Category Archives: General

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.

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.

Candy got me by the neck.

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.

A visual riddle.

Apathy is always awful.

Boom boom in the zoom zoom room.

Alien superstars: an other-worldly pairing.

Nightshade or gooseberries – a deadly sort of choose-your-own-adventure.

Hallowed, hollow echoes.

Hocus pocus focus – a bonus Halloween post.

November arrived in golden splendor.

An inspired present.

Rainy night writ.

Dazzlers of the Day included Jordan Roth, Adam Brody, Derek Hough, and Kevin Jonas.

Rain.
Hard, sustained and heavy rain – impossible to ignore with all the accompanying wind.
Rain for which I’d unknowingly been waiting, and wanting.

Rain to still the day.
Rain to still the heart.
Rain to still the sands of time.

In an alternate time and universe, a boy religiously watches ‘Days of Our Lives’ while he stays home from school for another day. He’s not as physically ill as he pretends to be, but mentally the idea of going back to school is insurmountable, so a fortuitously-timed case of the sniffles, and a helpful body semi-ironically weakened by allergies, aid in his survival.

Like the prismatic destruction of light through a hanging chandelier crystal, distilled into smaller slivers of pretty colors, memory serves to dissect and illuminate, rendering new truths to old stories. The past isn’t always set in stone, or trapped in the snowy reception of an old television set from your youth – sometimes the past is malleable, and it moves from winter to summer…

Raspberry-shaped and raspberry-flavored hard candies dissolve amid sips of Crystal Light iced tea. Summer inside stays cool as the days of our lives tick slowly by. In the fall the boy welcomes sickness again, opening arms and heart for it to take him further away.

Did rainy days then make him feel more lonely or more frightened? How far apart were they really?
On one rainy morning on the way to school he looks up at the sky and lets the water conveniently and convincingly mingle with his burgeoning tears – that’s how much he thinks he misses home, but really he is just afraid.

Some part of him knows how unbearable the world will be.

Missy is one of my oldest friends – probably one of my first after Suzie, as it was at Suzie’s house when I initially met her – either at one of Suzie’s birthday parties or some holiday when she happened to stop by. Since then, we’ve remained close – even dating for about a year at the end of high school, fittingly marking the end of our youth. The ensuing years have found us intertwined in each other’s lives, seeing us through the difficulties of loss and change, and all the things that happen along the way to our half-century mark in this world.

It is always a return to warmth and safety and comfort to visit her, so when she and her boys invited me for a fall weekend, I rejoiced at the escape – a cozy couple of days ensconced in Connecticut would prove enjoyable for all of us, including their dog Queenie, who greeted me silently, like an old friend, without barking or concern.

We would stay close to home for the weekend, only leaving for a couple of strolls around the yard. Missy kept the fireplace stoked and glowing for a cozy centerpiece, and we picked up where we left off this past summer, as old friends do.

She had also planned out a weekend menu of delicious meals, which we had in the dining room by candlelight – when you have a fancy robe of rust-colored ruffles, you need a proper table setting to set it off. (The highlight being a Saturday night dinner of braised short-robs and fennel risotto, which I’ll be making on my own because it was so amazing.)

Wildlife rustled through the leaves – squirrels mostly, whose noise was always more awesome than the creatures behind it – and this trio of deer, nibbling on the maple leaves they could reach.

They looked inside while we looked out – the ultimate juxtaposition of a sense of safety and warmth indoors with a quickly-cooling afternoon that soon darkened into evening. Clear and cool, it invited a fall fire that Missy assembled, and soon enough I was afforded my first taste of s’mores in decades. We roasted/toasted marshmallows, made our sweet dessert sandwiches, and listened to the playlist that Cameron and I had worked on earlier that day.

The next morning we convened in the living room for a cup of tea and one last talk, while plans for future get-togethers were made, including a winter weekend in Boston to see ‘Some Like It Hot’ while Julian tours Boston schools. Time flies by, children grow up, and friendship remains true, seeing us through it all.

All you sick, twisted fucks celebrating this pagan day of sin and darkness, precisely when the veil between the physical world and the spiritual world is at its thinnest, would do well to remember that this day, this holiday, is amateur hour for those of us who turn out an extraordinary wardrobe nightly. That run-on sentence is my way of not-so-pleasantly reminding everyone who gives the slightest shit (all three of you who read this blog, and whom I should probably treat a lot better) that Halloween is traditionally my day off. 

