The Things We Live With

My house is an accumulation of things not only that I’ve collected over the years but of objects that my ancestors collected over generations. I was just looking at two matching cloisonné vases that my Auntie Virgina purchased on one of her trips to Asia. As I gazed at these cherished possessions I wondered where she was and what she was thinking as she made her purchase. As a child I used to see these vases and the matching lamp that she displayed on the upright piano she’d placed against the wall papered in Chinese red silk in her formal living room. This room was in the big white pillared house in Akron, Ohio. Visiting that house as a child left me with only pleasant memories. It was always a party no matter how many or few of us were there. Sometimes when I’d be spending time with her in her boudoir she’d let me play in her huge walk in closet. I used to love staring at the collection of shoes she had marched up the stairs to the attic which was hidden there. Auntie Virginia had shoes and hats and gloves to perfectly accessorize every outfit. One of the things I cherished most about her was her absolutely perfect poise in every social situation.
I remember my mother telling me a story of when she was in her early twenties, attending seminary in NYC and had gone home for a visit. She admitted that my Auntie Virgina (who is actually my great Aunt) was the place that my Mom more or less called home as her mother, my great Aunt’s sister, was very wealthy and represented to my Mom the life she’d grown up with and lost as my Grandmother had divorced her husband in the 40’s for having cheated on her. Anyway my Mom was very young and firmly into living her life by the standards that she was enamored with at the time. She’d found God and so would not deign to let an alcoholic beverage pass her lips. My Auntie Virginia took her aside at one of her parties where my Mother would not lower herself to hold a cocktail glass and was fond of saying things in a haughty tone like, “No I would NOT like a drink. I don’t believe in alcohol.” Auntie said, “You will not make my guests uncomfortable with your lifestyle choices. I don’t’ care what you have in your glass but you will walk around with something in your hand. You will not subject my guests to your condemnation of their life choices. Now get a drink of some description and stop judging.” I heard this story at a very young age and learned tolerance and acceptance from it. My path is mine and no one else’s.
So when my beloved Auntie bought her cloisonné was she on the cruise through the Orient (as it was then called) that I have charted on a map in her hand and stored in the out of date world atlas book that she once owned that now rests on my bookshelf?
We pass through this life so quickly and some of what we leave behind are the objects that remind those that loved us of how we lived our lives and what they meant to us.
I sleep today in the bed that my Grandmother slept in for most of her adult life and my clothes are stored in the same chests that once held her clothes during her passage through this life. On my living room wall hangs the portraits of her Grandparents, my great, great Grandparents. In my cupboard rests the china that she hand painted in the 30’s. In the same unit is the crystal that was her wedding crystal and my silver was my great grandmothers wedding silver. Paintings adorn my walls that both my Grandmother and her mother, my ‘little Grandma’ painted. (She said to me many a time, “I don’t know where your talent comes from.” In the arrogance of my youth I took this as a compliment not realizing at the time that it came from her.) These are the things that anchor me to my past and honor me with being their keeper during my time here reminding me of the wonderful people that I come from and the standard that they imbued in me to live up to.
One day my possessions will be in the hands of others that I loved and hopefully will give them joy at my remembrance. Every day I try to make my choices those that accumulate into a life well lived.

An old joke but funny. 

I'd love to have him dust my floors.....
Another beauty from the boy

A letter from a Friend

As you got up this morning, I watched you, and hoped you would talk to me, even if it was just a few words, asking my opinion or thanking me for something good that happened in your life yesterday. But I noticed you were too busy, trying to find the right outfit to wear. When you ran around the house getting ready, I knew there would be a few minutes for you to stop and say hello, but you were to busy. At one point you had to wait fifteen minutes with nothing to do except sit in a chair. Then I saw you spring to your feet. I thought you wanted to talk to me but you ran to the phone and called a friend to get the latest gossip instead. I watched patiently all day long. With all your activities I guess you were too busy to say anything to me. I noticed that before lunch you looked around, maybe you felt embarrassed to talk to me, that is why you didn't bow your head. You glanced three or four tables over and you noticed some of your friends talking to me briefly before they ate, but you didn't. That's okay. There is still more time left, and I hope that you will talk to me yet. You went home and it seems as if you had lots of things to do. After a few of them were done, you turned on the TV. I don't know if you like TV or not, just about anything goes there and you spend a lot of time each day in front of it not thinking about anything, just enjoying the show. I waited patiently again as you watched the TV and ate your meal, but again you didn't talk to me. Bedtime I guess you felt too tired. After you said goodnight to your family you plopped into bed and fell asleep in no time. That's okay because you may not realize that I am always there for you. I've got patience, more than you will ever know.... I even want to teach you how to be patient with others as well. I love you so much that I wait everyday for a nod, prayer or thought, or a thankful part of your heart. It is hard to have a one-sided conversation. Well, you are getting up once again. Once again I will wait, with nothing but love for you. Hoping that today you will give me some time. Have a nice day! Your friend, GOD

