Another birthday pictorial...?

Night Hotel NY

...why, yes. Yes, it is. Because YOLO, as the Youth said in 2012.

I unintentionally turned inward in 2013, especially in the fall months. Perhaps that's why I opted for a solitary birthday celebration. If "celebration" is the word...I aimed to make 2014 the year of the Very Goth Birthday and didn't fall too wide of the mark.

I'd accrued a couple of free nights on Hotels.com (which I use to book all my work travel), so I checked into the Night Hotel NY (not to be confused with its sister hotel, the Night Hotel Times Square) (although both of them are pretty much in Times Square).

Mah room

I was running late the day I checked in (my actual birthday, December 21) and had to forgo one of my planned stops for the day, so I was in a bit of a snit as I stood in the lobby awaiting attendance. Though the ambiance was what I'd hoped for, the piped in music wasn't. "For fuck's sake," I grumbled to myself as my lip curled in a disgruntled sneer, "why are they playing this stupid dance shit? They should be playing The Cure, or Joy Division, or frigging Depeche Mode, or something." Thankfully, I could breathe a sigh of relief when I entered the blissful quiet of Mah Room.

It'd been a couple of years since I'd last visited the Museum of Sex so I betook myself there, verily. I couldn't help but note their earnest exhortation for guests' best behavior (pictured left) as I paid the entrance fee, but I told the cashier I wasn't making any promises. (Especially regarding that last bit, W00F.)

He didn't mean to turn me on, poor chap.

One of the exhibits was the darkly dirty and whimsical sex puppetry of Peruvian artist Ety Fefer called Grumildos (see image right). It was my fave of that particular visit, I only wish the artist had given us more scenes to enjoy...or, perhaps, made some for sale, so sick puppies like me could bring a scene home as a souvenir. You can see more (and infinitely better) pics of the installation by clicking here.

You'll be heartened to learn I found mine. (As it were.)

I'd looked forward to checking out the Funland: Pleasures and Perils of the Erotic Fairground installment but found it kind of meh. I thought the best (and spookiest) bit was The Tunnel of Love, in which one has to manage various twisty turns in the dark in search of the supposedly elusive clitoris.

I ambled about the MofS shop, then buggered off for some Burger King (not too exciting for a birthday dinner, I know, but I so totally dig their onion rings and that spicy dipping sauce that accompanies them) and Cold Stone Creamery (the night was mild enough to enjoy the chocolate and crumbled Oreo goodness). I went to the 10:15pm showing of Michael Keaton's Birdman, which was brilliant and engrossing though not the lighthearted romp I'd anticipated (if I'd actually read the reviews, I'd've known "lighthearted" and "romp" were hardly appropriate descriptors for the film). It was about 1am, I think, by the time I trekked through a still active Times Square to get back to my hotel. I was emotionally exhausted from the movie ('cause I'm sensitive and whatnot) and feeling myself very alone. 

As I entered the hotel I spied the restaurant/bar and strolled over to check out the action. There wasn't any, though the bartender Licensed Mixologist was still there. I asked if the bar was closed and was delighted to learn drinks could still be had, 'cause I needed one. I ordered a Painkiller (again—so totally needed one), a cocktail composed of dark rum, pineapple and orange juices, cream of coconut, and a sprinkling of nutmeg.

As I sat and soaked up the atmosphere (and cocktail), I felt my shoulders sink down. Then I grinned broadly as the absolutely most appropriate song thundered from the bar's speakers—Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence."

One Painkiller, to go.

When I settled my bill for the one cocktail with my Mixologist, I jokingly asked if I could get one "to go" (back up to my room, that is). And the answer, to my surprise, was YES!

Next day I went for an indifferent breakfast at some bistro around the block (Bistro Around the Block would be a brilliant name for a restaurant, wouldn't it???), then headed up to the upper east side to the Metropolitan Museum of Art so I could check out the (what else?) Death Becomes Her exhibit. Offered by the Costume Institute, this installation featured mourning garb spanning a century from 1815 to 1915. Bombastic organ music played as one meandered through the beautifully attired mannequins. Quotes from periodicals, journals, and letters of the era were projected onto the wall, and the lighting was fittingly sombre. I certainly admired the remarkable work, but after two hours was ready to leave death to its own devices.

Toward the latter half of this time period,
sparkly dress in light mourning colors of mauve and purple were acceptable.

I admit to being all Gothed out and in need of cheer. So I did some shopping at Desigual, made a stop at Starbucks for my usual (a lovely, buttery Toffee Nut Latte), enjoyed a fish'n'chips dinner at the Cock and Bull (heh heh) with a Dark and Stormy drink, and did some more shopping at Barnes and Noble, where I picked up another Georgette Heyer to add to my collection. I capped the night with a different Licensed Mixologist who, upon learning it was my last night there, insisted we do shots of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Honey. Now, I'm not really a whiskey drinker but DAYUM, that jazz was the bomb diggity, as the Youth said in...hell, I can't ever remember.

Right, so; that's all I got. Hope all y'all enjoyed every danged December holiday you cared about and wish you a happy, healthy, love-filled, and prosperous 2015.

A Saint I Ain't...

St Andrew fresco (Kintsvisi, Georgia)

...but according to this quiz, I'm like Saint Andrew, patron saint of a country I ache to visit (Scotland), of my parents' village in Portugal, and ALSO of singers, sore throats, happy marriages, AND spinsters!

(How all those fit in with one another, I've no idea, but I'm a singer-who-wants-to-get-back-to-singing, I've been experiencing sore throats and, as things stand, I'm riding hell for leather down Spinster Road, so it does all rather seem to fit me.)

