My latest helpful habit is taking my glasses off – for no reason whatsoever – putting them down somewhere, and forgetting where I put them while also being unable to see anything because – wait for it – I just took my glasses off.
This is not aging gracefully.
This enormous stand of fountain grass has been the semi-bane of our backyard existence for a few years now. It’s grown beyond the point of easy control, and my body, in particular my back, no longer possesses the ability to properly tackle it. That would require some incredibly deep digging and physical exertion – and as I recently explained in a text defining a sweet invitation to a ‘Bingo Loco’ rave, “Gurl, I’m fifty.”
The days of whacking and hacking away at an enormous entanglement of roots are in the past – I can manage some surface digging and superficial pruning above ground, and that’s about it. That said, I’ll endeavor to get in slightly better shape before spring arrives and we start the growing season again. Is it sad to already be talking and daydreaming about the when we haven’t even started winter yet? Not a good sign, perhaps, but there’s hope in it – faraway and distant hope – the sort that will have to see us through the winter when it arrives next month.
The brilliance of this outside scene will swiftly diminish, as harder frosts will snatch the color from the leaves, and the leaves from the trees. Our focus will shift to the interior – where the attic exudes a rustic, tranquil white and gray scene, lit by candlelight and cushioned by piles of heavy blankets. The cozy season, blazingly at hand.
“I’m not surprised anymore by anything,” the woman sitting nearby said to her companion. I wasn’t closely following their conversation – this was the single stand-alone sentence that came to my ears over the drone of a song by the Carpenters (‘Close To You’).
Cafe culture is sometimes just a snippet of conversation that floats above the general noise and din, asserting itself as wisdom and truth and the declarative genius of the universe wishing you to hear those words in that moment. You can bring your own reading and baggage to it, or choose to ignore it entirely, assuming you’ve even accurately heard what was said.
Nobody really listens to anything anymore. That’s my dismal spin on the original quote I thought I heard – perhaps a more cynical take and view, but at least there’s some passion behind it. Anything is better than apathy. Apathy kills all. And to lack the ability to be surprised by anything speaks to a deadness of the soul I hope to never approach.
This is cafe culture.
Hello old friends, if I may call you that, even if that’s never quite what we became. The term ‘friend’ is so broadly used, and it only applies to a select few of you who did in fact deign to incorporate me into your lives in some sort of friendship form. As was so often the case, this is once again me, talking to you, and just like old times you likely don’t even know and perhaps don’t even care, which has always been the way these things have gone. There’s some strange comfort in this space, however, at least in the mental and emotional place I am revisiting with this post, and returning to examine these ghostly hallows reminds me of them, as well as my own questionable behavior, when infatuation and the fever of a dead-on-arrival romance afflicted the simple machinations of going about an average day. A song then, long overdue and perfectly descriptive of my infatuations of all those decades ago…
NOW WHEN YOU SAY YOU WANT TO SLOW DOWN
DOES IT MEAN YOU WANT TO SLOW DANCE?
MAYBE YOU WANT A LITTLE EXTRA TIME TO FOCUS ON OUR ROMANCE
WHAT DO YOU MEAN I GOT IT BACKWARDS? YOU KNOW WE’RE GONNA BE FOREVER
WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME GOODBYE? ARE YOU GONNA STAY THE NIGHT?
This song very much personifies the frantic desperation I once felt and clearly exhibited in my dealings with would-be suitors and sought-afters. Back then, if a reasonably attractive gentleman expressed the slightest bit of interest in me, I would be off and running, heading in an unwavering beeline to the chapel, or at least a first date. And it was always too much, too soon, too everything. I didn’t know how to quell the heart’s riotous cries, and part of me still doesn’t regret expressing exactly how I felt in the moment. Why are we so ashamed to admit to the possibility of romance? Why is the keen focused interest of another person so repellant and off-putting? I’m asking myself as much as you, because once that focus sized me up, I often lost interest too. The foolish fickleness of human beings – make it make sense to me now; it never made sense to me then.
ARE WE REALLY OVER NOW?
MAYBE I CAN CHANGE YOUR MIND…
SOON AS YOU WALK OUT MY DOOR
I’M GONNA CALL A HUNDRED TIMES…
In those days, and in my defense, there was often the slightest spark of an invitation, the whispered wisp of flirtation, the brief pause of a hand on a shoulder or arm, and the faintest hint or notion of interest ~ something to capture my attention ~ because it did take more than a pretty face to gain my sustained interest. Not very much more, but a bit. I didn’t just fall for you because you were cute – I was crazy, but not that level of crazy.
