down W. 35th Street to meet up with Chris and his new girlfriend Darcey, I pull my coat tightly around me. Though the night is warm for this time of the year, it’s breezy. Dried leaves swirl around my feet, and the smell of Fall carries on the wind. The Empire State Building rises and glows behind me. It is a New York night in November, where anything can happen.
Strangers in the night, in the city that never sleeps, walk down the street beside me. The chance encounter, the happy moment, the way we humans connect to one another, all in the name of love – err, L.U.V. After having lunch with Suzie, and now dinner with Chris – two of my favorite people in the world – I am emboldened and glad to be exactly where I am. I don’t always feel that way about New York, but tonight there is no more perfect place. The fact that a new Madonna song is ringing in my ear only adds to that sparkle.
The start of the holiday season was just underway. The lights were going up at Macy’s, the shopping scene was gearing up, and the initial thrill of a coming Christmas added to the anticipation at hand. The song, though, faded in my mind after the pre-release giddiness. I kept it as a signifier of that visit to New York, a happy reminder of an entertaining evening, no more, no less. The holidays came and went, and my head and heart were filled with other concerns (another song from the album had come out by then – ‘Masterpiece’ – and it haunted me more deeply than GMAYL.) Yet Luvin’ hadn’t had its way with me yet, and it returned in January with a surprising vengeance.
The video is one of Madonna’s more entertaining and compulsively watchable works in quite a while. Cheeky, fun, and filled with football references, it also featured a supporting cast of M.I.A. and Nicki Minaj. Favorite bits include the Burberry coat at the start, and the vintage Marilyn Monroe blonde bombshell throwback. Just as much of a nod to the past as it was a look to the future.
When the single properly premiered, it was already Super Bowl time. The excitement of the game had infiltrated itself into my life for the first time (due mostly to Madonna, let’s be frank), but I was finding things of interest in the Patriots too, like Tom Brady and the Gronk, as well as learning the intricacies of Tebowing in a borrowed helmet from my brother. This game had a way of bringing people together, and if Madonna was the conduit to making these new connections, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.
The song itself has grown on me. As a lead-off single, at the time I felt it was rather weak. Too bubble-gum-throw-away, as catchy and fun as it was, and with all the hype and promotional opportunities presented with the Super Bowl, I think Madonna could have given a stronger song a better shot (‘Girl Gone Wild’ or ‘Turn Up the Radio’) – yet as an entire year has passed, it’s actually fared quite well. Unlike something along the lines of ‘4 Minutes’ which was forgettable and unlistenable a day or two after its initial fiery blaze, GMAYL is a song I still enjoy hearing. It brings back happy memories.
It had its first live performance at that memorable Super Bowl, and since that’s always worth a revisit, here it is. Brilliant. Epic. Genius.
Song #79: ‘Give Me All Your Luvin’ – Fall 2011/Winter 2012
This weekend I’m heading back out of town, en route to Falmouth, MA to see my friend Kim in a local production of ‘Sunset Blvd.’ (always tricky to do one of my favorite musicals right!) Along the way, I’m spending the night in Boston and hanging out with Kira. Low-key and relaxing, and hopefully somewhat recuperative after a cold I can’t seem to shake.
Upon returning from Cooperstown, we were scheduled for our dinner at the American Hotel. By that point, we had settled into the leisurely pace of the town, the quiet peace and stillness of this place, the way the Hotel was becoming more of a home than a hotel. After a cozy cocktail at the bar, I waited for Andy to join me downstairs, at which point Heidi brought us into the dining room. She was working as one of the servers that night, and it was a comfort to be in such good hands for our four course meal.
It starts off simply, elegantly ~ a surprisingly flavorful serving of pickled carrots and warm bread served with an herb butter, the latter wrapping it all together in a creamy, dreamy  spread of dairy delight.
A lobster chowder follows, featuring ample chunks of lobster, potatoes, and a creamy but light broth that perfectly complements and adds additional flavor to the meat at hand.