Wear a cape and top hat to Hannaford on a random Tuesday in August then come see about me. Putting on a costume for Halloween – where is the challenge or surprise in that? 

Be better.
Do better. 
Dress better.

Happy Halloween to all who celebrate! As for the rest of us, it’s almost over – and the real holidays are about to begin. I hear Mariah squealing already…

What do you make of this image?

What is real and what is reflection?

What is artifice and what is art?

I don’t claim to have the answers, particularly regarding a visual riddle like this, where the interpretations – wild and varied and unfettered – reveal more of the viewer than the one who captured the image. A shift in focus – welcome and new – will keep this site from stagnating, and as I contemplate and loosely plot out another year of this nonsense, I like such a shift.

Mercury is once again in wretched retrograde motion, and I am so over it already I can’t even deal. On my way to the cafe where I’ve been writing lately, a traffic jam around that stupid traffic circle near the Colonie library (the circle should have been installed at the goddamned Crossings intersection) we paused for a few minutes going nowhere.

Above, I noticed a large bird circling, widely at first, then tighter and tighter. Initially I thought it was a blue heron, which was sometimes at the little library pond, but as it turned its head I saw the distinct white crest and white tail feathers of a bald eagle.

A majestic sight, and a reminder that at our most frustrated and annoyed, we should pause to take in our surroundings, to be mindful and present, so as not to miss anything, especially out of anger. Easier said than done, the lesson of this bald eagle is a powerful one – from a powerful totem animal – and I felt grateful to be in its wondrous presence.

After traffic resumed moving, I came upon a car accident on Wolf Road, backing things up further, but my mind was quieter then, and I was able to reach the cafe before the police arrived to shut the shit down.

Then it was the early evening of cafe culture until the streets cleared, and I finished this post.

The week of Halloween is a good time to celebrate all things Candy.

Everyone knows I love a good sweet treat.

And a cheesy, cheeky pop song.

Like Candy.

I was there to witness
Candice’s inner business
She wants the boys to notice
Her rainbows and her ponies
She was educated
But could not count to ten
Now she got lots of different horses
By lots of different men

And I say, “Liberate your sons and daughters”

The bush is high, but in the hole, there’s water

You can get some when they give it

Nothing sacred, but it’s a living

Halloween songs should be catchy and simple – it’s part of their potency. This bop by Robbie Williams is pure aural candy, sweet and sticky and bad for you in the best ways.

Hey, oh, here she goes
Either a little too high or a little too low
Got no self-esteem and vertigo
‘Cause she thinks she’s made of candy
Hey, oh, here she goes
Either a little too loud or a little too close
Got a hurricane at the back of her throat
She thinks she’s made of candy

Give me a treat over a trick any day – the slicker the sweater, the sweeter the better…

Having just returned from a cozy weekend with a dear friend in Connecticut, I’m happily spent from warm emotions, lots of laughter, and loads of fun. More on that when I have a moment – for now, a quick look back in our usual Monday-morning weekly blog recap… what HAVE you missed?

Mr. Oud sensed it was time for a new project.

Instagram censored an old photo, so somebody’s been going through my back-issues and for their peace of mind I wish they would just get off my jock. (The hits were appreciated, however, and October looks to be the most popular month for this little blog in years.)

Chad Putman wrote a Special Guest Blog, resurrecting a feature whose time has returned.

A recent weekend in Boston began its retelling with this happy diner ending.

It’s difficult to find genuine patriotism these days, but here is some red, white and Boston blue.

A rainbow can’t be bound with zip-ties, because Pride cannot be contained.

In the hands of Mr. Oud, the world turned into shades of gray.

It’s too fucking soon.

The light of a corner, illuminated by the autumn sun.

A coral bark maple goes up in brilliant flames.

A Boston night, thirty years ago…

An admission of loneliness prompted by a 30th anniversary.

Three decades ago I found our Boston home.

I adore cafe culture.

‘Tis the damn season for a blueberry massacre.

It’s been six years since I had a drink of alcohol.

Mr. Oud in repose.