NOW I WALK UNDER A PINK SKY
LOVE HAS FLOWN ALONG AND PASSED ME BY
I POUR MY HEART OUT TO YOUR VOICEMAIL
LET YOU KNOW I CAUGHT A BUS TO YOUR SIDE OF TOWN
AND NOW I’M STANDING AT YOUR DOORSTEP WITH LOS ANGELES BEHIND ME
IF YOU DON’T ANSWER I’LL JUST USE THE KEY THAT I COPIED CAUSE I REALLY NEED TO SEE YOU
Still, my level of crazy was certainly beyond that of most people, and I don’t use crazy in a derogatory manner. For me, being crazy was just another way of saying I was lonely, and I make no judgment or condemnation of either. My behavior, on the other hand, I do slightly regret, if only because it gave a skewed view of my intentions, and a warped take on what mostly counted to crushes and infatuations.
IF YOU’RE NOT HERE WHEN I BREAK IN
I’M GONNA GO TO YOUR CLOSET JUST SO I CAN SMELL YOUR SKIN
AS THE CHEMICALS SWIM I KNOW I’LL NEVER LOVE AGAIN
I SWEAR I’LL NEVER LOVE AGAIN
BABY ARE WE OVER NOW? MAYBE I CAN CHANGE YOUR MIND…
AS SOON AS YOU WALK OUT MY DOOR I’M GONNA CALL A HUNDRED TIMES
Maybe I’m a bit too defensive on that point, and maybe that betrays something I’m not quite ready to admit, even all these years later, even after all this time apart. At its core, it always came down to one terrifying question: was I really that unlovable? If only it had only been possible paramours that made me ask such a question. If only the romantic landscape was the sole place such doubt and uncertainty resided. I could contain it then, I could compartmentalize it, I could pretend it wasn’t me. I could act like I wasn’t crazy.
I’M NOT ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
I’M NOT ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
I’M NOT ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
I’M NOT ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
I know I came on strong. A fervent belief in the possibility of us – as a couple, as an entity – was just in my nature. I always knew it could work, because I knew I could make it work. It’s what Virgos do – we work, and we work hard, until we get it right. But a relationship – any relationship – requires two people, and I was a fool to think I could overpower or overwhelm that.
At the end of every never-to-be-but-still-hoped-for romance, I was left a little darker, a little sadder, a little harder, and a little less of the possible person I could see myself becoming by your side.
HEY BABY, ARE WE OVER NOW? MAYBE I CAN CHANGE YOUR MIND…
AS SOON AS YOU WALK OUT MY DOOR I’M GONNA CALL A HUNDRED TIMES
When I look at some of you today, and the people you have become, I’ve mostly dodged bullets, and some likely horrible situations, and it’s in no way indicative of anything negative or wrong in you – we simply wouldn’t have been suitable together. It’s a testament to your sensibility that you saw it so much earlier. I see it now, and I’m grateful, and I never even wonder about what if, because the hole that was once there has been built around – not filled, because such holes can never be filled when they were empty in your past, and not erased either, because unlike a scientific understanding of emptiness, the feeling of emptiness is a very real and present predicament, and the space where it once pronounced itself, where it once made itself known and felt, will always be there. And I wouldn’t want it to go anywhere; I’m glad it’s there, glad that pangs of hurt still gently reverberate and echo to this day because they’re a reminder of how tender the human heart can be at such a young age, and how thrillingly the promise of possible romance teased such a heart.
NOW I’M ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
NOW I’M ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
NOW I’M ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
NOW I’M ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS
Why does reading comprehension play absolutely no part in how most of you are texting and reading texts?
You are rendering the phone completely pointless when it comes to successful communication.
Bookstores used to be my chosen place in which to write, back when Barnes & Noble used to battle Borders Books & Music along Wolf Road, but this country has seemingly given up reading and learning in favor of social media and bullshit.
Today, I find a blank space for writing at any cafe where I can sit with a cup of tea or decaf coffee and let the blog posts and project ideas run in handwritten trails across the lines of paper in a pretty Coach notebook. It’s so pretty it doesn’t mind my run-on sentences – rather, it indulges in them, letting me luxuriate in awkward and unnecessary phrases, losing myself in extra words for the sort of extra person I’ve finally learned to embrace.
On some nights, I’m one of the last people left in the cafe. I can feel the workers’ antsiness, the same feeling I would get when a customer came in five minutes before closing at Structure. How I loathed them for that, and the way they would sometimes eye me and intentionally pull apart a sweater wall I’d just finished putting in place. People do love their little plays of power, especially when they don’t have any of their own.
My march of words rounds the corner and winds its way back to where it began. Swirling around the edge of a coffee cup, it surrounds a wooden stir-stick, somehow stirring of its own volition, but only in my mind. I catch the reality of the scene before letting on what I think I’ve seen. We are, most of us, on the edge of going crazy, so we chalk it up to the surreal.
A surreal sip of cafe culture.