The salad is of Mediteranean derivation, with feta cheese and creamy Parmesan dressing, Romaine heads, kalamata olives, tomatoes and red onions. Being that I eat a salad every day for lunch, the tired staple really needs to be impressive to move me – and this one certainly was. When the ingredients are this fresh, and when the preparation is this skilled, a salad like this becomes so much more.
The main course is a plate filled with medallions of beef and lobster, a veritable explosion of texture and flavor – fleshy and rich and decadent in the best possible ways. It turns out there’s no such thing as too much of a good thing (even if I don’t manage to finish the entire dish).
Dessert is a cheesecake ice cream. Nothing else needs to be said. Love – just love.
Our time at the American Hotel had come to its happy ending. Having learned to slow things down, to take our time, to appreciate and enjoy, it would be a lesson, and a sacred memory, we would take with us. How could a place so close seem so wonderfully removed? And how could we have missed out on its magic all this time? Sometimes it really is right in your own backyard.
Many thanks to the amazing staff at the American Hotel for reminding us of what true hospitality is, and the town of Sharon Springs for forcing us to slow down.
My most favorite part of the Farmer’s Museum was the garden and the animals. Both came toward the end of the village. The herb garden was usually buzzing with bees and fluttering butterflies. A small stone path led through the fragrant plants, and there was something deeply comforting in the beauty and the order found in the layout of that small parcel of land.
On this visit, the gardens had mostly wilted and browned in the frosty nights, but there were a few blooms that remained on the warm-for-October day.
Back when I was kid, it was the animals that most excited me, and I could spend hours just watching them go about their business, chasing the chickens, or waiting for the turkeys to meander my way. I don’t know why they held such a fascination – maybe because I grew up with a single German shepherd, far from any farm, and this was the most exotic thing in the world to me.
Whatever the case, part of that allure still held, and I stood watching the livestock for a few minutes longer than anything else at the museum that day.
After a brief moment of reflection in the church, we got back on the road to Sharon Springs, Lake Otsego on our right. It was almost time for our four-course dinner at the American Hotel…
Most kids don’t like being forced to tour museums and historical sites (and as for the latter I may be in agreement – the only thing I wanted to see in St. Augustine was the beach, but we had to endure hours of historical forts and canons first), but for the most part I enjoyed the museums we went to as children – especially natural history or scientific stuff. When there were re-enactments of historical jobs, with costumes and everything, I was even more interested. (I still remember Sturbridge Village and Colonial Williamsburg quite fondly.) So the Historic Village at the Farmer’s Museum in Cooperstown was a highlight of my childhood vacation days. From the heat of the blacksmith to the rhythmic workings of the wood-cutter, I would watch as they carried out the way life was in the 1800’s.
Far more than most children, I lived largely in my head as a kid. It gave me a quiet self-possession, even as it read as ‘arrogant’ and ‘aloof’. I didn’t care – the worlds I could create, aided and abetted by the fantasy of costume and make-believe, were somehow more meaningful and authentic than the mundane reality of school and sports.
It was always more fun to pretend to be someone else, to walk in someone else’s shoes, or to follow a foreign path. The idea of stepping into the past – and leaving the present – was an unconscious desire for escape from the person I really was.
When I was a kid, one of the favorite places my Mom took me and my brother to was the Farmer’s Museum at Cooperstown, NY. Though we had to suffer through a top at the Baseball Hall of Fame (easily the most abysmally boring experience of my life), the reward was the fun of the Farmer’s Museum, especially the live animals and the recreated life of the 1800’s. Since we were a scant forty-minute ride from Cooperstown, Andy and I decided to take the scenic drive along Lake Otsego and return to a place that held such fond childhood memories.
The above work is entitled ‘Autumn at the Crossroads’ by Janet Munro. Painted as recently as 1992, it was a gift for the 50th anniversary of the Farmer’s Museum, and is a seasonably-appropriate piece for this time of the year.
Andy, framed.
In my experience it’s usually the case that one can’t return to childhood places without a bit of disappointment, a bit of displaced confusion over what once held us so rapt. This was the rare instance where the memories I held actually matched the experience we had. All of the wonder of the place remained intact, the thrill of seeing how life used to be lived still resonated, and at the end were the animals that always tickled my soul. (They’re coming up a bit later…)
