On All Hallows' Eve

It is hard to believe that All Hallows' Eve is upon us yet again. It seems like only yesterday I was turning off all homefront lighting, disconnecting the doorbell and quietly reading a book in the back of the house. Time certainly flies, doesn't it readers.

Despite the many negatives of the holiday, I set about decorating the property this morning in the style of All Hallows' Eve. I enlisted the help of my new washwoman Isabel, whom incidentally fought me every step of the way. She asked why go to such exhaustive measures to decorate the entire property for just one day when she has to come early and take it all back down the very next? I tried to help her understand that decorating for holidays keeps one young, which in turn keeps a sparkle in the eye. But on the other hand, having seasonal decorations up for more than a couple of days is not only irritating, but also a safety hazard. From the look on Isabel's face I'm not sure she agreed.

Although Isabel insists that she is Spanish, I believe her to be German. I see it in her walk and refuse to discuss it further. I assumed her Teutonic eye would be a big help to me in staging sinister and menacing props around the house, but boy was I wrong. Not only did she not offer any ideas of her own, she seemed absolutely terrified all morning and afternoon and spent much of the day in nervous prayer. Luckily I was there to offer direction.

The trick to successful decorating for All Hallows' Eve is to go for a kind of Satanic Ritual look without going overboard. Having a startling and memorable decor is the goal, but compromising one's good-standing in social circles and the afterlife is to be avoided when possible.

In the snapshot above I've mixed a hellish raven and ritualistic black candelabras with heavenly crystal stemware and civilized silver leaf pumpkin votives. It's quite unsettling but very elegant. Nothing this tasteful could be soulfully inappropriate, now could it.

And finally, nothing says "October" like a plaque that says "October". Decorative signage inscribed with seasonal words or motifs placed in foyers and entryways lets visitors know exactly what they're in for, without a lot of sociological explanation from the homeowner. This allows the host and guest to engage in satisfying personal conversation much more quickly.

On Politics

From the very beginning, it has been my intent to steer clear of the subject of politics within this blog. I envisioned this site as a kind of "safe place" where both intellectuals and idiots could come together and stand hand-in-hand in the soft, indirect glow of my aesthetic judgement. (Over the years I've discovered that neither the felicitous nor the foolish have even the slightest clue about what constitutes pleasant indoor lighting.) Finding a sort of middle-ground on which to communicate, to help, and to enlighten, has been always been my goal, exhausting though it may be.

But as we approach November, I find myself feeling much more impassioned about expressing my opinion on the sort of politics I am encountering. Thus, I have decided to break my own rule. I will no doubt lose some of my followers as a result, but I truly believe that if I don't take a stand now I will not be able to sleep at night, despite my well-documented low-caffeine intake. So please hear me out.

You see readers, I have not won "Yard Of The Month" one single solitary time this entire year, and here it is practically November. And without any doubt, I place the blame squarely on neighborhood politics.

As an example, I live across the street from a woman named "Miss Hannah" who claims to be in her mid-90s and pridefully makes a great big show out of the fact that she still mows her own lawn and rakes her own leaves. Her pride however comes with a subtle sense of judgement which I have felt on occasion and don't particularly care for. She has won "Yard Of The Month" twice since March, and while I was happy for her the first time, after her second win I had a very uneasy feeling that biased neighborhood politics were coming in to play.

Despite the skillful work of two young gentlemen from the neighboring village of Pooler, whom I kept on an around-the-clock landscaping retainer during the months of June, July and August, my front yard seemed to go unnoticed month after month. In September I even paid Miss Hannah (a fair sum of $112) to mow and rake my front yard and install two flower beds, a cobblestone path and a water feature -- but even this seemed to do little to win the admiration of my neighbors. In fact it even seemed to upset some.

But in keeping a keen eye trained on the social maneuvers of the neighborhood, I have observed that the Y.O.T.M. Sign is consistently awarded to a select few who appear to have the time to exchange casseroles, baked goods and gossipy trivialities with one another on an almost daily basis. But as I've always said, scratch the surface of any "good neighbor" and one can almost always find a sinister and calculated intent of raw manipulation lurking beneath. Quite frankly readers, it's a game my scruples refuse to allow me to play.