camel ride 

desert 

give me some tongue 

bush is sore 

princess bush 3 

Princess bush 4 

Abdullah's ass 

Hail to the Princess 

Friday night on a Pub crawl

It’s been a lot of years since I’ve done the bar scene and wondered what if anything I was missing. I started out around 9:30 to see what was going on. As I’ve been out of it for a long time I used Citysearch as a guide for addresses and recommendations. Pick up an HX. CS is out of date on what’s happening. First stop was the Townhouse --- East 58th Street which they described as, “the friendliest bar in NYC”. That may be so, I wouldn’t know as I was there long enough to walk from the front to the back and out again to the street. If you’re looking to date Uncle Fester or Grandpa Munster it’ll be your kind of place. Me I don’t even like scary movies so being on the set of one was not my idea of a good time. Plus the fact that in ’93 I met a man there that I was with until 2000 who very nearly destroyed me so I did not enter with the most optimistic attitude regarding the bar in general. Upon hitting the street I realized that I had been holding my breath so did some quick CPR and carried on to the west 50’s (also highly recommended by CS).
First stop was COSMO 358 W. 54th between 8th and 9th which had been described as an intimate, friendly, and upscale local joint where the bartender will have everyone introduced and talking in no time. Sounds like a good deal to me as I was on my own. I looked through the windows at a U shaped bar that could maybe hold 20 to see one bartender and one patron (whom I did not want to meet) so on I went.
Second stop: THERAPY 348 W. 52nd Street between 8th and 9th. It’s a really pretty place with brick walls, candles everywhere, and a reflection pool under the open stairway that leads to the second floor. I had a mixed juice for $5 which I think is a lot for no alcohol but maybe that’s just me. Not a particularly fashionable, pretty, nor friendly crowd but with a group of friends I’d say it’d be a good place to hang out.
Third stop I walked past POSH 405 W. 51st between 9th and 10th which is now called something else and had two argumentative whiny smoking queens complaining out on the front walk which I didn’t take as a good recommendation.
Fourth stop: I was ready for something that was a little familiar and I’d been to within recent memory so I headed for XL 357 W. 16th between 8th and 9th. Last time I was there was Halloween of 03 with my friend Jayne. We had way too much to drink and when I woke up in my bed the next morning I discovered I’d brought a souvenir home with me which I’m sure seemed like a great idea in my inebriated state the night before but negligible in the light of morning. That was until a ray of sun hit his face and I realized that I’d not made a mistake after all and so ended up making the best of it in the morning with a man young enough for me to have fathered. Sometimes the gay gods do smile upon us. Anyway with that in mind I headed downtown. I seated myself at the bar in front of the smilingest bartender which made the evening worthwhile. I never tire of looking at beauty and this was no exception. The atmosphere was the same as I remembered with decent lighting, friendly staff, and good music. There was exactly one good looking man in the joint with the exception of the staff so after 2 juices I hit the road for what ended up being my…………………………………………………..
Final stop: SBNY or Splash 50 West 17th between 5th and 6th. As I approached the entrance the very good looking doorman said, “Hey! It’s really good to see you!” as he opened the door and even though I’d never before laid eyes upon him (nor he, I don’t think, on me) I replied that it was great to see him too. I find these kinds of greetings to be really good business as it makes you want to be where you are. $10 cover, downstairs to check my coat and a quick cruise through the club before settling at the front bar for yet more, you guessed it, juice. $3.50 here which is a bargain compared to elsewhere. Of course the staff is well known for their muscles and no shirts with good reason. The go go boys were equally impressive. I had eyes for just one waiter whom I’d actually noticed when I first arrived as he is one of those people who has an inner glow that looks like a spotlight is following them everywhere. Before long he was working the floor sans shirt but with a tray that made his bicep’s look all the better for the slight strain. Ok, I was smitten. I’d been a cocktail waiter many years ago in my youth and this young man had a presence and poise that was to be admired and something I’m sure I didn’t have then. He worked the crowd making everyone he talked to feel like welcome guests. When he got to me he smiled while placing his hand over the one I had holding my drink glass. He tipped it toward him to look into its depth and slowly let go of my hand to reach up to my neck and touch my crucifix. “Are you a Christian?” Yup, I answered. “Catholic?” Nope. “Ah you’re some high Yankee northern Baptist which explains the double in the big glass.” Actually I’m a Presbyterian and the drink is cranberry and orange but you were close. “Drinks for Jesus, I get it, no alcohol.” All this was said while he played with my cross or rested his hand on my pec while looking into my eyes. What a pro. I was a second away from opening my wallet and saying, “Take what you want and will you marry me?” Anyway I maintained my cool and neglected to make an ass out of myself but after we’d finished chatting and he moved off in his spotlight to torture other patrons the people around be all paled by comparison and I understood that the minor flirtation was going to be the best part of my night and so I high tailed it home. By subway as I was completely sober and I wanted to experience a late night train which I’d not done in many years either and the people watching at 12:30 am was great. I love this town.