If we consider the back and side yards of our home as its outside rooms, this is the sad point where those rooms begin emptying – in the way the leaves are leaving, the branches are baring, and the ground is tearing itself asunder as the first hard heaving frosts arrive.
Another winter in a winter state is on the way, as we have four solid months of the frigid season in store, and it all starts in December, which is already only a month away. With the time change, the days end quicker, and darkness descends faster. No one ever seems quite ready for it, or so they say. I’m ready, I just don’t embrace it. Tough enough keeping spirits up when the light is high – this is brutal insult to debilitating injury. Woe to those the least bit depressed.
For now, we hang onto the daylight like some trees still hold onto their leaves. A futile effort, but how heartbreakingly human of us to try. Or how tree-like, since the trees were here first.
The outdoor ferns have slipped into their almost-translucent phase – the penultimate act before expiring, and one of the most exquisite and beautiful moments they carry. How poignant that it comes right before their demise, as if they have saved all their energy, and expelled the very last of it, for this time. They will shrivel up and turn brown after these few days, then disintegrate into the ground from which they came, leaving only some bent and broken stalks for me to clear come spring.
Spring – such a happy word, but how very far away it feels, completely over on the other end of the calendar. Best just to focus on the day ahead – there is beauty in fall too, and here it is.
Some people like liquor.
Some people like cars.
Some people like money.
I like cologne and clothing, and this year’s Christmas wish list (shout out to Andy and Mom) is focused on those mainstays; there is nothing new under the sun. And so, without further ado, here is how my current wish-list shakes out – with the proviso that this is only a starting point – other wishes may come later… I reserve the right for more. (For appetizers and stocking stuffers, there’s always my Amazon wish list here– and don’t be afraid to dig deep – some of those item shave been there for years, because they have yet to make it into my home – but I just did a scroll-through and I’m still intrigued by everything there.)
This year’s big ask begins with a new and elusive Tom Ford Private Blend called ‘Amber Intrigue’, which was previously only available at Harrod’s in London. Having lost out on the exquisite ‘London’ Tom Ford offering that was only available there a few years ago, I was thrilled to see that ‘Amber Intrigue’ is now available here for those of us unhappily living outside of London.
Guerlain’s series of spice scents have proven to be bottles of beauty because Guerlain doesn’t mess around. The Guerlain house has been in my blood since I was born, as it was one of the perfumes that my Mom wore during my childhood. On nights when she would be out at class, I’d steal a small spray of it, and on one evening upon tucking me in for the night, my Dad told me I smelled nice. It marked my earliest understanding of the power of perfume, sparking a love affair with fragrance that has lasted to this day. ‘Santal Royal’ is my coveted wish next – and it’s on sale here at this gorgeous discount fragrance site.
Acqua di Parma has an exquisite scent called ‘Luce di Rosa’ which I’ve had my nose on for quite some time after trying it on during a Mother’s Day weekend in NY several years ago – as luck would have it, it’s also available on a major sale right now at this link, so the stars seem to have aligned for this one.
Victoria Beckham will always be my favorite Spice Girl (I still swoon for Posh), and her taste in perfume and clothing has proven sharp and chic over the years. A discovery set of fragrance samples is the most economical offering on this list, and it gives me a chance to see if I want to invest in more. Of course, I’m willing to take a chance on ‘Portofino ’97’, as it is reportedly the stuff of summer heat and timeless beauty – you may be able to find it on sale somewhere, and if not there’s always Bloomingdale’s here. It looks to be a possible summer scent for 2026 – and it’s never too soon to start dreaming about summer.
Finally, one last big-ask, because I’ve been wanting a leopard tote bag for decades now – this one from Reformation is stunning, and a quarter of the price they’re asking for most of the leopard totes available today!
{Reminder: my Amazon wish list here is always a safe buy guide.}
Mercury doesn’t go into official retrograde motion until November 9, but this pre-shadow period is wreaking its typical havoc. I’ve heard whispers by those who deal in such matters that this upcoming bout with Mercurial magic is going to be a good thing for Virgos, but those soothsayers haven’t been right about any of the wonderful things that were supposed to happen for us Virgos over the past few months; my skepticism is high, even as I am open and welcoming to any manifestation of happy events.
For my part, the best way of dealing with both the good or bad periods of life is to remain grounded in a daily meditation practice. This becomes especially important as light drains from the sky and the world grows dimmer by the day. Until we round the winter solstice and the end of the calendar year, meditation is a way to bring a certain element of light and calm into dark and tumultuous days. Winter is indeed coming, and there’s no point in fighting it. Buckle up, buttercups – we’ll walk through this together.