So, in an attempt to end such blatant bias, I faxed the Neighborhood Yard Chairlady three weeks ago and proposed that we award two signs each month: one for Yard Of The Month, and another for Favorite Friend Of The Month.

I am still awaiting a response.

On Sanka

Nights can seem endless when one is unable to to sleep. And as one twists and turns in bed, troubling thoughts always seem to rise to the fore - thoughts which one would never think in the daytime. Vivid thoughts of bloody home invasions carried out by societal drop-outs under the influence of lysergic acid diethylamide, or hundreds of large poisonous snakes dropping through ceiling tiles onto the bed are typical. And often such thoughts can be traced back to a single cup of coffee which one had earlier. However, one needn't give up coffee drinking to enjoy a pleasant night's rest. Simply switch to Sanka.

Sanka is perfectly fine and scientifically engineered with a fragrant, full-bodied flavor that is so often associated with coffee. Yet Sanka is easy on the mind, because 97% of its caffeine has been laboriously removed by trained professionals. Sanka allows coffee drinkers to enjoy as much as they want, as often as they want.

Sanka is also available now in portable purse or pocket packets, allowing at-home drinkers an extended range of mobility should they ever feel so inclined.

On Bay Windows

The seventh most important feature of any good home is its presence of bay windows. Not only are these faceted protrusions a knowing nod to style and sophistication, but they also provide a heightened sense of security courtesy of the extended range of sight they allow across the property. Installing bay windows on each and every side of the home is not only admirably attractive, but cunningly clever.

Within months, these window installations can pay for themselves due to the 180 degree line of sight they provide from neighbor to neighbor. No more manic dashing from window to window and paying for costly red wine and decaf coffee stain removals from carpets and rugs, bay windows allow residents to sit secure and stationary for hours on end with a full range of vision from "neighbor-left" to "neighbor-right".

Bay windows are often associated with Victorian architecture and were a part of the Gothic Revival style, but don't let that put you off. Even in up-to-date normal times, a bay window still exudes elegance and a sense of spaciousness, particularly when beautifully draped.

Seldom does architecture function in favor of both style and security, but a bay window - or several - is the exception to the rule. Install one or more today.

On Celery

Recently I've become obsessed with celery. I kept the news to myself for the longest time, until finally I phoned my sister Paula and shared it with her. I told her everything: how I like eating it raw as a snack, or dipped into organic peanut butter, or stuffed with pimento or cream cheese, or finely diced and folded into a wonderous Waldorf Salad.

I spoke about celery's crunch factor, and we both agreed that my description of the taste as being "mint-like and yet not really" hit pretty close to the mark. We discussed celery salt and how neither of use it enough, nor to its full advantage. We probably mentioned 100 recipes that use, or could use, celery during our conversation. As you can see, I'm simply smitten.

As we were about to finish our call, I remembered a rather strange fact from my days within the Perfume Industry. I have tried, with professional assistance, to forget everything I ever learned within the world of perfume due to the painful manner in which I was driven out. But at that moment I remembered: celery contains andro-testosterone, a powerful hormone that is released through perspiration and acts as a sort of romance magnet. By eating celery, one releases a higher level of pheromones. Everything was starting to begin to almost make sense, in a way.

I broke my own rule about shoehorning Boom's name into casual conversation, but wondered aloud if my new obsession with celery might perhaps be nature's scientifically magical way of beaming out a kind of "pheromonal beacon" to the love that I lost. Could my beloved Boom be sensing my celery-strengthened scented signal? Could it be? What if? Why not? Can you imagine?*

*The questions raised within this entry are hypothetical as well as being highly personal and are not intended as a conversation starter.

