The Prick of Preventative Maintenance

The walls were lilac. From top to bottom. Every inch except the baseboard, which I would say was charcoal gray. The orchids, sitting on a table in front of the window, were in shades that complimented the lilac. I hadn't even realized until I was gone that my violet Michael Kors polo and purple plaid Ben Sherman shorts were dramatic pops of color that coordinated with the walls beautifully. I should have taken a #selfie, but alas, no record of me in this room. 

The color was tranquil, calming. The perfect choice for a small doctor's office where behind a frosted glass door the impending prick of a needle to the face awaited me.

I was nervous as I sat in the waiting room filling out the patient history form, reading of the possible side effects, signing my name in acceptance of the knowledge. 

However, once behind the frosted door myself, I was excited. My nerves seemed to be pushing me forward instead of holding me back. I had been curious about this for longer than I can remember and I'd had this appointment for 2 weeks. The time was upon me. I had “come up to the lab” and was the one “on the slab.” It was my turn. I sat patiently as the nurse practitioner explained the different areas in which the Botox can be injected. I listened to her explain about some of the possible side effects, which I had already read about while sitting in the lobby. Then, being a short woman, she stepped up on the step at the end of the “slab,” her needle in hand, my face it's destination.

I should tell you that I probably didn’t really need the Botox injections. Typically no one guesses my age. And when I tell them I’m 43 the reaction is usually one of genuine surprise. My sister is often commenting about the lack of wrinkles on my face. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. The truth is, I take care of myself. Along with moisturizing, I eat a healthy diet and aside from my one cup of coffee each morning I drink nothing but water the rest of the day. Yes, yes, I imbibe in alcoholic beverages, but not to the point of excess and mostly it’s red wine anyway. Even a doctor will tell you that a glass of red wine is good for your heart. When I told the nurse practitioner my age and that most people were surprised by my number she agreed saying the I had a “baby face.” I should have coo’d, but just smiled instead. I took it as a compliment. I talked to her briefly about the lines beginning to form on my forehead and how at the end of the day they are deeper than I would like. 

Five injections later it was over. This procedure I’d been anxious about for two weeks was completed before you could make a dirty vodka martini. The needle was tiny. After the first injection I had been so surprised at its lack of sting that I had to convince myself it had actually happened. In my head I had created various possible scenarios of pain, stinging, and pressure. But the truth is, the injections didn’t really hurt. The reality came no where near the possibility I had created in my head. (Note to self: this is usually true in all aspects of life. Learn this lesson!) The nurse kindly wiped away the blood from my forehead and sent me out the door with botulinum toxin attaching to my muscle fibers, preparing to work its magic. 

I can’t lie, I was giddy with excitement. I had confronted my fear of a needle-to-the-face and the idea of “freezing” a part of me that is a hub of expression. Now I just had to wait for the final results. I was informed it would be 2-3 days for the effects to start showing themselves and 2 weeks to be fully realized. That was new information for me. You see, I was under the impression that I was going to walk out of the office with frozen?, numb?, paralyzed? muscles. I had no idea what that was even going to feel like. I mean the thought of not being able to move my forehead at all was one I couldn’t quite comprehend, but as you can see from reading this, it wasn’t enough to deter me from doing what I set out to do. I just figured I would deal with it.

Listen, I know that elective cosmetic procedures aren't for everybody. I didn't even know if they would be for me. But I'll admit it: my vanity gets the better of me. I’m not ashamed of that. And now those lines that maybe no one other than me could truly see are less visible. I see nothing wrong with maintaining my youthful appearance. It’s preventative maintenance. I’m not “frozen.” I can still express myself. And at the end of the day, stress is no longer visible on my forehead in the lines of a furrowed brow. 

There's Got to be a Morning After

June 9, 2011

Last night there was a storm. It came and went just as quickly as an Internet hook-up. It was literally upon us and gone in an hour. I was already in bed, reading Dead Reckoning when the lightening started. There was no audible thunder at that time, just lightening. Sookie Stackhouse was also in the middle of a storm, as the one I was getting ready to experience in real life was approaching. It made the best ambience for reading that particular chapter. Anyway, the room in which I slept in our cottage had cathedral-style ceilings with exposed beams and two skylights mirroring each other on the angled ceiling. It was amazing lying in bed watching as the lightening lit up the sky. Slowly the thunder started rumbling, as the storm got closer to the Vineyard. Then it was upon us. The rain was pelting the windows. I wanted to run to Vampire Bill and hold his naked body close to mine. Not that I was scared, but because it would be romantic. Hell, it would be hot! Then I remembered I was human and real and Vampire Bill and Sookie were fictional characters. I just lay there and enjoyed the sounds. And then it was over. No more lightening, no more thunder, no more rain. It had moved on from us mere mortals.

When I awoke, I slid open the door that led to the deck off of my bedroom. After 2 days I already had a routine. I was greeted with the intoxicating morning smell of fresh rain and flowers. My piece of world had been washed clean and the washing left no residue, only nature’s fresh scent. I just stood there and inhaled deeply; “In with the good, out with the shit.” What a place to be for a week. There was no keeping the smile from my face.

On the Vineyard instead of having your Chinese food delivered you have your rental bike delivered. Just a quick call to Edgartown Bike Rental with our address, our height’s and a credit card number and all that was left was to wait. Taking a page from the Dominoes delivery book, the bikes were at our house in less than 30 minutes. They didn’t say they would be, but that didn’t change the fact that they were. I hadn’t ridden a bike in years. I told the deliveryman thus. His response, “It’s like riding a bike.” I’m pretty sure you don’t use that phrase to describe riding a bike, but it did elicit a smile from me.

Well, it is just like riding a bike. I was nervous at first – afraid: a) I was going to fall off, b) not be able to steer it straight, c) steer it off the curb of sidewalk or d) fall over into an oncoming car. I’m nothing if not dramatic. I did fine. I got better and more confident as the day progressed. That was the problem, you see, my lack of confidence that I would be able to do it. By the end of our ride I was no Lance Armstrong, but I was a better Michael Rohrer than when I started. Neal said as we made our final turn onto our road that I was “transformed”. It was exhilarating, the sense of freedom I felt throughout the course of the day as we rode.

We left the house shortly after 10 am and rode to South Beach. That’s the same beach to which we had walked 2 days earlier. It’s about two miles from our cottage. If you know me, and readers of the blog surely you do by now, I had to use the bathroom by the time we got there. I had gone twice before we started, but somehow managed enough liquid in my system to have to go again by the time we rode the two miles. Lord help me I think it’s nerves or something, but don’t cry for me, there were stalls at the beach so I emptied my bladder and we were back on the road.

Instead of returning on the same stretch of road we had just ridden, we looped back around towards Edgartown on a road that ran parallel to the beach. There were dunes between the beach and us, but at low points in the dunes we could see straight out into the water. It wasn’t as magnificent a view as the people in the homes to our left must have had, but it was still nice to be able to see the water as we rode.

Once we made it into Edgartown we took a moment to walk through an old cemetery that we had to pass everyday on the way to and from our cottage. I’m fascinated by old cemeteries. It’s history. On an island this old, gothic headstones covered with yellow moss are a lot of history. Many of the men were Captain’s. One woman’s headstone named her as “the widow of” and then listed her husband’s name, not even her own. Neal pointed out that her identity was completely wrapped up in being his wife. There were small headstones belonging to children. One gravestone in particular named both mother and child, buried together having perished on the same day. There was no husband/father buried next to her. Neal romanticized that maybe he had died at sea and there was nothing to bury. That’s an interesting idea except that I had seen a headstone that read “lost at sea”. I’m assuming there was nothing in the earth below it but an empty coffin, if that. It made me wonder if the woman in question had never married the father of her child or if he remarried after her death and was buried with that wife. Whatever the stories of these former inhabitants of the Vineyard, they had once lived there and they had died there. History.

We got back on our bikes and continued our ride down-island towards Vineyard Haven. We had yet to explore that part of the Vineyard so it seemed natural to take the adventure since we had the bikes until 5 pm.

My legs began to feel the burn when we got about halfway to our destination. I had not sufficiently trained on the stationary bike at my gym to prepare for the up/down terrain of Martha’s Vineyard. I was a trooper though. I didn’t let achy quads deter me from riding that bike as long and as far as we wanted to.

Side note: We stopped a little over half way to Vineyard Haven and watched as packages fell out of the back of a UPS truck. Oncoming traffic got the truck driver’s attention while a gentleman heading in the same direction as the UPS truck stopped and began to move the boxes out of the road. Neal and I helped with that transfer. The passenger side rider of the UPS truck joined us for the removal of packages from the street. She said, “That’s not something you see every day is it?” You know, it’s not. And people helping each other is not something you see every day either. At least not in NYC. No one was angry. No one was honking at the stopped vehicle whose driver was helping. I noticed a lot that the walkers and the bikers said “good morning” or “hello” to each other, to us. I started doing it myself. What a nice feeling. We don’t do things like that in NYC. I do it sometimes in my neighborhood, but I’ve moved to a street where people know each other and have been living there for years. I need to say “hello” more.

Back on the road, we continued our trek to Vineyard Haven. I think it was coasting down a hill on this leg of our ride that I really began to feel the freedom. I had a bike helmet on and even if I hadn’t my hair is too short for the wind to whip, but I swear the wind would have been whipping my hair. I felt kind of like a child. I used to love riding my bike in the neighborhood where I grew up. Coasting down hill was the best. I used to clothespin curtains or sheets around my neck and let them billow in the wind behind. It was that kind of feeling I had as we rode in the breeze.

