Sometimes you never know where or when the inspiration for a new Project will strike. Most of my writing ideas hit me while I’m in the shower – a rather inconvenient place to jot down a lightning bolt idea of genius, and probably the reason why I lose so many of them. Other times they’ll appear in a dream, and at 4 AM I’ll make a bargain with myself to write it down after five more minutes of sleep, and so I lose some more. This new one came on the eve of spring, in the midnight hour when by rights I should have been fast asleep, but was instead glued to the lap-top trying to program all these posts that have been appearing miraculously while I’m in Boston (magic!) It’s not something I’m going to go into now (we are, after all, in the midst of a year-long Project that is flying blissfully under the radar (1,2,3…)) and so I’ll simply direct you to The Projects currently posted here. The accompanying photo is reminiscent of ‘The Circus Project‘, even though it was actually used in ‘The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale‘ – which has yet to be posted here because the world can’t handle me in bad drag. Not yet. (Some projects are best left unseen.)
This is definitely in the top ten of all the photos I’ve ever had taken of me. It encapsulates, in so many ways and on so many levels, the dynamics of what happens when Suzie, Chris, and I get together. It was June of 1997 I think. Chris was looking for an apartment for his upcoming grad school adventure at Harvard Divinity School (see, my friends are not only smart, they’re spiritual) and he thought he could do it in a few short hours.
Suzie and I, as Suzie and I are wont to do, roared with laughter. Admittedly it was not the kindest response, but after you tell someone it will probably take longer than an hour or two to find Fall housing in Boston – and being laughed off yourself, it was an appropriate response. Needless to say, he never found an apartment that day. Or that weekend. To be honest, I’m not sure how he found a place to stay when he returned in the Fall, but that’s Chris. Infuriating, funny, and self-defeating in the face of all other advice. By the time this photo was taken, I think he was admitting said defeat.
Suzie, on the other hand, looks more agitated, mostly by the fact that she was tasked with the impossible feat of untangling a puppet I had procured in Hong Kong earlier that year, and she had clearly had enough of it. With both Chris and Suzie pouting, I decided to pose simply and dramatically, in the manner of a diva who could not be bothered by any of it. It’s the stance that has gotten me out of many a predicament, including this one.
Driving along Albany-Shaker Road, en route to pick up new curtains for the condo in Boston, I look out over the field to my left and see, of all things, the sun shining through a break in the clouds, surrounded by a small circle of blue sky. It is strange, to say the least, for at that same moment there was snow falling through the air, as there had been all day. I can’t remember the last time I saw snow falling through sunlight. Yes, in the falling clumps from trees, in the dislodged stuff ripped from power lines the day after – but when have you seen the snowfall associated with dark skies accompanied by a pocket of sunshine? It was both enchanting and disconcerting, a surreal moment that thrilled me in its novelty – as enchanting as it was brief – and before I could stop the car to take a picture with my phone, it had passed. Those are the secrets that make me smile. It’s never quite rendered the same in the re-telling, even if there had been pictures to prove it. But it lives inside, in the space of the soul reserved for child-like wonder and awe-invoking innocence. It’s good to witness that the universe still has the power to enthrall, the knack to surprise. It is a lovely trick indeed.
{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.}
I got to save my baby
Because he makes me cry
I got to make him happy
I got to teach him how to fly
I want to take him higher
Way up like a bird in the sky
I got to calm him down now
I want to save his life
In the spring of 2003 I was working at the Thruway Authority, in an office of men, in Construction Management no less (quite a far cry from where I began, and where I am currently – in offices almost entirely stocked with women). It’s not a sexist thing to say that working with women is different than working with men. And I hope you won’t find it sexist of me to say that it’s often easier to work with men than women (because I hear that from women far more than men).
Sometimes it’s such a pleasure
Sometimes I wanna tear it all down
It’s easy to be lazy
And hard to go away from the crowd
I know the road looks lonely
But that’s just Satan’s game
And either way my baby
We’ll never be the same
Operating as the secretary to the Director, it was actually one of the more pleasant working experiences I’ve had, not only because the Director was cool but because there was so much less drama. Guys disagree differently than girls – not necessarily in a better way, just differently. I always knew where I stood with the guys, and though they had their own gossipy cliques and catty comments, if you confronted them they’d usually give you a straight answer. The women I had worked with previously hadn’t done that. They’d smile and pretend to like you and then you’d find out they were talking shit about you ten minutes earlier. That kind of passive-aggressive nonsense I didn’t abide.