Reviews on 3 gay themed films available at Blockbuster

Review of 3 films
I’ve not watched this genre of movie in a long time and so was wondering what (no pun intended) was out there and if there was any kind of common denominators from what was readily available. So last week to accompany a huge pile of ironing I decided to pick up some DVD’s to help get me through the chore. That said Wil and Grace re-runs would have been more uplifting. There were a number of themes shared between these 3 films and all seemed to start with the letter D: dysfunction, despair, and drugs to name a few. I was not heartened by the offerings. I’m sure there must be some really fine cinema being produced of which I’m unaware (for the moment) that deals with gay lifestyle but is not mired in the shadow lands of destruction. Again I wanted to see what was readily available on the shelf at the corner store.
Denied: Is predominantly about two male roommates; the HS jock (who is gay) and his fuck buddy party-boy friend (who is ‘straight’). The big issue is that the straight boy won’t kiss the gay boy because that’s too gay and intimate but giving head is not. Finally as they’re breaking up (maybe) there is a kiss. Wow. I was on the edge of my seat! I think that the writer may have intended this to be about accepting who you really are but somehow that theme got lost on the cutting room floor.
Sugar: More big D’s. A lovely fairy tale about the world of prostitution and a beautiful boy who stumbles into it on his birthday….his little sister gives him a joint and some vodka and tells him to go down town and get laid. Everyone should have a wise 7 year old to guide them through the trials of coming out. Of course the boy meets and falls in love with a hustler. Somebody lives and somebody dies and it’s all very dark and sad and hopeless. There is nothing remotely sweet about sugar except perhaps for the hero’s face and smile.
Twist: Ripped conceptually from a rent boy Dickensian (as in Oliver Twist) world it’s got some of the same as above; pretty boy falls in love with drug addicted hustler. It’s peopled with the stereotypical men who prey on boys themes, power over, drugs and abuse used as tools to keep people down. Oh and lots of the ‘bad people’ die because they deserve to. It’s really just a happy and frothy confection about life in GAYWORLD as seen through either the eyes of a bitter gay man or a moralistic straight writer/director. I’m not sure and really don’t care except that life does not need to be portrayed in complete darkness as a new millennium version of last mid-century morality plays. Perhaps Blockbuster (the family video store) deliberately picks these kinds of films not based upon their merit but based upon their message (and warning about the dark, dangerous, disgusting world of ho mos).
I got the ironing finished but don’t feel any the better for being exposed to this ‘art’. It does however motivate me to write about gay life that doesn’t totally suck and see it made into film.
Please post suggestions for more uplifting films if you have them.

Naked Chefs
A friend emailed these this morning. I have no idea where they were published but it sure puts me in the mood for some home cooking tonight!

Central Park Reservoir

Last night kept me at the office a bit later than usual putting together some packages that needed to be Fedex’d internationally. That done I thought I’d treat myself to some new denim so stopped by H& M and sure enough they had some great dark denim that had just come in. One pair is slim cut, low slung, and gives great box. The other is a dark wash in a loose cut but equally fun. Throw in a couple of (ok 9) t shirts, a pair of casual pants, jam’s and some belts and I was happily on my way home having spent less than I would have on one item at Saks.
As the day had been stressful I found myself having a cig craving on my walk from the subway so quickly changed and went to the Central Park reservior for a couple of laps (which is just over 3 miles). The walk over to the entrance was georgeous with all the flowering trees fairly bursting and the temperature starting to drop a bit. I always run in the morning so was unprepared for the unbelievable beauty of the park in twilight as the lights of the buildings surrounding are starting to glow and then sparkle as the darkness sets in. The moon became visable and reflected in the water that I was lucky enough to be running around as a balmy breeze became fairly constant, blowing across the water with the slightest welcome chill. I was probably grinning like the village idiot as I jogged but really could not care as it was one of those perfect only in NYC moments that made me feel so grateful for being here in this moment in this wonderful place.

Pastis

Is where we ended up for dinner. I swore the last time I was there in late summer of last year that it was the last time. All of the beautiful people (in their own and only their own minds) were there in full force and boy were they all important. Yuck. It was a contagion that even the staff caught that summer night. As we walked past last night it wasn’t too crowded and as I had an out of towner with me I relented. I’m glad I did. We both ordered the Salad Nicoise which I’d been wanting since Markt last Friday and it was actually the best Nicoise I’ve ever had! Sparkling water was the perfect festive beverage to accompany a first summer night meal and the wait staff could not have been more pleasant and attentive. Actually everyone that we talked to from staff to other patrons were remarkably attitude free which means I’ll be going back. My Pastis boycott is over for as long as the attitude stays real and the food and service superb. Two salad entrees and a large bottle of water was just under $50 with tip.

Hotel Gansevoort

Dana wanted to have a drink on the fabulous roof top poolside deck of this hotel on Tuesday night and as it was near 80 degrees and brilliantly sunny I thought it a great idea. The sliding roof over the pool was closed so we sat on the west deck overlooking the Hudson enjoying the sun, our drinks (Pinot grigio for her, juice for me), each others company, and the view of both the surrounding vistas and the fashionable clientele. We spoke of life and love, the similarities and differences between men and women, specific issues she was having with a specific love interest and an old friend who is in a bit of trouble coping with life. This being serious talk we grew hungry and ordered a cone of calamari which was perfectly fried and served with a delicious red cocktail sauce. All in all a most perfect way to wind down from a work day and warm up for the evening. It’s a bit pricy as 1 wine, 1 juice, and 1 calamari appetizer came to $38 with tip but with the pleasantly fashionable crowd and the view well worth it. It’s definitely going to be a favorite spot for after work respites. The trick this summer will be to meet guests so as to be able to use the pool!