There were areas on the road to Vineyard Haven that were strewn with dried pine needles. That took me back. When I was younger than 7-years old my mother’s parents lived one lot over from my granddaddy’s uncle. We called him Uncky and his wife was Aunt Anna. As a child her name registered as Ananna. I’m assuming people called her Ain’t Anna. Uncky and Ananna had a grand daughter, Crystal, who had been born one day before me. She lived in Louisville. We always made it a point to see each other when she was in Arlington. They had many towering, large Pine trees in their back yard. I remember the look of all those needles and pinecones on the ground, as well as the smell. Oh the smell. What a powerful sense smell is. Smelling the dried pine needles on our ride took me back to the tree house that was built amongst those trees. I loved it. Uncky and Ananna are dead now and that tree house does not exist anymore. I haven’t been behind their former house in years, but on this day I was surely there in my memory.

To me Vineyard Haven was nothing to write home about. It wasn’t as quaint as Oak Bluffs or Edgartown and it didn’t have the hillside cottages of the Aquinnah area. We continued on the bike route toward the area known as East Chop in order to see the East Chop lighthouse.

Located on Telegraph Hill, the lighthouse stood at the center of attention. On the day we saw her she was getting a fresh coat of white paint. We took a stroll across the small park to a fence that allowed us to look out over the vast Atlantic from a different vantage point than we had seen thus far.

Back on our bikes, we continued on East Chop Road until we ended up in Oak Bluffs. By our estimation we had ridden 15-16 miles. It was time for a little lunch. We chained our bikes to the bike rack and proceeded to the front porch of Island Bar & Grill, a restaurant connected to Island House Hotel. It was nothing spectacular, but we were hungry and needed a place to rest our weary legs and asses from the bikes. Also, they had outdoor seating, which was a plus for both of us.

A burger, a wrap, and a couple of beers later we were ready to get back on the road. One more errand to run before doing so. I had to buy a postcard for the guys in my box office back in NYC. One of them in particular requests a postcard every time one of the other three of us goes away for vacation. I had never sent one. This trip seemed the perfect time to rectify that situation. Postcard purchased and mailed now back to the bike.

As soon as we started my legs began to burn again. Wouldn’t you know it, we were also now cycling into a headwind. Damn. I was huffing and puffing with no house to blow down. I was just pushing through the pain. My legs were screaming. What that respite on the Island House front porch did was give me a false sense of recovery.

We peddled the bike route that ran along State Beach from Oak Bluffs to Edgartown. The plan that morning when we departed had been to stop at State Beach on the way back, so we had worn our swimming trunks and had packed flip-flops and beach towels. When we hit the bike route in front of the beach we made a decision to ride until we were almost past the beach before pulling over. That way we would have less road to cover in wet trunks to get back to our cottage. Ya gotta have a plan.

Bikes locked to a fence by the road, socks stowed in sneakers, flip-flops on, we headed to the beach. By this point it was between 3:30/4 pm; we’d been gone since shortly after 10 am that morning. It was a full day of riding.

We hit the beach and I prepared myself for the cold water that awaited me. I was apprehensive, but determined to fully immerse myself in the Atlantic. Neal suggested an old trick he learned as a former lifeguard – splash water on your face and chest as your brain and heart are the organs that have the most powerful reaction to the temperature. We did and then it was time. On the count of three Neal dove and I held my nose and went under. All we could do was laugh. Muscles on the right side of my back, as well as in my neck, seized. I was certain my scrotum would be as small as if I’d been on steroids (George Costanza anyone?) but my teeth didn’t chatter and I realized that now that the first submerge was over, we were used to the temperature. We did it again. Then we walked out of the water and sat on the beach. As my body warmed a bit, my muscles relaxed. Then it was back into the water. We took pictures and submerged one more time. How often do you get the opportunity? We had to seize the moment (just like my muscles) and run with it.

We dried off, got back to the bikes, changed shoes, stowed everything back in our respective backpacks and began the last leg our trip. Isn’t that always the leg that seems the hardest? The cold water had been shocking to our bodies, but it had also been good for the aching muscles of our legs. When we started to peddle both of us felt better. It didn’t take long though to feel the burn again. The cold Atlantic bath was but a small reprieve.

We made it through Edgartown – through the traffic that stopped for cyclists, through the beautiful, quiet neighborhoods where no cars were on the street, past the cemetery and onto the final stretch of Pease Point Way. We peddled on Herring Creek Road before turning onto Meeting House Way ever so briefly then home at the end of Sutton Way.

It was 4:30 pm. My legs were tired. It was a good tired, but they were tired. My sits bones felt bruised. There’s a reason they call it blazing saddles. We rode an estimated 24-25 miles; reason enough for the fatigue and the blaze.

Both of us chose to take advantage of the outdoor shower post ride. The breeze was cool and the warm water felt amazing. I stood in the completely private outdoor shower and washed the sweat of the bike ride and the salt of the cold Atlantic from my body. It was incredible. I’ve never been in an outdoor shower. It was freedom having the breeze whip around my naked body.

Our plans to drive to Menemsha and watch the sunset were scrapped as the sky began to darken and the wind began to change. Rumblings of thunder preceded the weather that we knew was inevitable. We went upstairs to the balcony off of my room and watched the storm clouds roll in. We acted like we had never seen a storm before. It was spectacular to be out there as the wind picked up even more and the dark clouds moved over us. The previous night had ended with a storm and so had this one.

I slept well.

Dawning 40

June 8, 2011

Have you ever noticed how when you set an alarm clock, when you normally don’t set an alarm clock, that you don’t sleep as well? I know for myself it’s because I’m afraid I’ll oversleep or that I didn’t really turn the alarm on. So is the case for the morning in question. Staying in a vacation rental with an alarm clock that I not only didn’t want to set, but had never set before had me waking multiple times during the night – 1:30 am, 3 am. That alarm went off at 4:15 am and I grudgingly dragged myself out of bed with a small headache and a parched mouth. I can say I was thankful to end the dream I was having: convincing my mother, portrayed in the dream by Margo Martindale, I had never paid for sex. I don’t know what that was about. Nor do I know why my “mother” would say, “I don’t want to hear this, especially on the morning of your 45th birthday.” After that “45th birthday” comment I had to wake up and wake up fast. My dream mother aged me by 5 years.

It was the morning of my 40th birthday and Neal and I had chosen that morning to watch the sunrise. It was the dawning of a new decade for me; why not watch the dawning of a new day?

I am regular. If you think I mean a regular guy you are mistaken. I am definitely walking to the beat of my own drummer. In speaking of regularities I’m referring to my bowels. I never thought after 6 hours of sleep or at 4:30 in the morning I would be ready to go to the bathroom. Wrong! The sun was supposed to rise at 5:09 am. We were parked and waiting for it to happen by 4:50 am. As the sky started pinking, we got out of the Jeep. Mistake. My body started to come alive just as all the insects and rabbits and birds were coming alive to start the new day. I found myself in pain; so intense at times that I wanted to double over. I realize I don’t know what labor pains are like, but I wondered if I shouldn’t try the breathing exercises women use to get through contractions. Funny that it was the 40th anniversary of my birth that I was in such pain. Hope that wasn’t payback for what I put my mom through.

We had to drive back to our cottage earlier than we had anticipated. I must admit that sitting was better, but not by much. I was on edge. I was trying to hold it all together, and in, as best I could. When we got home I ran up the stairs and promptly shut the bathroom door and turned on the fan. Relief!! The headache was now the only annoying, persistent glitch in my way-too-early morning. I took two Excedrin and promptly went back to bed.

Three hours later I emerged from the cocoon of my bed ready to face the morning and my birthday. I was in a surprisingly good mood. Forty had not hit me nearly as hard as I thought it would. Hell, 39 hit me harder. I came downstairs proclaiming that it was my birthday and that I was 40. I am Michael hear me Rohrer. I can kick and stretch and I can kick.

Neal brought out a blue Tiffany and Co. bag that had my chin drop to the floor. He laughed. I laughed. He said the contents were not from Tiffany. There was a bottle inside with the word Wisdom and its recipe etched on it (contains knowledge, understanding, patience, intuition, and a dash of skepticism). It is a companion to the bottle he gave me for Christmas with the word Dream and its instructions etched on it (drink deeply and believe). There was also a necklace in the bag with a beautiful blue glass pendant that Neal bought for me the week before in Germany. My last name is German. Seems fitting that I have a gift from Germany, right?

I always feel that my birthday is not complete until I speak to my mom. She called me shortly after I opened my gifts from Neal. I spoke to her about the morning so far and about what Neal and I had done the previous day. Hearing “happy birthday” and “I love you” from my mom on my birthday makes me so happy. The smile creates a warm feeling of being loved that floods my body and soul.

Now to Aquinnah. Formerly known as Gay Head (insert comments here), Aquinnah is known for its brightly colored Gay Head Cliffs. Also there is the Gay Head lighthouse. As we drove up-island, a nautical term for west, it seemed to take forever to get to our destination. It wasn’t that it was so far from where we were staying; the speed limit was slower and the terrain was hillier. Speaking of said hills, they were beautiful and green. The homes hidden within dotted the landscape like white lights on a Christmas tree. From the heights that we reached as we drove we had awesome views of the water full of boats.

I don’t know if it is because of the hilly terrain, but there were many rugged, undeveloped areas with breathtaking views. By far, this drive had given us the best of those so far.