On Ipanema

Judging by the overflow of faxes I discovered upon my return home yesterday, not many of you knew that I was out of the country traversing the beautiful Ipanema Beach in sunny Rio de Janeiro. The nondisclosure was intentional, as I feel that being chatty about one's movements can often leave one's home vulnerable to thievery. I also feel that sharing certain aspects of my schedule could be misconstrued as braggadocios to quite a large number of you.

Embarrassingly, I took part in the trip as part of a local tour group in a disastrous attempt to "engage socially". But due to immediate disagreements on itinerary, philosophy and grammar, I broke off from the group upon landing and made arrangements with my travel agent for my own return flight home. Vacations are, by nature, very stressful affairs which are compounded by the number of people involved. When faced with this situation, it's best to cut ties immediately rather than put on a brave face and develop an ulcer.

Ipanema is famous for its elegance and affluence, and visitors should dress accordingly. Wikipedia, a computerized resource of facts and information, lists Ipanema as one of the most expensive locations in which to live, and further states that a majority of its residents are economically pegged as "upper-middle-class". It's one of four and a half places on this planet where I truly feel at home.

For a reasonable fee, one can employ the services of certain locals to act as a personal guide and/or interpreter to mature adventurers traveling alone. Here, my Monday through Thursday guide, Paulo, gives the universal "thumbs-up" signal when presented with the iPad he requested.

I was ecstatic to find Coca-Cola Zero available at a small cabana on the far end of the beach. I believe that one can best enjoy a foreign territory when equipped with a modicum of familiar trappings. It helps to keep one grounded. Too much of any foreign culture can be unnecessarily disorienting and trigger panic and anxiety attacks. When traveling, always appreciate, observe and respect the exotic beauty of your foreign locale, but never forget who you are in the process.

One final word of warning, however: the beaches of Ipanema can be as deadly as they are beautiful. On one particular morning, my weekend interpreter Narciso and I awoke to find a body floating in the hotel pool. After screaming, I took a series of artistic photographs of Narciso as he heroically pulled the body from the water, one of which I am debuting here within this blog entry. I've pixelated the victim's face in a tasteful and conceptual recognition of privacy.

On A Fairer Flush

Once again I find myself being moved by turquoise toilet water. But like high hemlines and third-world countries, turquoise toilet water is "á la mode" one decade and then corny and passé the next. Today, contemporary culture is bowled over by clear toilet water, but why? Is there more to it than meets the eye? When is it ok to buck a trend? Let's examine this more closely.

I have noticed an ugly barebones approach to lavatories these days which I believe is a reaction to our "get-it-done-yesterday" world of faxes, beepers and wireless telephones. Modern lavatories seem to scream "spend as little time in here as biologically possible!" so that you may quickly get back out, face to face with yet another 500 mph nervous breakdown. Perhaps readers, it's time to take our toilets back.

Stylish and comfortable lavatories were once a destination point in the home, due in no small part to the technicolor tint of turquoise which calmly greeted visitors from within the bowl. Relaxing and reminiscent of tropical locales, the blue made one eager to sit down, to relax one's shoulders and perhaps, just perhaps, even smile.

Ask yourself, do you currently put off a trip to the lavatory until the very last minute? Can you even recall the last time you used the lavatory? Are you consistently irritable and on edge? Chances are you've fallen prey to contemporary clear-water culture, but sometimes the simplest solution is the best. Simply drop a big blue tablet (available at your local grocer) into the back of your tank and get ready for 3-4 months of smooth, civilized sailing.

On Magnificent Obsessions

One of the things about my home that puts visitors on immediate notice is the astonishing exhibit of collectables that I display throughout. Obsessive collecting not only brings whimsy and interest to one's home, but also acts as a magical distraction from personal disappointments and anxieties.

Perhaps you would like to start a collection!

First, work out what you are interested in. Make a list. Perhaps it is coins from foreign countries that have always attracted you, or hammers, tambourines, fragile fawns, or stamps featuring former First Ladies? Of course it's entirely possible that you've never felt this way or that about much of anything, and simply wish to copy or vary what another collector is doing. And that's fine too.