In the blink of an eye everything could change
Say hello to your life, now you’re living
This is it from now on
It’s a brand new day
It was time to wake up from this dream (from this dream)
But what does that have to do with ‘Intervention’? I’m not sure. It was just the song that was playing in my car as I remembered switching from an office of women to an office of men. And if there’s one person that always gets me thinking about the differences between men and women, it’s Madonna.
This past St. Patrick Day’s weekend, our friend JoAnn was in town, and we went as far from Ireland as possible, creating a Thai dinner that began with a Siam Sunray and ended with coconut cake and slices of pineapple and mango. In between was my first attempt at a vegetarian Pad Thai (that turned out rather well) and Andy’s always-excellent yellow chicken curry. Plated up with some jasmine rice, it was a filling meal, perhaps at slight odds with the green and orange insanity surrounding such classic events as the ‘Kegs and Eggs’ parties going on around the world. (Lord knows what state the condo will be in after my brother spent the weekend there.) For our part, we kept it clean and relatively-well-behaved. When you have the company of good friends, there’s less of a need to go completely crazy.
We began with the requisite cocktail – in this case the aforementioned Siam Sunray – which had just enough of a red chili pepper bite to keep us warm, and a citrus-shaded tempering of lemongrass and Kaffir lime leaves to keep it fresh. JoAnn had asked about a red pepper dip I made a while ago, so I had that on hand too. It was actually a Red Pepper Relish, to which I added cream cheese to turn it into a dip. (When in doubt, add cream cheese and you can call just about anything a dip. If you want, you can substitute plain yogurt for one of the cream cheese packages for a slightly healthier version, which is what I did this time.) The recipe follows:
Red Pepper Relish Dip
{The key to this recipe is the cooking time: you cannot rush it. Set a timer for the half hour, and let it boil that entire time, stirring occasionally. When it’s done, the consistency should have changed remarkably, at which point you can turn it down and add the cream cheese and yogurt. The amount of red pepper flakes is up to you, but this is meant to be a hot dish, so don’t wimp out.}
Ingredients
2 red bell peppers, chopped
1 sweet onion, peeled and chopped
1 cup white wine vinegar or rice vinegar
1 cup white sugar
1 tablespoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 packages cream cheese, softened at room temperature
Directions
In a medium saucepan over medium heat, mix together red bell peppers, onion, white wine/rice vinegar, sugar and crushed red pepper flakes. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to strong simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook 30 minutes, or until thickened. Turn down heat and add cream cheese until combined. Pour into baking dish and serve while hot. It can be refrigerated and heated up at a later time – it can also be served cold, but will be much thicker and more difficult to spread. It works well on pita chips or whole wheat crackers, but any serviceable carrying-craft will do.
This Calvin Klein ‘Bamboo’ bedding has been employed on at least one of my beds since 2000. It is, in fact, even older than my relationship with Andy. As such, we’ve been through a lot together. For the last several years, it’s been living exclusively in Boston, taking pride of place in the condo bedroom, holding its own against changing furniture, changing lamps, and even a new headboard. But with the spring comes a fresh palette, and we’re going to switch things up with a new Marimekko duvet cover. (Not to worry, the headboard will still work splendidly. The dull raw umber hue was selected precisely for its ability to mesh well with almost any other color.)
For now, though, a moment of recognition and honor before we retire this bedding ensemble. If sheets could talk, well… we’d rip them to shreds.
For many years, I’ve walked by and often stopped in Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams right on Columbus Ave. It was only a few blocks from our place, but eons beyond in style. It offered that unattainably gorgeous beauty seemingly found only in airy, well-lit showrooms, that always eluded me whenever I tried to recreate a look or match their effortless design. The same magical showroom properties were also in effect on the upper floors of Crate & Barrel on Boylston Street. The modern style and bold choices worked in that environment, but once again failed to translate into any DIY approximation I might attempt to create.