Gotta love nature.....

Another boy from the boy. Enjoy!

Bistro Les Amis 180 Spring Street

Dana and I drove over to Red Hook to the ABC outlet (no outlet prices that I could tell, I felt like the advertisement that had motivated me to hit it, ‘up to 70% off” was false advertising) and then as long as we were in the neighborhood I wanted to check out West Elm as I’d been getting their catalogue for ages and wanted to see the goods in person. Good looking modern lifestyle furnishings and accessories at reasonable prices so worth the stop. We drove back into town and parked on E. Houston then walking though SOHO. First stop was Lounge on Broadway where we both bought a pair of shoes. They have a great selection of designer goods with bi annual end of season sales that can’t be beat. The manager of the shoe department got really excited when he saw the shoes I was trying on/buying as they’d just been put on the floor and he’d been the one responsible for adding them to the mix; 'Cus He' is the brand and they live up to the name.
Lunch at the Bistro was as good of French food as can be had in Paris. We split a bowl of mussels and a seared tuna sandwich with salad. I love eating with people who share! The meal was perfect as was the friendly and attentive waiter. Actually his attention bordered on flirty with lots of hand on back contact but as he was cute it was ok by me.
After lunch we strolled first through G- Star where I bought a great pair of pants and then through NOLITA on our way back to the car. Nolita is always a pleasure as it is chock full of creativity, fantastic one off stores and the people watching is wonderful.

Penang Upper East Side 1596 2nd Avenue at 83rd Street

My cell rang around 7:00 with a number on the ID that I wasn’t familiar with. This had happened ½ hour ago and it turned out to be a great friend from England who now has made plans to come over to visit for Memorial Day weekend with her boyfriend so I had no hesitation answering another number I didn’t know. It turned out to be a woman I’d met in San Francisco last July while visiting friends. She came to my apartment where we had drinks and then carried on to Penang around 11 PM. Our waiter was adorable; looked about 16 with porcelain skin and shoulder length black hair that was in ringlet curls like an Anne Rice character. He smiled sweetly every time he was at table and made dining a pleasure. We split appetizers of beef satay and the yummiest spring rolls I’ve ever had. We followed this with one entre of seafood in green curry which was perfection. At that hour it was definitely enough food for two. The most fascinating part of the evening was my new friend Dana who is extremely intelligent; interesting and interested. She fluently speaks Mandarin, French, and English which impresses me to no end as being typically American I’m only passable in a few languages but by no means fluent. One of the best gifts in life is definitely spending time with people who celebrate their life. The hours flew by and I didn’t get to bed until 1:45 which is late as I was running the reservoir in Central Park the next morning at 8 am before going to the gym for a work out.

Markt 401 West 14th Street @ 9th Ave.

Friday was such a beautiful day that my co-worker (and friend) Kevin and I decided to jump a train downtown and have a walk and lunch out. He’d never seen the Chelsea Market (which is fantastic and deserves a listing all on its own) so we walked through from 9th to 10th (I purchased Pine Nuts which I needed for Pesto) and then out and down to 14th to check out the new merchandise at Jeffrey (449 West 14th). As always the store knows who it’s buying for and the selection was superb. It did however seem more expensive than in the past which I can only attribute to the crap exchange rate dollar to Euro. Looks like I’ll only be shopping there on sale this season. We window shopped passed Stella McCartney and Alexander McQueen but stopped in Bodum where I purchased a set of 3 nested mixing bowls that have handles and spouts and retail for $19.95 and are fantastic! I used them repeatedly over the weekend and highly recommend them. We ended having lunch at the café sidewalk at Markt which is a French/Belgium restaurant. I’ve been eating there for years and have never been disappointed by either the food or the service. This Friday was no exception. I wanted the Salad Nicoise but as I’ve had it almost every time I’ve eaten there for lunch I decided to branch out and ordered the Vol au vent (chicken with mushrooms in puff pastry), exquisite! Kevin enjoyed the burger which was lean and perfectly cooked as it has been when I’ve had it in the past. Markt can still be a bit of a scene at night time but for lunch it’s filled with the same great food, interesting to beautiful people, and no wait. Plus there is no greater pleasure on a brisk spring day than sharing a good meal with a great friend at an outdoor cafe with the sun on your face, trees just starting to bloom and everyone that passes by seems to have a smile just for you.

Radio the boy

Follow the link and click on Radio The Boy for great music and pictures. Thanks to Senhor Made in Brazil. I found the site through his link. Enjoy!
the boy

Eating at Onju

I’ve been meaning to write since one week ago about the most wonderful restaurant that Jen and I went to last Friday night. Named Onju and located in the East Village at 108 East 4th Street 212-228-3880 it ended up being a fantastic find. I’d seen it in Time Out magazine as one of their recommended new restaurants and I’ll quote here what they said as it absolutely lived up to their copy, “Eating Conscientiously is rarely a pleasure. But dinner at Onju is an exception: The menu is 100% organic, dotted wit inspired vegan and vegetarian dishes….” Their review came with a recommend and so we tried it to our great pleasure. The space itself is small seating no more that 35 by my estimate with brick walls, a terrific bar, interesting bathroom, and great lighting fixtures. Even if the food sucked (which it far from did not) the décor alone was worth seeing. The staff was knowledgeable and attentive, the food sublime. We ordered and shared two appetizers: Arancini di carne e piselli and truffle infuse mozzarella which were cooked to perfection and the Grilled multi vegetable flower dish. Grilled vegetables are one of my favorite foods and here they were done to perfection. This we followed with a shared salad of shaved fennel with pear, radicchio and cacao di fossa which was ample for two. Both of us wanted risotto; Jen ordered the wild mushroom and I chose the champagne and salmon. We were too full for desert and with tip the bill was in the neighborhood of $60 something which is extremely reasonable with service/food/atmosphere taken into account. I would HIGHLY recommend. Eating well has never been more fun. (Except perhaps at my house)