Upon arrival, we went to the observation deck that afforded us not only a view of the Atlantic, but also a fantastic view of those clay cliffs and the lighthouse. Again, I stood and breathed the air as I focused my camera on everything around me.

We then walked the trail that led to the beach. It was all down hill and quite a distance. The beach was lovely, albeit different than State Beach or South Beach. For one thing it was rockier. For another, it had a nude section. We entered the beach, removed our shoes and socks and started walking in the direction of the lighthouse. We wanted to see the cliffs from the beach vantage point where we had just seen them from above at the observation deck. As we walked I happened to look to my right. I guess I was going to say “hello” or give some kind of acknowledgement to the sunbathers we were passing. That’s when I saw it – nakedness. Full frontal, just enjoying the day. A man and a woman. We had crossed the invisible line onto “Jungle Beach”, one of the few remaining nude beaches in our country. We continued to walk. Neal hadn’t even noticed. I noticed every single nude body on that beach (truth: there were less than 10). Each one belonged to an older person. Not my cup of tea. Then the nude-beach-gods smiled down on me and presented me vision of a guy that was just my type. The sad part was he was lying on his stomach. The happy part was he was cute and so was his butt.

We had put our sneakers on sans socks at one point due to the large rocks we had to walk on. Walking back I got doused with a small wave that I didn’t seem to be able to outrun. Eventually, the shoes came off again as we were walking on sand. We carried our shoes with us as we walked back up the trail that would take us to our car. This was a painful situation. Not only were there small rocks on that trail, more than half of it was covered with wood chips; tiny, sharp, poking-into-my-feet wood chips. We just breathed through it. By the time we reach the clearing where we had soft grass, our feet were achy and dry enough to dust off the remaining sand and replace our socks and shoes. There was gladness all around.

We were then off to Menemsha, a small fishing village located in the town of Chilmark. It wasn’t very far from Aquinnah. We drove to the parking lot there in the harbor, parked and got out of the Jeep. We walked out onto the jetty. I noticed how clear the water was. It was such a beautiful shade of blue. It amazes me always when I can see to the bottom. We took in the view and snapped more photos. We then watched as a school of fish made dinner out of a school of minnows near the rocks of the jetty. They were crazy. It wasn’t exactly a feeding frenzy, but they disturbed the water plenty.

We couldn’t make up our minds about dinner. Of course, I wanted to go to dinner and celebrate myself. I guess because it was my birthday, I sort of got to make the decision. I mean how often does a person turn 40? Well, in my case that could be speculative. I mean there was a time in my life when I said that I was going to age one year for every five after I turned 25. By my calculations that means I just turned 28. That means I get one more chance to turn 40. Of course that means in real life I’d be 100. I’m not sure I could pass for 40 at 100, but hell I guess I could try. There’s a sucker born every minute. Moisturizer please.

I consulted my guidebook and we finally decided on Atria for dinner. At 4:45 pm I called and got a reservation for 7 pm. Atria (pronounced Ah-tre-ah) is a fine-dining restaurant set in an 18th-century sea captain’s house located on Upper Main Street in Edgartown. The name refers to the brightest of three stars that form the Southern Triangle constellation. I’m southern and I must say that word made me move this restaurant choice to front of the line. Not that the food was southern. It was merely a word that connected me to my roots.

Our table was situated on the closed in front porch; beautiful windows overlooking a lush green yard peppered with white Adirondack chairs. We were seated in front of a window with a Dogwood tree in full bloom just on the other side of the glass. It was lovely. It reminded me of my granddaddy Dunn. He loves Dogwood trees.

I started with a glass of Prosecco and Neal a Maker’s on the rocks. Shortly our starter arrived – Island Lobster Mac n’ Cheese made with mascarpone, cheddar, goat cheese, crispy arugula and cherry tomatoes. I was anticipating something too rich of which to eat a lot. It was rich, but I’ve had richer. It was actually amazing and the portion was perfect to share and get a couple of large spoonfuls each.

For my entrée I enjoyed my first swordfish. It was grilled, prepared with watercress & preserved lemon plus dill whipped potatoes, crispy capers, shaved red onion and lemon beurre blanc. It was amazing. The swordfish was a steak. It was tender and light without tasting too fishy. In fact, it didn’t taste like fish at all. This was no Mississippi catfish. It was such a good chance of a choice. You can’t be on an island in the Atlantic and not indulge yourself in seafood.

As we mulled over what to have for dessert we took our wine out to the lawn to sit in the aforementioned Adirondack chairs. I noticed a swing hanging from a branch of the large tree in the front yard. I couldn’t resist its call. I couldn’t swing too high, as I would hit the privacy bushes that were behind me, but I did throw my head back and enjoy it briefly, keeping in mind that I had just eaten and could easily vomit.

Neal was a target when it came to Mosquitoville, so we didn’t stay outside very long. We headed back to our table, wine in hand, and ordered two molten chocolate cakes with vanilla bean ice cream on top. Hey it was my birthday. The plate had the usual decorative markings of chocolate, but it also had chocolate covered coffee beans and an 8” stick of rolled chocolate placed diagonally from plate to ice cream. It was not only pleasing to the palate it was pleasing to the eye. Of course that’s what one should expect from fine dining.

Our wine for the evening was a Chardonnay. I’m not really a white wine drinker. I like my reds. Last summer I discovered rosé. My segue between winter and summer is now rosé. However, our waitress, Melissa, suggested Unfiltered Chardonnay from Newton Vineyard. I decided since I was trying swordfish for the first time that I should be adventurous with my wine as well. I’m so glad I was. I wish I knew how to use my nose more effectively when smelling wines. I can often taste the berries I'm supposed to taste, but I wish I could smell them before I taste them. Melissa had already described the wine to us as buttery. I agreed upon first taste, as it was a preconceived notion. Not preconceived was the fact that it was the best Chardonnay I’d ever consumed. The website for Newton Vineyard describes the wine thus: this profound and powerful Chardonnay exhibits a rich, complex intensity that can only be found in unfiltered wines. The grapes are predominantly grown in the Carneros region where bay breezes and morning fog combine to create the cooler climate ideal for growing Chardonnay rich with concentrated flavors. That sounds like a lot of who hah to me, but the truth is it was amazing and Melissa was right, it was perfectly suited for our meal and our dessert. Thanks girl. Look me up when you get to Astoria.

As we sat at the table finishing our wine and waiting for our check we began to talk of Sondheim. Specifically, “Not A Day Goes By” from Merrily We Roll Along. I also mentioned “Good Thing Going” and “Our Time” from the same show as well as “Move On” from Sunday in the Park with George. I purchased both of those original cast albums the summer after graduating from college in 1994 with money I had received from said graduation. To this day songs from both of those shows remind me of Neal and Matt and our connection, started in college, and strengthened over time.

On the way home it seemed a no-brainer that I should play “A Weekend in the Country” from Sondheim’s A Little Night Music. Neal agreed with my choice. The song had not ended when we reached our cottage so we sat in the Jeep until its completion. Proper endings are necessary when something is that perfect.

“Isn’t it bliss.”

It's Only 6:15? (that would be AM)

June 6, 2011

When I awoke the next morning, Neal was already awake. I heard a zipper being zipped in his room. It sounded like someone (Neal) saying 'I'm awake" in a high-pitched voice. He said he'd been up for about 45 minutes already. I asked what time it was. He said, "6:15." I said "6:15?" That would be AM of course. I was sure it was at least 8 am.

I was going to walk to my favorite little Boston coffee shop, The Sugar Bowl, and get some coffee, but we ended up driving to McDonald's and going through yet another drive thru. Day 2 of vaca and day 2 of drive thru. Who am I?

With episodes of Today and Friday Night Lights (my first ever) finished, we showered, dressed and loaded the car. I was antsy. I mean we'd been up since 6:15 am. It was after 9 am by that time and I needed to do something.

We loaded the car and made a Target run (are the gays shopping at Target again?) to buy those last minute essentials - OFF!, loofah's, body wash, sunscreen. Next stop, a gas station for a beverage to take on the road. I went straight (gayly forward) to the water, but on the way I passed Sun Drop. Yes, Sun Drop. I hadn’t had one since October. I indulged. I also bought the water and an apple. I may have eaten drive thru twice and gotten a soda, but I wasn’t about to let myself go just because I was on vacation. I was going to the beach after all. The apple was chosen over the peanut M&M's that I wanted. Restraint folks, you can do it if you really want to.

We slammed the doors of our silver Jeep, merged right onto I-93 South and our vacation (Operation 40) started. The tunes (J-Lo, Rihanna, Britney, Lady Gaga and Katy Perry) were blaring. It was all I could do to keep the windows up.

Just past the Entering Cape Cod sign we crossed over Bourne Bridge and I turned into a Kennedy. Not! Crossing the bridge gave a beautiful view of the properties that line the water in Bourne Village. I was reminded of crossing the Claiborne Pell Bridge into Newport.

We were so close to Woods Hole, MA, where we were catching the ferry to Martha's Vineyard that I wanted to roll down the window and see if I could smell the water. Again, I kept the window up. It seemed the restraint I was trying to use towards the fast food was branching out into other areas. There was nothing but me stopping me from rolling down the window and smelling the water. I just didn’t do it. Dumb ass!