Gabriel II Sofa by Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams
Now, with the deterioration of our leather couch and the need for a new paint job (wall and ceiling) in our family room, it’s time for some new color, and a new couch. So, it all comes down to this, as I knew it would. In one corner we have the Gabriel II Sofa from Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams, and in the other corner we have the Petrie Sofa from Crate & Barrel. Both are slightly similar in style and function, but highly distinctive in presentation. The basic 60’s vibe is inherent in each, but the Gold + Williams version seems more substantial, a bit bulkier, and a little less elegant too. The Crate & Barrel sofa appears to offer more comfortable cushions, but less cozy arm rests. As for cost, one of the main determining factors in our furniture selection, the Gold + Williams sofa is just a few hundred more, but if shipped to New York from Boston it would be tax-free. In other words, it’s pretty much split perfectly down the middle, which for me is far from perfect because it leaves me without a clear decision. This may be left in the capable hands of Andy, because as much as I love doing the design stuff, he occasionally has a good idea – and when I’m torn he’s usually a good sounding board.
Truth be told, there’s no reason for those of us in the Albany area to complain about this winter. It hasn’t been that bad (Boston and New York have been hit far worse), and it’s winter in the Northeast – get over it or get out. But I have to admit that it has gone on long enough. This is the point where there are bound to be a few more snowstorms (we often get snow into April here) but from this moment forward it does make one a bit crazy. So, for this first day of spring, let’s channel happy thoughts of sunshine and warmth, and ward off the efforts of a winter that only wants to linger.
It was the last ‘Appalachian Spring’ and we were rehearsing Copland in a church as part of my final season in the Empire State Youth Orchestra. I loved the music, but hated the competition and the demands placed on teenagers, the politics, the whole scene. But on this March night in the earliest part of the 90’s, I listened only to the music, I got lost in the notes, and it all made sense as I prepared to say good-bye. I looked around the Shaker-like surroundings. The wooden floors and pews, the grand high windows letting in the white light from outside. There was a stark beauty to it all, a barren, rustic, American beauty. Filled with promise, yet not without regret, I took it in.
The music slowed and quieted, and the heart went along with it. It perked up, it sped along, like a stream bulging with the melted snow of winter, all rivulets running into one great body: all paths lead to God. It was the last concert I would ever play as part of the Empire State Youth Orchestra. No more Melodies of Christmas, no more all-day Play-a-thons at Crossgates or Clifton Country Malls, no more five-hour practice sessions on Tuesday nights. I walked out of that church without looking back. I had done the best I could do. It had not been enough. But the music – the music stayed with me. The might and majesty of a piece like ‘Appalachian Spring’ – the beauty of Aaron Copland’s music, wrought from the inspiration of Martha Graham, of America, of the very beginning of spring – it remained a part of my heart, lodging itself safely within, barricading against the semantics and the technicalities that made the creation and execution of art so difficult.
The trumpets sound, the traditional Shaker tune races to its climax, and the stately finale dissolves into delicate grandeur, like the last mound of dirty snow, rejoining the land, nourishing the roots, coming down from such lofty and dangerous heights. The final notes dissipate almost silently into the air. There is a moment of grace in this church. My eyes suddenly fill with tears, and I wipe them quickly away. It is one of the first pieces of music that makes me cry. All the years of practice, of hard work, of mistakes and failings – they are worth it for this one window of time.
‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight
‘Till by turning, turning we come round right.
This weekend I am, surprise, going to Boston, new Marimekko bed-set in tow, and a long-awaited reunion with my friend Kira in motion. It’s time for some spring cleaning at the condo, and some spring shopping too. We’ll see whether I can visit for a weekend without there being a major snowstorm in the forecast – it would be a first this year. No, really, it would be the first time in 2013 that there would be no snow for my visit. Let’s break the tradition, Beantown. It’s time.
Twenty years ago James released what I humbly consider to be their best album, ‘Laid’. Contained within were some of their most moving, diverse, and brilliant songs, including this one, ‘P.S.’ At the time, the album was a lifesaver for a college freshman just trying to survive. But deeper and more disturbing than that, this particular song was a finger pointed directly at me, an inescapable indictment of all that I would ever do – a warning that would go both heralded and unheeded – a catastrophe, a triumph, a failing, and an accusation. In the loneliest nights, the words haunted me, the melody taunted me, the undertow pulling everything down with it ~ and I let it happen, I let myself be pulled. It was easier to give in, to give up.