I luuuuurve taking quizzes, it's so fascinating to learn what these arbitrary responses on my part reveal about me and the inner workings of my psyche, according to some stranger whose credentials, if any, are shrouded in mystery.

:-)

Anyway, it occurs to me that, if I were to be a patron saint of stuff, it'd probably be:

• Ex-smokers and/or folks trying to quit.
• Mothers of teenagers who think they're smarter than their moms (so, like, every teenager ever).
• Lovers of Duran Duran, Depeche Mode, and Blondie.
• Folks who chuckle/snort over a solid pun.
• Peeps who obsess over other peeps to the point that they can't focus on the things they need to be doing with their lives and seem to require repeated boots to their bottoms to aid them in getting their respective (and collective, if applicable) shit together.

Or similar.

How about y'all: of what would YOU be a patron saint???

Sparks ~ Parfums

For this edition of Sparks (things I dig), I'm focusing on perfumes that really ring my olfactory bells.

The first is an oldie that came out in the mid 80s. Poison by Dior intrigued me with its dark, mysterious sexiness (naturally), and deluged my mind with images of a sophisticated dinner party, held in some foreign land (probably England), on a cool and rainy Saturday night, where my destiny awaited in the form of someone tall, dark, and toothsome...

Now, when I wear it in winter (it doesn't seem right for warmer weather, to me), I remember putting it on it in 1987 and listening to Depeche Mode's If You Want as I made ready to go...somewhere. (Given that I was incredibly sheltered and my mom hardly ever let me go anywhere that wasn't somehow related to school or family, you'd think I'd remember where the hell I was going, but I totally don't. I blame Momnesia.) 

Next is Michael Kors by Michael Kors. I find this robust, exotic scent perfect for summertime wear, as it makes me think of beaches and ocean breezes, and moonlit nights with...well, a fella who's tall, dark, and toothsome. :-)

Last is Florence by Tocca. I sniffed it on someone working in my office one day and followed my nose to the source to learn the name of this elegant, almost candy-like scent. I love wearing it on a crisp fall or spring day (which is lucky, as now all my seasonal scent needs are covered). Oh, yeah; and I'd totally wear it for an impromptu picnic of buttery brie, sesame crackers, lush red grapes, and a lovely Californian cabernet sauvignon with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Toothsome.

I've wondered what it is about these three perfumes that resounds with me on such a visceral level and learned that the one thing they all have in common is tuberose at their core. I can certainly detect this in the Michael Kors and Florence, but don't have such an easy time sniffing it out in Poison, possibly because of the many other notes in that perfume, as well as the emotional attachment I have to it...all I know is I take a whiff of Poison and my soul growls, "Woof!" Looking further into tuberose, I got a big kick out of Blogdorf Goodman's post on this scent...::sighs::, it's just so me (I like to flatter myself). :-D

So what do y'all like to wear when you wanna feel sexy?

All pics in this post were (poorly) snapped by me.

The Dark Romance of M...

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Master and Servant ~ Depeche Mode

My Dear Friend Nikki warned me that I'd better include this tune and I was happy to oblige. It titillated me back when I first discovered it as an innocent teen and still manages to stir up the naughty-sauce of my psyche. The key to this song's meaning lies in the lyrics, "Domination's the name of the game/in bed or in life, they're both just the same/Except in one you're fulfilled at the end of the day." Word.

Magic ~ Olivia Newton-John

I loved this song when I first heard it back in 1980 and over 30 years later I keep going back to it for its sheer romance. Because what could be more romantic than knowing you'll always be caught when you fall, always be supported, and even guided if necessary, by one who loves you and sticks with you to the bitter end, and believes you capable of any feat, no matter how impossible? To me, that kind of love really is magical. It's the kind of love parents feel for their children, lovers feel for their mates, and even, I honestly think, the kind of love that God feels for us all. (I know that last bit isn't the kind of thing some folks may expect from me, of all people, but hey - I contain multitudes, OK?)

Magnificent ~ U2

Dudes - when I first heard this song, I thought I'd die from the swell of emotion that overtook me. With its pulsing bass line, a guitar riff that alternates between melancholic yearning and triumphant jubilation, that driving snare, and prayer-like lyrics, it's a gorgeous, sweeping, soul-magnifying love song that pushes you along to a conclusion filled with glorious promise. I realize my feelings for it won't be shared by everybody and y'all can just keep that yourselves - for me, this song is sacred. Yes, sacred. (And, according to the Wikipedia article, which I've linked to the song's title, others agree, using words like hymn and anthem to describe it.) (So there.)

The Dark Romance of I...

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I'm Your Boogie Man ~ KC and The Sunshine Band

With boyish charm and that little take-you-by-surprise growl of promise, Harry Wayne Casey sang about wanting to do whatever he could to love me, please me, and just about everything else that would rock my world, at damn near any time of day convenient to me (or all day long, if that's what it took). It would be churlish to refuse. Churlish, I tell you!

I Want You Now ~ Depeche Mode

I remember buying the Music for the Masses album (on cassette tape!) in the fall of 1987. I sat down on the floor in the middle of the bedroom I shared with my sister, popped the tape in, and slipped on my headphones so I could absorb the beauty and wonder as fully and intimately as possible. I was in heaven. I flipped over to side 2, rocked as quietly as I could to Behind the Wheel, and then was stunned into motionlessness by the almost religious intensity of I Want You Now. Lord, Lord, Lord...WOOF!!!!! The best bit of that first experience however, besides having my teenaged socks rocked, was how I nearly jumped out of my skin at the eerie laughter at the very end of the tune (you've been warned). There's not an official video, so the one below is a simple vid with good sound quality - close your eyes and let it sink in...

I Dig You ~ Cult Hero (very early The Cure)

It's all very simple: there's me, there's you, there's us, and it rocks - huzzah! :-D