Now take a long hard look at your list and decide what is within your realm of capability. Consider also any limitations to starting your hobby, like space, cost and availability. If your interest is extremely rare and expensive, consider how far you are willing to go to get the money to buy it. If your personality runs toward the meek and scrupulous, that is an indicator to start smaller.

Next, find out how can you get it. Take a trip to the library and research the subject, its history and where it can be acquired. Once you complete all your research and fact checking, start collecting!

Remember to keep it unique. Once you become acclimated to collecting and begin to feel it taking a front seat in your daily life, then it is time to begin the hard work of making your collection stand out. Some suggestions for making a collection unique include:

1. Creating a theme, for example, hammers, one color objects, or items relating to an uncontroversial event in history.

2. Quantity and quality. (Have the most, and have it in the best condition.)

3. Prior ownership by someone famous, infamous or curious.

The value of a collection increases with its uniqueness, presentation and display. How you present it and have it "tell a story" is the difference between a connoisseur and a hoarder. Also be aware of the history and trends surrounding your collection and keep such information nearby, or have it engraved onto brass plaques mounted next to the displays. And above all, remember to keep a very keen eye trained on fumbling visitors.

On The Rockies

This past weekend I accidentally visited the Rocky Mountains. I felt a romantic sadness coming on, so I asked my new gardener Nikolai to escort me on a quick jaunt up into the Rockies. Being new to this country and destitute, he jumped at the opportunity to drive me.

We left the next morning but, as former friends will attest, I am renowned for getting my mountain ranges confused. In my mind I was saying "The Smokey Mountains," not the "Rocky Mountains". So, what I thought would be a 6 hour drive into Tennessee ended up a 25.5 hour road trek into Colorado. I always ingest a discreet handful of calming pills before I travel, so by the time I awoke and realized my mistake, it was simply too late. After I calmed back down, Nicky and I began to laugh. We laughed and laughed the entire rest of the way.

Finally there, we stayed at a small bed and breakfast at the foot of one of the range's most beautiful mountains. The inn was run by an old woman and her two daughters, none of whom I particularly cared for. One morning Nicky showed me how to snap a photo with his new i-Telephone I had given him. Here he is standing in front of the mountain I was telling you about. Have you ever seen anything so rugged and breathtaking? Isn't it just begging to be climbed?

With a picnic basket in hand, we set off on foot up the mountain. Nicky was a saint, constantly catching and saving me as I would nearly fall off a steep embankment or step on an indigenous snake. It was a wonderful day, until Nikolai was nearly mauled to death by a wild cougar who seemed to jump from out of nowhere.

I must have fainted, because when I came to I found Nikolay in the snow, bruised and unconscious with scratches from head to foot. For a moment I tried dragging him back down to the Bed and Breakfast, but he was simply too big so I left him there. I made my way back down the mountain and ended up paying the old woman and her daughters to go back up and bring him down.

UPDATE: Nicky has been taken out of ICU and as I understand, plans to make his home in Colorado rather than come back to Georgia. He must have really fallen in love with those Rockies! I can't say I blame him. They're magical.

On Busts

When it comes to gifting, I am quite renowned for sharing a beautiful bust. Perhaps at first the idea seems extravagant and outlandish, but nothing makes a more unique and memorable statement than gifting these wonderful works of art to those who can appreciate a lovely bust in their home.

My busts are certainly not the most contemporary gift, but that's exactly what makes them so unexpected and unique. And when the occasion is truly special, I like to give a pair. The looks on the faces of recipients after unwrapping a pair of my shiny neoclassics are often worth every penny I paid for them. Whether bronzed or in alabaster, bust giving truly makes a statement.

After they have been unwrapped and studied, take the onus on oneself to help the recipient find just the right spot for them. Place them on a shelf beneath dramatic lighting, or try them out on the lid of a polished piano. Perhaps they would look impressive atop a dining room table? Hold them up over a mantle on the fireplace. Be uninhibited and try out a wide variety of positions throughout the home. This unique gift of ample elegance will really add a certain "je ne sais quoi" to any room.