I would be withholding the truth if I didn't tell you that by the time we got to Woods Hole I had to use the bathroom so bad that I was in pain. Yes, I am nothing if not predictable about needing the bathroom when there isn't one. A small plane to Paducah anyone? Of course, the road had many bumps and we hit them all throwing my bladder into a flip and my insides onto anxiety row. Damn you, Sun Drop.

We stopped at what we thought would be a cute place to eat before boarding the ferry and wouldn't you know it, no public restroom. We got back in the car and headed the 6 miles back up the road to where we'd seen other restaurants. Only God and my self-control saved me wetting my pants. The wooden spoon I was biting on didn't hurt either.

The pleasure that comes when you finally get to go to the bathroom came over me and stayed for what felt like 5 minutes. It wasn't that long, but it was at least 2 minutes of pure urination. Lord! I didn't even order a beverage for lunch. Forget that. We were getting a boat next and I couldn't even deal with that pressure!

We ate at The Quarterdeck in Falmouth. It was rushed as we had 15 minutes to get back to the ferry and claim our place in line. Neal suggested, and I agreed, that this be the last time we rushed for anything for the entire week. Amen!

Lane number 2, 30 minutes 'til departure; we sat and waited. Nothing like waiting in the traffic on the bus the day before. This was an anticipatory wait. The breeze was blowing through the open windows (finally rolled down) as we watched the ferry arrive. I was excited, but very chill.

The cars all exited and loaded onto the ferry with precision and speed. The men in charge had it down to a science. We drove our car onto the ferry, locked it up and proceeded to the upper deck. The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, the birds were chirping and I was feeling the stress of city life departing my body.

The harbor looked like the harbor I had described in my current short story, Thornclyffe; sailboats dotted the water. I was in the harbor of my fictional town. Crazy cool.

Our ferry began to shake as we began to slowly move out into the Atlantic. We were sitting facing the back. I was curious why the benches didn’t face forward. I hadn’t realized there were benches at both ends. We just happened to sit at the end in which we had entered the passenger deck from the car deck. We moved around to the other side and took in the vast ocean. It was gorgeous – blue in the distance, more green up close. Neal talked of loving the water; I talked of being afraid of it. Imagine me afraid of something. What? No! Well the truth is, not being able to see the bottom and what’s below/around my feet freaks me out. There would be no jumping off the ship and hitting the bottom and using my feet to launch myself upward toward the sun. There would be no bottom to anchor. Freaks. Me. Out.

While staring at the homes that dotted the landscape on Martha’s Vineyard, we heard a dog start barking. I turned to see at what it was barking. It was staring up. I followed its gaze. There was a seagull floating over the deck. It was just gliding above us like a kite over the beach. It was strange yet fascinating. Of course I was hoping in wouldn’t poop on us. Neal made a comment after a while of feeling like Tippi Hedren in The Birds and looking for a phone booth on the ferry in order to get away from our floating passenger. And just like that, the seagull caught a crazy wind and was gone. We watched as it was blown away, unable to steer itself. No need to worry about the bird. It reappeared later in our trip. It was still hovering when we exited to go to the car deck.

We drove off the ferry and I remember saying “Oh my God.” We were in Oak Bluffs and it was beautiful; everything I could imagine and did. I pulled out the handy, here’s-where-every-turn-is directions provided by my rental agent and we were on our way to pick up the rental packet for our week on Martha’s Vineyard. I dubbed it Operation 40. I was surprised at how much the small towns of Oak Bluffs and especially Edgartown reminded me of Amagansett, NY, or Salisbury, CT. I wasn’t in either of those places though. I was on an island in the Atlantic off the coast of Massachusetts. I was escaping and relaxing.

I must admit as we drove to the cottage, a cottage heretofore only seen in pictures, that I was struck with images of Deliverance. Okay it wasn’t like that, but the road turned from paved to dirt. Neal said that is typical of other places. You think there’s nothing there, but it’s a dirt road leading to hidden homes built for privacy. That’s exactly what we had. There were homes near us, but not enough to worry about and the trees were so tall and the bushes so lush that they created a natural barrier and the privacy any one craving it would get.

We unloaded our belongings at 19A Sutton Way and got settled. The ceiling fans were on, the windows were open. The sliding door in my bedroom was open. The breeze filled the house. New York City? What New York City? I zipped my life in New York City up into a bag and hid it in a back corner of my mind. I opened myself up to the cool breeze that washed over me as I stood on the balcony connected to my room. Bliss!

With everything unpacked and stowed in drawers and closets (hey we were living there for a week, we might as well get out of the suit case and into the dresser) we hopped in our silver Jeep and headed to South Beach, a mere two miles down the road.

It was beautiful. I took off my flip-flops and felt the sand between my toes. The evening was lovely. The walk on the beach lovelier if that’s possible. We walked and talked for at least an hour. Our feet, and my lower back, were actually sore when we finally decided we’d had enough. I was conflicted. I wanted to sit down in the Jeep, but I didn’t want my first walk on the beach to be over.

Having a full kitchen we knew we wanted to buy groceries and prepare food for ourselves instead of constantly going to restaurants. Hell, that would just be a waste of money when you have a working stove, microwave and gas grill. We bought the staple provisions of milk, cereal and coffee. We also bought cheeses and crackers, fruit and nuts. We bought pork chops for the evening. In my mind, that gas grill was screaming for the near 2-inch thick pork chops we found in the Stop and Shop. I suggested barbequing them and we found a honey brown sugar barbeque sauce.

Two gay boys, neither of whom owns a grill, was a comedy routine for those lucky enough to be watching, through an open space in the trees or bushes, when we tried to light the grill. We tried all three knobs until Neal suggested that maybe the propane wasn’t on. We couldn’t see as we had waited until after dark to start grilling. I suggested Neal get the flashlight that he packed (at the last minute just in case we needed one). Looks like we needed it. He turned on the tank and we had fire. Tom Hanks didn’t shout anything about making fire and neither did we, but it was exciting nonetheless.

We didn’t know how long to cook the meat. Neal came inside and Googled “grilling thick pork chops” or something along those lines and we followed the directions. Sear for one minute, flip, sear for one minute, flip, cook for 3 minutes, flip, cook for three minutes, flip. Of course the temperature of the grill wasn’t hot enough when we started and we reduced the heat in the middle of searing and flipping. That being said, the meat was not done when we took it inside and cut it open. Back to the grill for another 6-10 minutes and viola – the other white meat was perfect.

There’s something to be said for enjoying a meal that you prepare yourself. We poured a Rosé to go with ours and sat and enjoyed the fruits of our labor.

Crop Circles and Vampires

Sav·age: fierce, ferocious, or cruel; untamed

Alexander McQueen was not limited in creativity; his designs knew no limits. Isn't that the way we should live our lives?

If he wanted a dress decorated with fresh and silk flowers he designed it.

If he wanted antlers as the headpiece to complete the look of a gorgeous cream gown, he made it or had it made (most often by Phillip Treacy).

He was not afraid to push the boundaries of fashion and actually create new and innovative designs. His runway shows did not often provide something ready-to-wear, but they did give the viewer drama, extravagance and spectacle. Fashion is all of those things. If the wearer chooses well, the clothes merely enhance the persona or mystique. McQueen had a penchant for fantasy, rebellion and shock value, all of which are visible at Savage Garden, the new exhibit showcasing his work now on display at The Metropolitan Museum of Art: The Costume Institute.

There were two quotes of McQueen's that stuck with me as I walked through the exhibit. I was trying to stay in the moment and be present in front of each piece so I did not write them down. One was about loving the grotesque and the other was about making people look.

We as creative artists have to make people look. We have to make them see. We have to make them read or listen. There is beauty in everything, even the grotesque.

I felt euphoric as I walked through the exhibit. It was stunning in its design, both visual and sound. Every room was created to help you visually and aurally experience the clothing it housed – from the eerily mysterious to the Scottish plaid to the romantic to the dramatically over-the-top.

Alexander McQueen was limited in his life. He was a tortured soul, as many creative types tend to be. He committed suicide by hanging himself on February 11, 2010. A life cut short by demons that nothing could heal, brilliance taken from the world of fashion way too soon.

We only have now. We are here for this brief time; this one moment that in a blink is over. We have to dare to be different and have the courage to be so.

As I approach 40 I am overwhelmed by the desire to create something moving, lasting, emotional.

As for the title of this blog, I was walking to the subway with my friend Sara. We passed a small yard with concrete circles filled inside by circles of grass. Sara yelled out, "Crop circle." We laughed. As we continued to walk we passed what appeared to be a stake in the road. I made a comment about vampires. Sara said "Crop circles and vampires, it's gonna be an adventure."

Fashion is always an adventure. Daring fashion even more so. Alexander McQueen dared. He may be gone from this world, but his contribution to fashion lives on to show the world what it had and what it lost.

Crop circles and vampires are each savage and beautiful in their own way. They go together about as much as plaid, tulle and a bustle. If you get the chance to see McQueens’s use of those three things you’ll get to see how awesome an unexpected combination can really be.

Beau·ty: the quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.) or a meaningful design or pattern.

Once Upon a Time...

Once upon a time there were four little girls…okay one girl and three gay boys. They lived in the magnificent city of New York: a concrete jungle of looming buildings made of glass and concrete, full of beauty, despair, glamour, wealth, fashion, poverty and cocktails. They needed a break from the treacherous winter that had held them in his icy grasp for far too long. They decided to take a trip. It was a journey in their rubber-wheeled carriage that would take them six hours away from their beloved city to a weekend of splendor and relaxation in the small village of Provincetown on the tip of Cape Cod.