You’re a weapon of devotion
Keep the faithful entertained
You’re a lover of attention
Found a way to pawn the soul
Disposition may be fetching
But the world moves on and leaves you far behind
What had ever come of my love? Nothing good, nothing lasting. Nothing but mistrust, blame, anger, fear – and that’s not even touching on the romantic stuff yet. Family and friends were more than enough to throw any love back in my face, to make me wonder at my worth. It would never be enough. And why should it? Love should be limitless, unconditional, unwavering and unquestionable. It should be. It absolutely should be. But it’s not.
I hear you, I hear you, whispering such gorgeous stories
I see you, I see you, trying to break free
You liar, you liar, you can’t live the dreams you’re spinning
You liar, love to be deceived
They speak of me. When they think I don’t notice, I do. I am used to it. You learn to decipher whispers when they follow you from an early age. You know when they’re vicious, when they’re harmless, when they’re flattering, and when they’re horrid. You can tell the kind whispers from the cruel ones, the taunting from the admiring – but at their heart they’re all the same: whispers. Never meant to be heard by their subject.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. Or self-obsessed. Accustomed to both charges, I let them they roll off the armor of my outfits. I duck behind the gauntlets of Jean Paul Gaultier, I hide within the folds of Ralph Lauren, I defy in the crispness of Calvin Klein. Around my person an impenetrable and invisible shield of cologne waits to release its dangerous invitation. A pocket of Prada proves protection enough. And you – you see right through it.
You’re falling, you’re falling, falling from your god-like distance
You’re fashion, just fashion, fashion doesn’t keep
You’re sour, so sour, all is hope and trust is misplaced
You’re sour, now you are alone
In the last days of a winter that felt unending, my bed remained unmade. An absent roommate who had already found puppy love with a girl across campus left me alone, and gratefully so. I could thrash in solitude through the nights, tear-stained moments of terror ripping me violently from any hope of sleep, and unseen by prying eyes. If you don’t know what it is like to be alone…
Walking on fire, feel the way the world’s inclining
Walking on fire, hate to deceive
Walking on fire, now the world will keep its distance
Walking on fire, you rather than me
My pretty clothes hung in the thin closet. My outfit for the next day hung on the back of the desk chair. My daily organizer was open to the next list of what I had to do on the next morning. Everything was ordered, everything was set, everything was next. It was never now. It was only the reach for what lay ahead.
My son says, dear father, what did you do when the world turned over
Keep spinning, keep spinning, send us off to sleep
You liar, you liar, all your words are just dust in moonshine
You liar, love to be deceived
One night the winter just walked away. Left me there. I made the bed. Vacuumed the floor. Opened the window a crack. A pine tree waved in the wind. An unseen bird cried in the distance. The earth heaved in its thaw, releasing itself in a torrent of icy tears. I felt nothing.
Armed with the sustenance of my solitude – and you will never have that sort of power if you have never been alone – I walked out of the dorm and into the outside air. Saying hello to a few passing students, I mustered my smile. It was easier that way. It ended things faster. It caused less trouble. Less consternation. Less… discomfort. Because that’s what we’re supposed to do, right?
Walking on fire, found a place away from humans
Walking on fire, hate to deceive
Walking on fire, now the world will keep its distance
Walking on fire, you rather than me…
This is one of those photographs that can make me smile and lift the darkest mood, at least when it’s not cracking me up out loud as I recount the circumstances under which it was taken. The year was 1994. The setting was a cruise ship somewhere south of Florida. And the night was… windy. Very windy. Like, no-other-fools-were-on-deck-windy. And Suzie and I were trying to pose and keep our clothes on while our Moms snapped pictures. I think by the time this one was taken we were both laughing so hard and fighting against the wind so badly that it’s a miracle we were even upright. Suzie is clearly terrified that her peasant dress is going to fly away and my two-sizes-too-large gauze shirt from International Male is hanging on by a button and a prayer. And yet it remains one of my favorite photos ever taken.
Let’s be honest. (There really is no other way for me to be.) I was expecting a bit more from the last week: I was expecting an early turn into spring. And it never happened. Fortunately, there were things to heat up the winter doldrums, including a visit from my friend JoAnn, and a very special new Straight Ally Profile. Without further ado, here is the recap of what came before, as I prepare for  a Boston reunion with my pal Kira in the next weekend…