My new second car, in my dreams anyway

Pontiac Solstice is the car I now want. Even if the winner of The Apprentice is getting one.

He's just nice to look at but also what my physical goal is for this summer.  

upside of anger 

The Upside of Anger

Before going to this movie I always thought that the upside of anger was the make up sex afterwards. I still think that. Joan Allen and Kevin Costner are both flawless as dissolute middle aged alcoholics who have lost their respective ways in lives that did not live up to their preconceived expectations. Their acting aside, and I hope to God for both their sakes that they were acting, this is a slow moving bore of a movie. My friend Stacy (I went with Stacy and Jen) whispered to me at one point, “I keep waiting for something to happen…” So do I Stace. When it finally does it is so anticlimactic (and a little Delores Claiborne, that’s your hint in case you still want to see it) that we all found ourselves not caring. There is one really funny scene although I should point out that we were the only ones in the theatre to laugh which only points out that my friends have the same sick sense of humor as I do. The family which by this point includes the character played by Costner are having dinner with the inclusion of the youngest daughters (she is truly a peach of a gal) middle aged disgusting radio producer boyfriend. Joan’s character reviles him and is staring at him from the head of the table with unabashed revulsion while he loudly and obviously slurps his soup seated as he is down the table. The camera pans slowly down the table from where it had initially lingered on her contemptuous face to rest upon this pig eating at his trough. BANG! There’s blood all over the walls, Costner’s face the table, his nose falls into one of the daughters’ soup, and his head is gone. (This is where my friends and I are hysterically laughing in an otherwise silent audience) BLINK and things are back to normal. She’d only fantasized his slaughter. The daughters’ are all wonderfully acted as well but the script…..mom is a terrible alcoholic for 3 long years with an alcoholic boyfriend to boot and no one of the kids is really affected. Just like real life huh?
Dinner was enjoyed by all at Wu Liang Ye 215 East 86th Street. We shared 3 dishes; one beef, one chicken, and one tofu. I apologize that I neglected to write down the specifics last night so cannot today tell you exactly what they were. However all were spicy cooked in authentic Sichuan style and delicious. I’ve eaten at this restaurant a couple of times and it is consistently good food. Stacy had heard that it was really ‘authentic’ Chinese food but having been to China I can tell you that outside of a couple of restaurants that I’ve been to in NY’s China town I’ve never had ‘authentic’ Chinese food anywhere. But that’s just me.

Without quitting one can run the risk of looking like this!