During their journey there was much laughter in the carriage as well as a little sleeping. There were musical sounds hailing forth from the sound box. There was singing. Their tensions began to melt away the further they got from home.

The four friends began to call themselves Mildred: a collective – one name for all four friends. They had no need of last names or initials for designation, as they knew which Mildred was being spoken to when the name Mildred was called forth. If there was ever an uncertainty, any Mildred could answer the question.

Along with their new name they used new words to describe when things were good or bad. When something delighted them they referred to it as “fetch” and when something was distressing or annoying they referred to it as “kennel.” The later word was not always agreed upon as an appropriate word for their new lexicon, but at least one of them continued to use it: Mildred. “Kibbles ‘n bits” eventually replaced “kennel” as the opposite of “fetch.”

To their new name and new words, developed for their new location, they created a new game just for them. From the dried milk of the teat, which had turned to powder, they would shoot one another with a squeeze and a sound, much like that of a tranquilizer dart flying through the air. The outcome was unconsciousness. They gloried in the ability to take one another off guard at a most inopportune moment and cause the catatonia. The only way to end this torture was for one or the other of the Mildreds to dust off the benumbed Mildred. Again they laughed as they inflicted their new game upon one another.

They did ordinary things like having locals shine their nails and use sheers to trim their locks. Some of them even allowed hands to be placed upon their bodies to remove knots that had crept into their muscles while toiling away in their normal lives.

Relaxation and merriment ensued.

There were evenings of cooking beef over an open flame, evenings of baking fish. There was bread and cheese and wine aplenty. Wine that seemed to flow from a river on Mount Olympus, as its power seemed touched by the gods. They laughed as they consumed libations made with the spirit Ketel One. There were fruits of the vine and vegetables from the earth. There was chocolate by Raisinette and Cadbury. All of these things combined to create a debaucherous experience for the four friends from the city.

They did control themselves. They didn’t wreak havoc on the small village. They went out and met the locals. They played established games where sticks are used to hit balls into holes in a table. They danced. They spent money at local eating establishments and emporiums. They allowed themselves to truly escape the humdrum lives they led everyday in the city.

The most important thing is that each Mildred respected the other. No matter how fetch or kibbles ‘n bits something may have been, they enjoyed each other. When the time came to leave the village, the four Mildreds took to their carriage and began their journey back to the land of concrete and glass. They held fond memories of the shingle-covered house they had called home for three nights.

Although their time in P-town – as it is known in local lore – was short, it was well utilized. With their bond strengthened and their energy renewed, the collective Mildreds vowed that they would return once more to the gay village by the sea.

A Summer of Discovery & Rediscovery

It's been a while since I've concentrated on writing about what I'm doing. It's been since August 19th to be exact. I've been doing things. Living life.

It's been a great summer. I hate to think of it as being over. Technically it isn't, but the kids have gone back to school.

This was my first summer as a resident of Astoria. I enjoyed the peace that my home brought into my life. I've had to remind myself that what I'm feeling these days is happiness. It's been a while since I felt truly happy.

One major thing that has been going on with me this summer is: I've been meeting with my friend Mandy on Tuesday nights to read. We're not reading books. We're reading what the other one is writing. It's been amazing. We meet for dinner and catch up on the goings on in each other's lives over the past week. We talk and laugh and eat. After the plates are taken away, we order coffee and pull out the pages for that night's reading. It has been so exciting and pleasurable to read what Mandy has been working on. It's a funny story and I can't wait to read the new pages each week. I look forward to finding out what new, ridiculous experience she puts her characters through. Sometimes it's just a paragraph or line that is the stand out. Other times it's the entire scene. I never fail to laugh though.

It's also been a confidence boost for me to have her read and critique my first foray into fiction writing. She sort of acts as an editor. She helps me clarify things that don't make sense. She doesn't necessarily know that I listen to her entire reaction though. There were things in my first story, Ocean Point, that I wrote because she mentioned that she couldn't wait to find out about such and such. They were things that I maybe wasn't even concerned with. However, writing those descriptions or explanations made the piece better. So thank you Mandy for just being you and wanting to know.

I have now moved on to another story - 327 Chesterfield Road. It's a different tale than the first. More challenging really. The first one was a challenge, don't get me wrong. When I'm writing about something that I did or experienced, I can give you every detail because it happened to me. I can describe it to the point where you feel like you're there. Writing something that is unfolding in my mind makes the details very difficult.

I think about where I want the piece to go. Then I concentrate on getting the words on the page. Then I concentrate on editing and clarifying and making sure that what it says conjures the image I have in my head. That's why I'm publishing one installment a week.

I'm constantly thinking about whatever piece I'm writing at the moment. The ideas swirl around in my head like water swirling down the drain of the sink after the plug has been pulled. And just like that stray piece of corn or that manages to cling to the sink, instead of going down the drain, I have kernels of ideas that stick. I have pulled out my BlackBerry® on the train more times than I can count and started to write about the people in these stories. Thank God for memo pad or I'd be screwed.

Anyway, it's been a great summer. My blog turned a year old. I went to Newport, RI. I went to Amagansett in East Hampton. I went to Boston - twice. I hung out in Central Park. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge - twice. I ate at new restaurants in Astoria and Brooklyn. I hung out with friends in Astoria. I smoked a hookah for the first time. I published my first piece of fiction. I watched a lot of True Blood, Mad Men and SYTYCD. I reconnected with a cousin and met his family. I started publishing my second piece of fiction. I tried new wines. I cooked new dishes. I read three books. I got new music. I got a couple of new pieces of furniture. I took lots of pictures. I found happy again.

Thanks to all of you who continue to keep up with my life. Keep reading. I'm going to keep writing about me and keep creating characters with interesting stories to tell.

Cheers!

Boozy, Notorious & a bridge to Brooklyn

"The day Boozy and Notorious walked across the Brooklyn Bridge." Sing that using the melody from "Ode To Billie Joe".

I planned to go to the gym this morning, but just didn't get around to it. I chose instead to enjoy my morning cup of coffee watching last Sunday's CBS Sunday Morning and repeats of The Golden Girls alternating with reading the latest copy of Entertainment Weekly. Okay, so I should have gone to the gym, but it was a lovely way to spend the morning of a day off. I knew I was going to get exercise anyway.

At the subway, the first train to arrive was the M. I took it to Queens Plaza and waited to transfer to the R. I was paying no attention when I got on an E. I was typing directions for the day on my Blackberry. Thankfully, I looked up and noticed the E before the doors closed. It wouldn't have been horrible to be on the E. The R just puts me closer to where I was meeting Boozy.

When the R finally came, I played seat hockey, briefly, with an older man. I started to sit then thought he was planning to sit. Being a southern gentleman (laughter is not permitted here) I was going to let him sit. He chose to stand so I took the seat. The next thing I know we're hearing the sounds of someone informing us of New York City's hunger problem and wanting donations. Quickly, I started hearing the jazz sounds of the smooth-voiced Melody Gardot. I gotta block that shit out most of the time. I agree that there is a hunger problem. It's not limited to NYC. I just don't give money to solicitors on the train. There are organizations for that kind of donation. Sing it all away for me Melody.

The day was absolutely gorgeous. White cumulus clouds dotted the blue sky like cotton balls on a piece of light blue poster board. The temperature was in the mid 70's. There was a slight breeze. It couldn't be more glorious. There was peace in my soul as I waited for Boozy to join me for our adventure. There wasn't a hurried desire to get to the Bridge, only a desire to allow the day to unfold. That is not something I do often. It's a good feeling. I should allow myself the experience more often.

We stopped at Jamba Juice before getting on the N train toward Brooklyn. Boozy ordered the Mega Mango and I the Peach Perfection. We each added a free shot of vitamins to our smoothie. With our batteries charging from the smoothies and the vitamins, we stopped by an ATM so that we could pay for our adventure. We then made our way to the subway station at 49th Street.

I realized quickly that the N train we were on was not going to stop where we needed it to - City Hall. We transferred at Union Square to the 6 express train to Brooklyn Bridge. Five-7 minutes later we were at our destination. All these years I've been in NYC and I never realized how quick and easy it was to get to the Brooklyn Bridge. I feel like I've wasted a lot of time thinking it was too far and too much time on a train. Somebody find me an "idiot" badge.

As we emerged from the underground station to the visions of blue sky, I turned to Boozy and asked, "Why don't we live down here." It was beautiful. Beauty accented with white tiles, green trees, and colorful fabrics. We found our way onto the bridge and began our journey across. You have to be aware of the cyclists. Boozy informed me that they get angry with the walking tourists. We were tourists today. So we stayed out of their way. However, being New Yorkers in reality, we weren't enjoying the walking tourists either.

It took no more than 30 minutes to walk across the majestic Brooklyn Bridge. Even pausing for pictures of the water, Brooklyn and Manhattan views. It was such a lovely walk. Slathered in sun screen and enjoying the shine.

We made our way to Old Fulton Street and joined the line of people on the sidewalk waiting for a taste of coal brick oven pizza from Grimaldi's Pizzeria. They don't serve slices and they only take cash. It's a New York destination. A fixture on the Brooklyn Bridge experience. (Thank you Boozy for that description.) Of course, I have to be honest here. I had never heard of the place. Boozy was the one who knew of it and suggested we go there.

Okay, so I don't really know how long we waited in line. It could have been 30 minutes it could have been 45. Time flies when you're having fun. We looked at all the pictures I had taken so far and talked. When we finally made our way to the front of the line, we were shaded by a big, old, beautiful tree. And just like that, we were being called inside.