There is darkness in this world too deep and too impenetrable to conquer – a darkness like that of the deepest chasms of the ocean, hidden and obscured beneath tons of pressure, miles of water, untold and uncountable layers of life and death. It’s a darkness that some of us feel more than others, a place that only a few of us can access, and despite our wishes we don’t have much choice in the matter. Why some of us can whisper and engage with this darkness is the stuff of psychology and witchcraft and astrology – anything to make some sense of it, because it’s not meant to make sense, not if we’re the slightest bit cognizant of what is true and what should be just in this wild world.
We seek sanctuary against this darkness, the way we seek a greenhouse in the winter. Maybe it’s in a candle. Maybe it’s in a song. Maybe it’s in a treasured trove of beauty where water trickles from a fountain and beauty is found beneath the frond of a palm tree or a tree fern, newly-watered and smelling of warm earth. A precious place of solace and semi-solitude, where only beautiful things happen – the earthly pleasures and delights our only balm in such a horrendous world.
And so I seek out those spaces and moments, those little sanctuaries that help us through the dark.
Today the full Beaver Moon hangs in the sky, a Super Moon to wreak its lunacy on those of us prone and susceptible to such nonsense, and I most certainly am. Warnings for the mutable signs (such as Virgo) have been coming across my social media for days – and with Mercury about to head into retrograde motion, I’m bracing myself for all that’s to come.
Actually, ‘bracing’ is not the most apt term here, as I’m not holding on rigidly or stubbornly working to keep my footing – instead, I’m going with the flow, even going so far as to forgive myself in advance for falling and faltering and failing. The art of imperfection has been one of the most difficult arts for me to appreciate, but I’ve come around to it, locating its ease and pleasure, and all the things I thought I was too good for in all those tiresome and tiring years. Virgos typically make most of their quests in service of perfection.
For this week, I’m going to attempt to go easy on myself, to leave room for error, to make space for mistakes. To allow myself to be human, and to ask your indulgence in that as well. Endeavoring to make it through the week as quietly and unassumingly as possible, I shall lay low – or is it lie low? In a nod to the sentiment at work, I won’t bother looking that up to correct or perfect it.
Those are superficial imperfections anyway – the real challenge is in accepting my darker and more unhinged tendencies, the petty insecurities and perceived slights, the nagging and gnawing doubts as to my self-worth, the suspicions that the best years are already behind us, and what could possibly be the point going forward?
Treat us kindly this week, dear moon. I loved beavers as a child – I’ve honored you all my life. Teach me, and let me be open and humble enough to receive your lessons.
People Magazine has chosen Jonathan Bailey as their Sexiest Man Alive – the first time a gay man has ever been awarded the honor and distinction. We’ve known of Bailey’s charms for years, and before he was the Sexiest Man Alive, he was named Dazzler of the Day here with a very cheeky naked GIF that still gives, well, everything. He’s returning as Fiyero this month in ‘Wicked: For Good‘ and will set hearts swooning again.
(See also David Beckham, Blake Shelton, Patrick Dempsey, and Paul Rudd.)
His cloak is cologne and each night he wears it differently. He saves his signature and namesake for only the most special occasions. If you’ve ever been in his presence and he smells particularly pungent – when is scent trail is pervasive, long, and insistent – it means he must like you very much. An extra-salient perfume performance is an indication that he wants to impress you. And if you’ve ever gone home smelling slightly of him, if you catch him on your coat or jacket the next morning, count yourself lucky indeed.
For the proximity… and the power… you had and you hold.
Mr. Oud exerts his influence indirectly – in a sense, a feeling or an emotion. He elicits a visceral response – a primal fight-or-flight reaction – and all the rumors and stories of his polarizing nature do seem grounded in truth. Your guard goes up, because where there’s smoke… and pretty perfume… there is usually fire… and danger.
One gets the feeling that Mr. Oud wouldn’t have it any other way, that this ephemeral bit of hubris is as much in his make-up as it is a product of our collective making-up. If he holds sway or any semblance of power, it’s in what we have granted to him, perhaps through his own machinations.
Mr. Oud remains a master of manipulation., in equal parts tragedy and condemnation.
A pen to embody the sentiment of a Monday morning, and our first weekly blog recap of the month of November for 2025. How we got here when it feels like it was just May is beyond me, and best left unanalyzed, like much of time, moving much too quickly. On with the recap, such as it is, and was…
A noirish Boston trail of Oud.
Boston’s shifting light at this time of the year.
Eagles eyes in the sky, I don’t think I can go twice as high.
Boom boom in the zoom zoom room.
Alien superstars: an other-worldly pairing.
Nightshade or gooseberries – a deadly sort of choose-your-own-adventure.
Hocus pocus focus – a bonus Halloween post.
November arrived in golden splendor.
Dazzlers of the Day included Jordan Roth, Adam Brody, Derek Hough, and Kevin Jonas.