Quitting Smoking is the most important gift I've ever given to myself

I know that sounds incredibly dramatic but that’s because it is. I’ve loved tobacco ever since my first memories. I used to inhale the scent from my Auntie Virginia’s many cigarette boxes that were scattered within easy reach all over her house. I loved the way her large and heavy crystal lighters made a slight click when one depressed the ignition and even the smell of the lighter fluid burning was an odor that I liked. I couldn’t wait until I was grown up so that I could smoke like all of the adults in my acquaintance did. I actually don’t remember anyone who didn’t smoke. I did not wait until I was a grown up until I had my first cig. I thought that by having smokes I would be grown up. I used to roll up paper very, very tightly and make a ‘filter’ out of a piece of scotch tape at the end and then pretend with my buds to be ‘smoking’. I was probably 6 when I filched my first cigarette and 12 when I started regularly buying packs. I’ve quit for short periods of time since then but never with any real resolve to kick my habit and I actually still wanted to smoke so it never lasted.
This past August in the springtime of a new (and tempestuous but that’s another story) relationship with a man who did not smoke I quit at his request and actually happily stayed off of them until Christmas week when we were on holiday in Puerto Rico. He was driving me completely mad with his mood swings and screaming so you guessed it, I bought a pack. Just one, I lied to myself. It’s just a ‘holiday’ thing and I won’t take this back to my ‘real’ life. Self deception can be very cruel, dishonest, and vindictive. Of course I started again and as the relationship debilitated into something that I did not even want to save I had no desire to quit. February 16th we officially ended it although it took him another month to move out of my apartment. I smoked more than ever as this dragged on and began to really hate myself for my ‘weaknesses’.
I settled back into single life and began accessing what it is that I really want out of life. Not just what I want to accomplish but who I want to be. I’ll interject here that almost all of my friends are non-smoking and that my smoking was one thing that they all without fail commented upon as something they could not reconcile with the ‘me’ that they knew. My friend Stacy said it pretty succinctly, “You are such a clean person; so strong and together. I’ve never understood how it is that you can smoke. It’s against everything that I know about you.” All of which is actually really true. I’m border on being a health nut. I don’t take medications except for herbal. I don’t think I even have any over the counter pain medication in my house. I exercise and eat really well as I truly enjoy cooking and love to eat out. So what was it with the smoking? Clearly with everything I know it is a very self-destructive habit. Ok so it’s been said that it’s harder to quit than heroin but so what? Why have I never really been committed to me to give it up and live the life that I want to be living? One part of that puzzle is that for me smoking actually creates a barrier that is more than the actual smoke that surrounds one. It was like a spiritual fog for me that protected me from I don’t know what. The long and short is that this was not who I wanted to be anymore. I choose to live fully alive. Finally I had to admit to myself that despite any Polly Anna pictures that I wanted to have of me the truth was that I was as much of a junkie where smokes were concerned as was anyone addicted to any other substance. Then I prayed long and hard and have not stopped since because if there’s one path in this life I don’t want to be walking down it’s that of an addict.
April 6 was my quit date and I feel great. I did some research on supplements which help return to my body what the habit had removed so thought I’d share these here too as they’ve really helped me. There have been no withdrawals or otherwise unpleasantness except for a couple of nights at the beginning where sleep eluded me. Since caffeine (coffee not tea for me anyway) is a potential trigger that went too. Of course alcohol lowers inhibitions (and willpower) so none of that either. God gets the real credit for helping me to do what is it that I deeply want to be doing. I firmly believe that the Creator only wants us to want what is in our own best interests and will give us whatever courage or willpower we need when we feel we may not on our own have enough. Exercise is vital to the healing process and to cleaning out soiled lungs as is eating well. Also line up projects to keep yourself busy during those times when you might have otherwise smoked. If a craving hits do something immediately that is good for you to change your focus like go for a walk or make (or buy when you go for a walk) a vegetable juice. I just realized that my story has turned into sharing what I’ve done so here’s a list of the supplements.
Supplements
Grape seed – use as directed - helps to protect ad repair the lungs
Vitamin B complex –100 mg. of each major per day - Necessary in cellular enzyme systems often damaged in smokers.
B12 – 1,000 mcg 2 x daily - increases energy; needed for liver function
Folic acid – needed for the formation of red blood cells; important for healthy cell division and replication
Vitamin C – 1,000 to 5,000 daily (I use 2, 000) Important antioxidant that protects against cell damage; smoking drastically depletes the body of vitamin C.
Vitamin A – 10,000 daily – contains antioxidants that aid in the healing of mucous membranes. It is extremely important for lung protection.
Dandelion root and milk thistle – protect the liver against harmful toxins from cigarette smoke.
Zinc –50 mg daily - important in immune function
Valerian Root at night to aid in sleep if needed.
If you should choose to do the best thing for yourself that you will ever do I commend you and by all means email me if you need any encouragement, suggestions, or support.
Reclaim your life!

When I wrestled in High School it wasn't like this...... 