Can you say crowded? Every red and white-checkered tablecloth covered table was filled. Elbow to elbow. 1950's rock n roll was playing loud on the sound system. I looked around for the jukebox. One wall was full of Frank Sinatra pictures, posters, memorabilia. It was a pizzeria where American Graffiti met film noir. The history was apparent. There's no telling what stories these walls and tables could tell. We ordered beer and pizza. Peroni for Boozy, Amstel Light for me and a large regular pie for us to share.

There are no pictures of the pizza because we devoured it. Boozy mentioned this to me and thought it would be funny to take a picture of the empty pan. No such luck. The second the last slice was taken, a waiter swooped in a took the pan. Two beers each and a whole pie later, we paid our $32, cheap, bill and headed back into the sunshine in search of ice cream. There will be no judgment allowed at this statement. We had already consumed beer and pizza in the middle of the day. There is nothing wrong with adding ice cream to the mix. Hell, it's almost called for. Bad is bad no matter how little or much you consume and all of this bad was really good.

The Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory was located a mere 351 feet from the door of Grimaldi's. How do I know that, you ask? Well, Boozy's phone gave her directions with distance in feet. It was at the end of Old Fulton Street. Before indulging in the ice cream, we walked along the water at Brooklyn Bridge Park. I had no idea there was such beauty simply across the bridge from Manhattan. The view of Lower Manhattan was breathtaking. Thirteen years later and I still feel amazed that I live here. It was smile inducing. After we had tired ourselves with the walking and the food and the beer and the park, it was time for a little sugary goodness. Boozy got Peaches and Cream on a sugar cone and I got Vanilla on a waffle cone. We started our trek back to the bridge. Remember what it's like when you have an ice cream cone in the sunshine? Good! Then you'll have a excellent picture of me trying to keep that ice cream from running down the cone and dripping off my hand.



As we started back to Manhattan, I noticed a large digital clock. It said 5:01pm. We had spent 3 hours in Brooklyn. We walked back across the bridge, facing the oncoming deluge of tourists. None of them seemed to get the concept of moving out of the way as we passed one another. There was no sense of shared space. Three people shoulder-to-shoulder, filling the space, and as Boozy and I approached, we were the one's who moved. It happened more than once with the same outcome each time. Annoyed, I just stopped moving out of the way. If we ran into each other, so be it. The southern gentleman from earlier in the day had given way to my true identity. For the record, it took us about 20 minutes to walk the bridge this time.

Back on Manhattan soil, we decided to walk to Chinatown and catch the R train at Canal Street. We stopped at an outdoor seating area to rest and drink a little water. We were giddy. Kinda punchy with laughter. I think it was happiness. Yes, I was happy and Boozy was happy. We had a fantastic day doing something neither of us had ever done before. The experience was perfect.

Photo Album

White Elephants

On Monday, a dream that I've had for more than a year was finally realized. I went to Newport, Rhode Island. My desire in going had always been to see the mansions. The beauty of the day and friendship that came with it was bonus.

With the car picked up by 7am, Michael, Tynan, and I were on the road by 7:15am trying to acquire the GPS signal that would provide us with the directions to take us to one of America's most famed cities. During the Gilded Age (1865-1901) many of America's wealthiest families built summer "cottages" in Newport. The word cottage is almost laughable. I think of a cottage as a little house with maybe two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living area, and a bathroom. They thought of a summer cottage as a grand excuse for marble, gold leaf, chandeliers, and finery. Each trying to outdo the other in excess and size. The idea is simple, the wealthy Vanderbilts, Astors, among others, would come to Newport for the summer and entertain other families of their wealth and position. Each wanted to provide the most lavish setting for the entertaining.

The Breakers, built by Cornelius Vanderbilt II, was/is the grandest of them all. Knowing anything about the Vanderbilts, it's easy to imagine the family not wanting to be outdone by anyone. Wanting the best and biggest. And why not. If you have the money and can afford it...go for it!!

Let me get back to my trip to the wealthy little piece of land with my two friends. Roughly 30 minutes outside of the City, we hit Greenwich CT. It seemed the perfect time to stop for breakfast. When traveling, it is okay to forget one's good eating habits and just have a good time. That said, we stopped at McDonald's. Actually the one in Greenwich was the newly-minted, high-end cousin of McDonald's called McCafe. Whatever, still the same egg mcmuffin and bacon, egg, & cheese. Throw in the hash browns and you've got our breakfast. Champions we were. No judgement allowed.

Back on the road, we were looking for a place to stop and purchase an adapter for my ipod. We asked Lolly, our rental agent, if the car had an ipod port. We had chosen to upgrade to a Lincoln and that being said, she assumed it did for, as she put it, the car was "luxury, luxury." It took us the better part of an hour to actually find that port hidden in the second, deeper compartment of the console. There was no adapter though. So we kept our eyes peeled for a Walmart, Target, or Radio Shack. Eventually, we found a Target and even though it was merely 9am, it was open. A few minutes later with $14.99 less in my pocket, we headed out of the store and back to the car. Tynan, who was looking for a hat, left without the hot pink floppy she would've rocked all day. But I digress. The adapter worked, and the play list I had prepared was no longer stuck on my ipod, but a thumping, dancing, jamming reality. We resumed our drive to Newport. Michael was tired, having not slept well the night before and asked if one of us would drive. Tynan look the wheel while Michael took to the backseat to take a nap. I sat shotgun and gaged the volume of the ipod and sang along. I do enjoy a road trip on occasion. It truly depends on the people I'm with. These two were the right choice.

As we got closer to our destination, we were told by our GPS, Minny, to turn off the interstate. We found ourselves on two lane roads that can lead to anywhere. Lucky for us, ours led to the Claiborne Pell Bridge, the longest suspension bridge in New England. We rolled the windows down and turned the music up. It was amazing. So high above the water looking down at the boats as they lazily sailed or sped by to our right and left. My excitement was thumping in my chest. I couldn't wait to just be there, breathing the air and existing.

Minny led us right into the heart of the downtown area. Of course this is where all the tourist were, but I guess we had to acknowledge the we, ourselves, were tourist for the day. It didn't take much giving in. We found a place to park the car and got out and began to walk. It had been about three hours since that breakfast stop in Greenwich, so we were hungry. There were many choices from the sidewalk on which we found ourselves. Restaurants between art shops, and clothing stores, and the not surprising, but out-of-place Starbucks. We chose the Gas Lamp Grille. We were the first customers. Michael actually asked if they were open before we proceeded inside. With our pick of tables, we were seated in an open door opened onto the sidewalk. We were able to feel the breeze and watch the people all the while enjoying our meal.

With hunger assuaged, we headed to the Museum of Newport History. We didn't actually walk through the museum, we went into the gift shop looking for a map. Even though our GPS could get to the mansions, we wanted to walk and a map would help us identify where we were in connection to what we wanted to see. It's just like an amusement park. Map in hand, we headed back to our car. We walked up an alley called Brick Alley. It was at that point that my old soul nostalgia came out. I was giddy with the thought of the people who once walked on those bricks. An Astor or a Vanderbilt. Someone who summered there during the Gilded Age when Newport was a grand, social destination.

Back in the Lincoln with Minny hooked into the lighter, she took us closer to our destination: 44 Ochre Point Avenue, Newport RI 02840 - The Breakers. We didn't actually drive to The Breakers, we chose instead to park the car on Narragansett Avenue and walk to Cliff Walk which was located at the dead end in front of us. That was the best choice we could have made. Cliff Walk is a 3.5 mile walkway that borders the shore line. It runs behind many of the mansions so even if you're not paying to tour them, you can see their magnificence. Imagine waking up in the morning and the view out your window being the vast ocean at the bottom of the cliff at the end of your backyard. Breathtaking! There was a stairway called The 40 Steps which led down to the rocks and water. We went down those steps and climbed down onto the rocks. It was amazing. The water flowing in between the rocks, pounding the rocks. The breeze coming off the water. I couldn't stop smiling. And why should I? I was loving every second of it. I'm sure the water was freezing, but that didn't stop a group of people from swimming in it.


Back up The 40 Steps, we started our Cliff Walk journey. With bushes at the top of the cliff to our left and the water below on the same side and wild roses growing in places on the right, it was a beautiful walk. It was all about the ocean at that point of my journey. I would say our journey, but I'm not sure what Michael and Tynan were feeling at that moment. I was anticipating The Breakers and soaking up the sound of the water below.

A mansion came into view. I'm, again, giddy. I'm thinking it's The Breakers. I pull out my Blackberry and start taking pictures. I've got an image of the mansion in my head, but I think the image was a little cloudy. Maybe it was sepia toned and the sepia was beginning to fade. I'm not sure. It took walking up to the mansion and looking inside to realize that there was no way this could be The Breakers. I felt like such a fool for being so positive it was when it wasn't. I hate making a fool of myself. We found out later that this particular mansion was called Ochre Court and is now used by Salve Regina University. Turns out the university converted several of the mansions into academic building back in the 30's when the owners could no longer afford the taxes. So, slightly embarrassed, we headed back to Cliff Walk, and in search of The Breakers.


And without warning, there it was. Just beyond the wild roses growing along the fence - The Breakers. Grand and glorious. It was right there in front of me. The physical manifestation of the pictures I had stared out for so long. The large backyard to my right and the water to my left. The house looming just out-of-reach. Of course the out-of-reach part didn't last very long. We made our way onto that yard. Can you imagine the lawn parties held on the gorgeous lawn? I can. We made our way to the front of the mansion, paid the $19 admission, went inside, received our headsets and started our self-guided audio tour.

Our tour began in an area where guests were received. A large, ostentatious room with a red carpeted grand staircase. There was a fountain at the base in the back of the staircase. There was marble everywhere. Marble walls and columns. Gleaming crystal chandeliers. Gold leaf. The music room contained a Steinway piano and platinum leafing on the wall. Everything was ornate. Looking down at the receiving room from the second level I could almost hear the violins playing for the party guests. The bedrooms were decorated more simply compared to the rest of the house. The bathrooms were large. Mr. Vanderbilt's bathtub was made of marble and had to be filled with hot water and drained multiple times before the marble was warm enough for use. His tub also had four knobs. Living on the ocean, two of the knobs ran with hot and cold salt water. It was the utmost in luxury. Lolly would probably say "luxury,luxury." What a place to spend the summer. Those of you who read this blog know that I've posted a couple of entries concerning characters I've created from a piece called "Glass Houses." Well, one of the reasons I wanted to see The Breakers so badly was because it was exactly the image I had in my mind for the mansion of one of my families in that piece. As soon as I stumbled upon a photo of it on the internet, I had the image in front of me of what I had only been imagining. It was complete joy to actually see it in person.


Moving on, we left The Breakers and went back to Narragansett Avenue to rest our tired legs and drive to 548 Bellevue Avenue, Newport RI 02840 - Rosecliff. Rosecliff was built by a Nevada silver heiress named Theresa Fair Oelrichs. I was not nearly as impressed with Rosecliff as I was with The Breakers. Honestly, there is no comparison, but I was hoping in its own way it would be outstanding. What I adored was the ballroom. This mansion had the largest ballroom in Newport. It was stunning with two gorgeous chandeliers, a gold grand piano, and fabulous ornate moldings. It was truly a beautiful room. Both sides had french doors that ran the length of the ballroom. The front side opened into the garden while the back side open onto the terrace with a view of the ocean. While in that room we were told the story of Mrs. Oelrichs' most famous ball. It was called Bal Blanc. She wanted everything to be white and silver. She asked that the ladies even wear powdered wigs. The flowers were white. White swans were in the fountain. As the date of the party neared, lore has it that her butler asked if she was happy with how things were proceeding. To that question she replied that she needed white boats to be moored in the ocean so that when people looked toward the water they would be visible and continue the theme of her party. The butler was said to have commented that it was impossible to which she replied that she had commissioned them and they would be ready in time for the party. And Newport history shows that on the occassion of the party, white boats with twinkle lights were moored in the ocean. There are details and then there are details. She had a vision and had the money to see it realized.

Another beautiful element to Rosecliff was the heart-shaped opening on the landing of the staircase. Red carpeted stairs led up through the opening, then split into two sets of stairs which took you up to the second level.

Out the back of the ballroom, across the terrace and down the stairs that led to the backyard was a fountain. This fountain was prominently featured in "The Great Gatsby" starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow. Another reason I wanted to see Rosecliff.

The final reason I wanted to see Rosecliff is because there was a display of gowns from the Gilded Age. Actual gowns from the era. Along with the gowns was information about haute couture and how the women would go to Paris and order from the couturiers. That was right up my alley. I loved it.

As for the mansion as a whole, I think my disappoint lied in the fact that none of the furniture or paintings were original to the house. The descendants of the original owner, having little interest in the mansion, sold everything at auction. It just didn't have the rich history in front of my eyes like The Breakers.

With the two mansions we wanted to see nothing but swirling images and memories in our heads, we headed back to the car. We just wanted to drive around and look at the other mansions. We drove down Bellevue Avenue. It must have, at one time, been the wealthiest street in Newport, if not America. As we drove down the street we found no where to park the car so that we could walk by the mansions we weren't paying to tour and at least take a photo from the sidewalk. While looking for a place to turn around, we saw the roof and chimneys of what looked to be a very large home just above the trees. We decided to drive down that road and see what it was. The road dead ended at another area where one could walk onto the large rocks at the ocean's edge. I found myself fearless as I jumped and climbed from rock to rock. I made my way to a large rock a small distance from Michael and Tynan. I stood facing the breeze as it blew against me. Hearing the waves break on the rocks and feeling the breeze, all I could do was lift my arms into the air with my face toward the sky. I felt as though my soul was being cleansed. That's the only way I can describe it. The energy of the water is so different that the energy of the City. I just let it all wash over me.

We drove back through Newport proper in search of a restaurant for a nice meal that would complete our perfect day. We went to The Spiced Pear at The Chanler at Cliff Walk. According to the hostess, The Chanler was the first mansion built on what is now called Cliff Walk. We had no reservation, but they were able to seat us at a table with a beautiful view of the ocean. We were indulgent. I ordered lobster poached in butter. Michael ordered steak and I believe it was sea bass for Tynan. I had a glass of Pinot Noir, Michael a Malbec and Tynan a Cabernet Savignon. It was lovely. Reminicing about the day and enjoying each other with good wine and food. It only got better when our cinnamon souffle's with amaretto and apple compote arrived. Indulgent to the max and worth every penny.

In 1907, author Henry James described the mansions in Newport, Rhode Island as being "white elephants" and "witless dreams" because they were summer homes for the wealthy and were unoccupied for most of the year. Well, Mr. James, there is something to be loved even in a white elephant. I was reminded of a lyric from the song "All This Beauty" by The Weepies.

All this beauty;
You might have to close your eyes
And slowly open wide
All this beauty;
We traveled all night
We drank the ocean dry
And watched the sun rise...

I can't help but wonder how pleased the Vanderbilts would be knowing that the home they built for summer entertaining in the late 1800's is still drawing crowds that marvel at its grandiosity over 100 years later.

There's also a little thing about dreams. If you can dream it you can do it. One day Paris and California, but for now, at least there was Newport.

Newport photo album

Life on the Moon Pandora

I did something that I'm a little ashamed of on Friday. I was sitting in the barber chair getting my hair cut. I've gotten my hair cut by Mike several times. He's younger than I and seems to be a nice guy. Today we were talking about our holidays. I hadn't seen him since before Thanksgiving so we had a lot to talk about. At one point, the conversation veered off in a direction I didn't see coming. Mike asked me if I was married. No. He asked me if I had a girlfriend. No. Did I want a girlfriend? No. He laughed and said, "Good for you." The silence that came after sent my mind scrambling for something to say. I didn't physically sink into the seat, but those questions made me feel like the me in the mirror was shrinking. Why didn't I just tell him I'm gay after the girlfriend question? What was I afraid of? Was it that I thought our rapport would change? That he would treat me differently? I'm not ashamed of being gay. I assumed he knew. His questions threw me off balance. It's been a long time since someone asked me about women. All I could think of to fill the silence was to ask if he had seen "Avatar." He hadn't.

I can answer that question in the affirmative having seen it that night. In 3-D,"Avatar" was a technologically stunning love story with the requisite epic battle thrown in. It was one of the most exciting experiences I've ever had at the movies. By the end my heart was racing, I was sweating, and my nerves were shot.

I had heard it was a rip off of "Pocahontas." I had heard it was a rip off of "Dances With Wolves." Who cares! It was so worth seeing. If for nothing else than to see how nearly 15 years of technological advancement in film making visually changed a story you already know. Don't be a hater. I have to admit, right now, after that statement, that I did not want to see "Avatar." Just didn't have a desire to see the blue people fight for their turf. Boy am I glad that I changed my mind and don't have to remain an idiot.

SPOILER ALERT

All for a mineral (let's say oil), the armed forces invade the moon Pandora and destroy to get what they want. They have no care for the Na'vi, the indigenous people of Pandora. They have no concern whatsoever about destroying the tree where the Na'vi live called, Hometree, or destroying the tree that represents their deity. The powers that be would rather sit in power and laugh at The People than hear from scientists the truth of the situation. The root of the destruction: money.

I will go into no more detail about the story of this film. What I want to say is this. When will we be able to live in peace. Without fear of someone trying to take what is ours away. Without fear that they might actually succeed. When will I not be fearful to say I'm gay or to say I believe in God or I like redheads? Why is it so impossible to ask for what we want? Even as children we are taught to share and not to take something away from a child who had it first. Why do we feel we have to go in with guns blasting, destroy, kill, and take? Why can't we, humans, people, talk to each other? Why can't we believe in our God and love who we love? Who, in any country or on any planet, has the right to tell us those answers? What if the Sky Walkers had just tried to communicate with the Na'vi instead of treating them like they were less than. Aren't we supposed to be educated now?

Referencing "Pocahontas," these lyrics from "Colors of the Wind" seem to fit this film:

You think you own whatever land you land on
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name
You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

One day we will not take, but ask. One day we will all be equal. One day we will treat each other the way we want to be treated. One day...

A Day in White Plains/A Night In Queens

Thursday night I stayed at the TONY Lounge for karaoke. We hadn't had it in two weeks because of the holidays so I was kinda missing it. I didn't intend to stay very long, but the excitement of singing took over my body and I stayed.