Waxing, Waning, and other Cycles of the Moon

When you live in NYC the rules are decidedly different than they are anywhere else in the world. This point does not of course need to be made to New Yorkers. We know that we live in a bubble that exists outside the realities of the rest of the universe. What elsewhere would be misconstrued as being either extremely vain or solidly in the realm of the feminine (except in LA) is here thought of only as necessary maintenance. Men get manicures and pedicures, facials and waxing. Personal trainers are the norm not the exception. Hair color is a matter of choice and so for that matter are eyelash and eyebrow coloring. Body hair can be trimmed, waxed, dyed, or any combination of the three. Massages are necessary to maintain good health. Plastic surgery is considered an inalienable right. There is a substantive quality to personal style and grooming that you won’t find in any other city. This is due to the demands of the highly competitive nature of existing; forget actually living in this city.
However, in the process of living, one of the most important relationships you will develop is to discover your own Svengali (if you don’t have the fortitude to make that relationship with yourself) to guide you through the 7 gates of Hell (and Beauty). I had thought that when it came to the realm of physical maintenance that I was an accomplished player. Manicures and pedicures are a bi weekly commitment. Facials are booked at least once a month. The barber is every 2 to 3 weeks. I purchased a clipper many years ago to trim my body hair (including but not limited to pubic hair) to an acceptable length. Shaving cream and razor was used as necessary for ‘the boys’. In the summer when boating bleached out my eyebrows and eyelashes the facialist dyed them back to a dark brown. As far as I knew there was nothing that I was missing: I had it covered.
Then I met my Svengali: an outrageous, diminutive, bleached, constantly smiling, diamond wearing hair dresser that seemingly fell out of the sky and into my life for exactly the 6 weeks that it took to transform my taste level on personal grooming. The assault was subtle and perhaps a touch passive/aggressive. In his inimitable Montreal accent, “What is with those nails? Don’t you get manicures? I cannot believe that someone as sophisticated as you would not have manicures! Awful. Awful. It looks as if a dog has been chewing on your cuticles!” All delivered with a big smile. It was useless to point out that I’d just in fact had one a week ago. “Impossible. (Pronounced Im-PO-see-BLA) You could not ever have had one. There is not a manicurist alive that would do such a Whore-REE-bla job.” Now this elf obviously raised the beauty bar pretty high. I’d after all had many women friends over the years make positive comments on both my manicures and pedicures. They usually followed the compliments up by asking if I wouldn’t perhaps talk to their respective husbands/boyfriends about personal grooming. (That question always gets a “No”). I knew I didn’t look like a laborer but perhaps there are different levels of expertise after all.
“You will come to my salon on Monday. We are having a hospital fund-raiser. All of the proceeds for services and tips are being donated so it’s tax deductible. I will set everything up for you. You will discover what a real manicure and pedicure are!” When I asked the price I was horrified to be told that the services, not including tip were going to set me back a C note. (Usually man and ped cost $25) But what the hell, it’s for a good cause. I could hardly complain about someone combining two of my favorite things; charity and beauty. So on the given Monday I left work early and arrived at the J Sisters Salon on West 57th Street. The entrance is innocuous enough; down a basic hallway to an old fashioned elevator that you have to manually open the inner gate yourself. So far I was thinking this was a rip. Then I entered The Salon. It’s housed in the former mansion of the original Ziegfield showgirl and still quite a beautiful space. I was impressed by the surroundings that I found myself in. Looking around reception and into the front room I could immediately tell that this was where wealthy women came to be pampered. I was led to the next floor by an assistant instead of just being told, “Go upstairs” as one would have been at the place I ordinarily go. This was the Men’s Floor. I appreciated the consideration that the salon had for keeping the sexes separate. One at least wants to perpetuate the illusion that we know nothing about the other sex’s secrets which is hard to do if you’re participating in a unisex beauty feast. I was led to one of 2 chairs that could only be described as princely. It was a high leather chair that vibrated and massaged. In short order my feet were soaking in a whirlpool bath while my hands relaxed in bowls built into the arm rests of the chair. One woman worked on my feet, another on my hands. Both of them are ‘J’ sisters/cousins/somethings. My Svengali stopped by to supervise the women, not that they needed it, but just because that’s who he is. He did not ask what I thought or if I liked it. Instead in his inimitable fashion he said to the women, “Treat him gently. As you can see from the state of his appendages he is a virgin.” I of course turned beet read and muttered to the women something about going every other week but they just kept their heads down and continued with their transformation. I’d seen surgeons with less concentration in the operating arena.
The entire process took one hour. At my former salon it was ½ hour for each. So here I spent the same amount of my time but got twice the service. They didn’t even bother to ask if I wanted polish (The answer to that question is always a resounding NO. Men should never wear polish.) An assistant arrived and went right to the buffing which made my nails glow like one of Anne Rice’s vampires. Not shiny mind you but glowing. Ok, I was hooked. The experience was one of total pampering and it was quite simply the best manicure and pedicure that I’d ever had. Sven stopped by at the end, “You see. I told you so. Perfection. Now you have had a manicure and pedicure. But first, (and here he actually snapped his fingers at an unknown male) you. Do you have a moment to come over here and bring your waxing kit? I see hair where there should be none.” So my knuckles, toes, and the tops of my feet were waxed. Interesting touch in the overall grooming scheme and it actually didn’t hurt. My feet were no longer the feet of a 40 something which I liked immensely. They had not looked this good since I was a very young man. Sven broke my reverie, “Saturday you have an appointment with Helio for a shave and a facial massage at 11.” Considering the ‘beauty high’ that I was experiencing I didn’t even bother to demur. This was if possible better than hitting a sale at Jefferies. I didn’t ask what this was going to set me back ($40 plus $20 for tip, the tip ‘suggested’ of course by Sven, I think $10 would have been sufficient). Dutifully I arrived at 11 am and was this time escorted by Sven up to the men’s floor and introduced to Helio. It had probably been 20 years since I’d had a shave and I was looking forward to this. Although I ordinarily did not ever skip a day shaving I’d given it a miss on Friday because I was determined to get my money’s worth. Helio did not disappoint. It was just as I’d remembered with the steaming towels and fragrant but masculine smelling toners and whatever it is that he used. I didn’t care and did not want an education; after that morning I had no intention of ever