I grabbed some dinner at the Amish Market. Their hot buffet is discounted after 8pm It's a great way to get a decent meal for cheap. Cheap is good! When I got back to the Lounge, I finally gave Dakota a chance to do what he gets paid for: pour me a drink. I haven't had a drink in the Lounge in months. It's really been about not spending unnecessary money. Thursday, however, I wanted a drink. Jamison to be more precise. A nice Irish Whiskey that I enjoy diffused with one ice cube. I nursed the drink for quite a while. I only wanted one so I made it last. It was so nice to hang out in the Lounge with old friends and enjoy the drink and the company.

When karaoke started I knew I wanted to sing. I had been testing the chords all day. Having been a little congested for the past few days I wasn't sure if I could sing. I could! "And I Am Telling You" got a revisit. I nailed it. People screamed and applauded at the end. They loved me. I needed that ego and confidence boost. It made singing again easy. I joined my friend Patrick on the pop tune, "Taking Chances," then sang "Goodbye Earl" (country) and "Mercy" (pop). It was fun to put my voice and my spin on three different genre's. I want to tackle some jazz next. So back to staying later than planned. I had to get up early the next morning to go to White Plains, NY, with my friend Colleen. She was signing the paperwork to buy her first apartment. How exciting. I was a little jealous, but mostly excited.

Colleen was to pick me up in her newly rented zipcar at 9:45am. I made sure to be up, showered and ready on time to hit the ATM and get coffee before the drive. Colleen was running late. Driving in the City can do that to you. Traffic and nerves are a bitch. She left me a message which I didn't get until after I was in the car with her. Must have walked through a dead zone at the exact second she called. America's largest 3G network. "Can you hear me now?" Guess not!

No worries. We were on our way. I had Colleen's hand written directions from Google in my lap. We start merging onto ramps and taking exits toward interstates with ease. Everything was smooth. There was a spit of snow falling from the sky, but nothing detrimental to driving. As is somehow always the case, we hit traffic going slightly faster than a crawl. No stress. No worry. We left an hour early. Of course when the traffic started to flow freely again, there was no indication as to what the hold up had been. What are these phantoms that find joy in slowing traffic! Jeez!

We were driving along, catching up on our goings on for the past couple of days when we began looking for what should be our exit into White Plains - 8C/Mamaroneck Ave. Or as Colleen thought it said, "Mama no neck." We see exit 9. I'm thinking it will be the next exit. The next exit was 12. Then 13 and so on. Where was 8C? Had we missed it? How was that possible? We were supposed to be on Hutchinson Pkwy N for about 10 miles. A distance we hadn't traveled. We finally exited, out of fear of driving to far out of the way, at exit 17. I put the directions into my Google Maps App on my Blackberry and we tried it again. It looped us back around to Hutchinson Pkwy N and told us to look for 8C/Mamoroneck Ave. All we could figure was that somewhere Hutchinson was going to merge with something else and the exit numbers would reset. No such luck. Turned out our exit was 23N/Mamoroneck Ave. We took the chance that this was indeed the exit. It was. Google needs to update that info. We could have been stuck looping on ourselves for hours looking for 8C if it wasn't for our common sense and chance taking abilities. We made it just after the appointment time to the document signing destination. Colleen had called her lawyer to say she might be late. She was late, but earlier than she thought she'd be. I sat in the lobby reading my current book, Mississippi Sissy, by Kevin Sessums for almost an hour. The new home owner emerged from the room down the hall with all the papers signed and all the information muddled in her head. We decided to hit the mall or in this case the Galleria. My friend Michael says, sarcastically, that Galleria is french for mall anyway. I can honestly say it was just a mall. Sears, Spencer Gifts, Hot Topic & Cinnabon were all present along with other stores I'd never heard of. And that smell that's a bit over powering on the second level? Yep, The Yankee Candle Company. I guess I thought a Galleria would be somewhat upscale. Doesn't the name Galleria scream "upscale boutiques?" I commented when we arrived that I felt like I was in one of the malls in Nashville. Not the Cools Spring Galleria though. One of the other run-of-the-mill malls.

We spent almost two hours wondering around that suburban mall. A feat we urban dwellers don't have, or some might say take, the opportunity to do. First thing on our agenda however was lunch. We were both hungry. What to eat? Do we choose Wendy's, Taco Bell, Panda Express? No. Bourbon Chicken was the winner. Can't remember the last time I had Bourbon Chicken. It was a little greasy goodness. Hey, we were out of the City for the day so we gave ourselves permission to live a little.

I needed to find a long sleeved black t-shirt. My cousin Leah bought me a most fabulous gift while she was here. It was a Fashion's Night Out t-shirt. White with the aforementioned words in black letters along with a partial NYC skyline. Kind of abstract. I thought the hippest way to wear the shirt now would be to wear it over a black long sleeved t-shirt. We got side tracked though. A little kiosk in the middle of the mall was selling sheet sets. Full size, 500 thread count, 100% Egyptian cotton sateen sheets. I didn't really need them, but for that price wouldn't I have been just a bit foolish to pass them up? Since I didn't, we'll never know. They're caramel brown.

We spent quite a lot of time looking for me that black t-shirt. I'm picky, and not usually one to settle for the first thing I see. Well, after looking everywhere but Sears and Macy's we ended up right back where we started. A store I'd never heard of called Epic Designs. They had thermal style tops on sale. Two for $20. I bought a black one and a blue one. The first choice was the perfect choice.

Finally time to leave the Galleria, we headed toward Cinnabon. The Galleria didn't have a Great American Cookie Company so we had already decided to split a six pack of mini cinnabon's. I also wanted coffee. We went to Duncan Donuts for the coffee. I asked for a medium with cream and sugar. When we got to Cinnabon, I opened it to make sure it was well mixed. Imagine my shock at seeing the lightest coffee ever. Colleen said I was having a little coffee in my milk. Surprisingly enough, it was pretty good. From now on though, I would prefer to add my own cream and sugar.

Our drive back to the City was not without incident. It was perfectly lovely until we took the exit toward the GWB. What we didn't notice was exit 4S immediately veered to the right just off of the ramp. We stayed on the ramp and missed it. Realizing almost as quickly as we passed it, we tried to loop ourselves back around to it. No such luck. We ended up getting back on Hutchinson Pkwy N, taking some random exit and just driving until we found a way to get back onto Hutchinson Pkwy S. Lord have mercy! After getting past that one faux pas of a missed turn, we made it back to my apartment without incident. That is to say I made it back. I can't speak for Colleen after she left my place to drive the car back to the drop off location, but I heard tell that Third Avenue was a bitch and she got trafficked right onto the Queensboro Bridge and ended up in Queens. Sadly, that's no where near where she wanted to go. Oops!

I called my friend Michael to see if he had his roommate Tynan's phone number. We had been trying to find a time to watch "Far From Heaven" together. She had never seen it. It's one of my favorite films. It's so beautifully shot and acted. Of course, I own it. We just needed to find a time that worked for both of us. Anyway, she suggested Sunday night. My schedule is a little tight on Sunday night and there's "Brothers & Sisters" to watch so I wasn't sure Sunday would work out. I suggested Friday night. I suggested it via facebook. I hadn't heard from her and so the call to Michael for her phone number was to ask her if she was free that evening. He told me she had been pretty incommunicado with the computer for the past few days, but knew she was due home that evening around 9pm He suggested I come hang out. He said we would have a little wine and dinner on the cheap and wait for her to get home. If she was up for watching we would watch, otherwise we'd just hang out. His other roommate Corey was out of town so Michael suggested I just spend the night. Gladly and quickly I packed a bag. About an hour after my arrival, a glass of wine consumed, The replay of Oprah over and Ellen started, Michael suggested we go get some food. He suggested we go to a little gay-owned place just on the other side of Broadway. Thinking we were house bound for the evening, we were both dressed in pjams already. Easily rectified.

Dressed in presentable clothing again, we bundled up and headed out into the cold. When we arrived at Mundo Astoria it was packed. It was easy to see why as there are so few tables. There was a slight wait, but nothing we couldn't handle. We were third on the list to be seated. The waitress said several tables were getting ready to become available. Picking up the menu after being seated, I noticed he tag line, "A journey at the table." I was excited. I chose a Malbec for my wine and Michael chose the house white. Then we proceeded to order five appetizers and share. We ordered what the menu called their, "must-try signature dish," Red Sonja. It consisted of red lentil patties with cracked wheat, scallions, parsley and oriental spices on a bed of lettuce with lemon wedges. You spritzed the patty with the lemon then wrapped it in the lettuce like a taco. Amazing. We ordered edamame, falafal with hummus, an Argentinian beef empanada, and cheese rolls. The rolls were hand rolled dough stuffed with feta cheese. Oh the goodness! During dinner, Tynan actually came home. She must have seen our empty wine glasses, my bag, the movies. She immediately sent me a comment on facebook: "WHERE ARE YOU????? Please tell me you are just picking up a bottle of wine and will walk in the door any moment?!" I laughed out loud at the table. I had a missed call and a message from a number I didn't recognize. It was Tynan. Turns out she looked in the address book on Michael's phone and found my number and called. I called her back and told her where we were and that we were getting ready to pay and would be heading back to the house.

Back at the house there was brief conversation before a bottle of Prosecco was uncorked and "Far From Heaven" was placed in the DVD player. As I had hoped, Tynan loved the movie. It is such a beautiful film as I've already mentioned. It's also sad. The whole experience is made up of vivid colors contrasted with gray shadows and characters playing out a situation from the past informed by the present. It always makes me think of what a small piece of ground we've covered for how far we've come.

Tynan and I stayed up until 2am talking civil rights, equality, prejudice, family, career, life. It was amazing. Just sitting there talking and listening.

Life is good!