shaving myself again. I sat there with eyes closed acknowledging that I’d just instantly developed another addiction. This is what I’ve heard happens to some people the first time they try a specific drug that totally resonates to their entire being. First it was the hands and feet, now the face. I was turning into a major junkie and it was getting expensive. And it’s not as if in Manhattan you can exactly find a cheap place to live to cut down on your overall living costs. The facial massage was unlike anything I’ve ever before experienced. This is not even similar to when the facialist ‘massages’ your face and neck. This was a real massage. When he started all I could think was, “Shit it’s time for a face-lift. He was just able to push the left side of my face over to the right.” By the time he’d finished I felt and looked like a 20 something. I’m staring into the mirror thinking, “he’s massaged muscle tone back into my face! This was a miracle.” So when Sven shows up to mutter his approval he lets me know that on Wednesday night he’s now made an appointment for me with Carlos for waxing. Waxing?! There is nothing on me that needs or is going to get waxing. Ok, perhaps the very small patch of hair at the base of my spine but this gets shaved and Sven didn’t know about this. Unless he is a beauty psychic but I’d never heard of that before. I was getting ready to explain to him that the hair had not grown back on my hands or feet but he was just looking at me like I was stupid. Sven continued to stare at me and then with a smile he glanced down at my crotch. My face instantly turned red again but I managed to address him, “You’ve got to be kidding. You asked about that weeks ago and I answered, ‘I shave’. Period. No one is waxing my nuts. It’s too personal and too embarrassing. Not to mention that I cannot begin to imagine the pain. Forget it.” Still smiling Sven leaned in ever so slightly and lowered his voice, “I thought that you were a real man. Do you mean to tell me that you cannot stand a little bit of pain? It is nothing. Women do this all the time and don’t make any kind of a fuss about it at all. It’s called a Brazilian Bikini Wax and it’s all arranged. Wednesday night at 6. Carlos. Shaving is for amateurs. Why would anyone want stubble there?” He did have a point. But a Brazilian bikini wax? What exactly did that entail? It’s not as if I’d sat around with the guys and discussed the merits of waxing versus shaving and what that entailed.
Wisely I had 2 scotches before keeping my appointment on Wednesday. Unless you are an alcoholic this is a (highly by me) recommended introduction to the procedure. Just knowing that another person was going to be intimately touching me and then potentially causing me pain was enough to want a substance between myself and the upcoming experience. This time I just went to the 4th floor directly and unescorted. I did not want to risk Sven making any comments to surrounding women about my upcoming event. Carlos remembered me from my previous visits and honored me with a warm and welcoming smile. We shook hands and I was instantly at ease. He thankfully had a gentle and comforting manner. He opened the door to his partitioned area and told me to remove all my clothes and lay down on the padded table. As soon as he heard the paper crinkling he was back in the room all smiles and graciousness. As he approached I just stared at the ceiling and imagined myself elsewhere; anywhere but here. He examined my goods and requested, “Ok, thank you we will start with the back. Lay on your stomach please.” Huh? Did I just hear correctly? What do I know about this? Maybe he just needs to get at things from a different angle. The examination starts and his hand glides over my lower back where there was stubble from shaving a few weeks before. “Here is where we will start” states Carlos. I was ok with that. Try out the pain level on something other than my nuts. He applied the warm wax with a wooden tongue depressor and then patted a piece of linen on top. Not so bad so far. He pulled the skin tight and in a fast movement ripped the linen, wax, and hair from my back. How can I describe this? I did not scream which was a good thing. Actually I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t even exhale loudly. But that’s because I was holding my breath. The truth is I couldn’t believe how little it hurt; that was what was surprising. Wax and rip, wax and rip, I actually relaxed and thought, “This is so not bad. I don’t know what I was expecting but this is not it.” Until I realized that Carlos had waxed and was getting to rip the hair off of one of by butt cheeks. Before I could utter a word it was done. I quickly realized that I did not want a rectangular patch of no hair on an otherwise hairy ass so I kept my mouth shut. So this is what was meant by ‘Brazilian Bikini Wax’. (I have always jumped to conclusions too soon; it’s been a terrible fault of mine my entire life.) I relaxed yet again while he finished what he started. Then I realize with a kind of stunned speechlessness that he’d spread my cheeks and the wax was being applied directly onto my asshole. Uh-oh. This is going to hurt (and now I know what a BB wax really is: Brazilian bikini is a polite way of saying butt and balls). The linen is patted and ripped. This time I did consciously hold my breath and much to my surprise again there was very little pain. This was utterly amazing. I left Carlos to his work and decided that although I was definitely not instantly addicted to this (as who but a true masochist would be) I figured I would live with the results (since my hairlessness gave me no other choice) and see what I thought. I rolled onto my back and Carlos waxed my nuts. After perhaps 15 minutes, “I think that will be enough for today,” says Carlos. “You have a bit of bleeding but this is perfectly natural so don’t be upset. When you get home have a cool shower and that will help.” As he’s speaking I realize he’s been applying baby powder over my newly almost hairless areas. This raised another issue as I’d worn dark trousers and black under shorts which became covered with the extra powder as I quickly dressed. Note to self: wear lighter colored pants next time. Who knew about the powder? No one had actually guided me through the whole procedure. I hoped that those in the know on the streets of NYC would look at my power covered pants with some sympathy as I was clearly a neophyte. Who was I kidding? This is NYC. Your may be able to pay for intimate grooming acts but you can’t even buy sympathy here.

A Cool shower and another 2 or 3 scotches (for purely medicinal purposes) and I’m as good as new. Strangely I loved the feeling of no hair on my ass. Not only did it feel young, it was so clean. If there’s one thing in the States we like it’s clean. And if there’s one thing we like in NYC it’s the feeling of young. As to the balls I’d never contort myself into uncomfortable positions again to shave. And no stubble, who knew? Sven did. My Svengali knew.
That was months ago and I am in fact addicted to my new and improved rituals. Mind you the manicures and pedicures are only once a month in a greatly appreciated ‘nod’ to my budget. Carlos is every 3 or 4 weeks like a prescription you refill ‘as needed’. Helio is a treat that I give myself every now and again. I have in fact had to go back to shaving myself on a daily basis. And Sven, well Sven is blessedly onto his next project, whoever that is. I’m grateful for the guidance but I couldn’t have afforded one more intervention. If anything else about my regimes are not up to NYC standards I claim blissful ignorance.