First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

The “C” Word

No marriage, no family, can survive three rainy days in a camper – John Steinback

Through the years, I’ve slept in the wilderness in a tent. On two separate occasions, I survived three days in a camper (no rain). Last fall, during a romance with an outdoor adventure writer, he suggested we backpack for a weekend in the middle of nowhere, and I would have done that for him, but we split up. On the whole, though, I am much happier in a cushy hotel room, with a big bathtub. Occasionally I’ll get inquiries from men on dating sites whose profiles boast of camping, hiking, kayaking and other robust outdoor activities, but I’m afraid I’ll disappoint them with my urban ways, so I’m honest, and don’t usually hear back. How do you feel about the “C” word?

Image: The Forest, by Blair Mclean

Why I Don’t Write Autobiographical Poems

Love this!

Why I Don’t Write Autobiographical Poems
by Mary Wallach –

Vengeance doesn’t work in a poem, nor do digs at anatomical parts
or mean-spirited, see-what-I-mean, anecdotal jibes. For example,
you write an epic tirade against “Bob.” Who is Bob to me, the reader?
The fact that he lied, cheated, was lousy in bed, that doesn’t make Bob
special, nor does your problem with Bob make me feel different about my life.
However, speak to me of Bob’s kitchen, of its perfect, painted walls
of deep and shiny teal with high-gloss white moldings, (he was into that
Southwestern look), of the way Bob’s toast had to be cooked evenly on
both sides, and of Bob, himself, draped, regally, in a raggedy old kimono,
dragging on a filthy, filterless cigarette, his hand as graceful as a gazelle in
slow-motion, the nervousness suspended, of how each word he spoke was
always articulated as neatly, separately, yet as packed with juice as a
champagne grape — and I can begin to feel more impassioned. And when,
after several years of cohabitation, he drops you as carelessly as he flicks
an ash, you allow me to be devastated.

Photo: Cigarette vending machine in Italy, 2010, by Miguel Torres

Is It Important To Expand Your Dating Palette?

About six months ago, a family member set me up on a blind date. We decided on lunch at a popular restaurant where we ended up talking for hours. I admired him, and he was definitely interested in me. I wasn’t attracted physically, but I agreed to a second date (because, they don’t happen that often and he seemed like a nice guy), which I went on dutifully, but couldn’t wait to be over. After that, we never saw each other again. Today, I wondered, have my tastes become too narrow? Is he the one (small “o”) who got away?

Image: palette of Georges Seurat (according to a blog in the Telegraph, U.K.)

What To Bring To The Beach

It’s not just because I got back from a trip to Italy 15 days ago, and I’m trying to evoke its memories–like that morning in our Rome apartment when Miguel was out shooting photographs, and I had a rare moment, sitting still and alone, and grabbed a random book off the shelf, which I couldn’t put down. Sure, I’d seen the movie, with the dazzling Audrey Hepburn, but never got around to the actual novella, by Truman Capote. I’m here to tell you, Breakfast at Tiffany’s is GREAT. At 100+ pages, it’s not much of a time commitment, and will draw you in from the first sentence. A perfect book for the beach (or the city or the lake or the suburbs.)

Image: Umbrella (Orange): With Figure and Ball (Blue and Green) 2004, by John Baldessari

Sunday updates

From The Best Sauce of Tomato Season – A sliced view of the first home-grown tomatoes from the garden, surrounded by Bufalo di Mozzarella, sprinkled with aged Balsamic (which I carted home from Italy). Corn and asparagus were from Whole Foods. Vodka is from the freezer.

From Joan Rivers, Can We Talk: A Piece of Work, the film by Ricki Stern and Anne Sundberg, is really fun, and a great glimpse into what it takes to make it. I’m going with, loving Joan Rivers.

Do We Have to EARN Happiness?

I was on the phone with a friend today, who told me that he is happier than he has ever been. This friend is a thoroughly kind person, also handsome, gives back to the community, cooks well, and sends the best birthday cards. After years of complicated, moody relationships and a failed marriage, he finally met an equally good person who really loves him. I was elated at the news. Not for a moment, did I begrudge him his happiness. He had earned it. But what a weird idea, earning happiness? Is there a correlation between being good and being happy?

Image: Liebespaar (Lovers), 1967, by the influential artist, Sigmar Polke who died a few days ago.

Joan Rivers, Can We Talk?

I’m a stealth QVC addict. It’s not about buying things (okay, I am on auto delivery for Peter Thomas Roth “un-wrinkle” serum). But what really pulls me in are the ingratiating “hosts” and their ability to sell large quantities of crap. If you watch QVC long enough, you’re bound to stumble onto Joan Rivers, who is one of the channel’s most successful brands, with her popular fashion jewelry, skincare, handbags, sunglasses and clothing lines. It’s hard to look away from Joan Rivers, and I waver between admiration and scorn. Apparently I can’t get enough. This weekend, I’m planning on more face time, with A Piece of Work, the documentary about her, that just opened to rave reviews. Where are you on the Joan Rivers love/hate continuum?

Single, Straight and Coming to Dinner

A few weeks ago, I was invited to a dinner party. What a TREAT to be eating someone else’s home-cooked food for a change. But I almost said no. The reason? The other guests were two couples, and I wasn’t up for being the fifth wheel. I confessed to my host, who’d been single for years. He soon emailed that an unattached friend would be joining us. As it turns out, everyone at the dinner party is gay (but me). And I realized that this scenario is a total no-brainer. On a related subject, read a fascinating piece in Scientific American about the stereotype of the “fag hag.” And at 2 minutes, 13 seconds into this video, watch the late, Rue McClanahan (of Golden Girls fame), play one. From a 1971 film, “Some of My Best Friends Are…”

The Best Sauce for Tomato Season

Summer is coming. I’ve harvested a juicy tomato from the garden so far, though it’s still too early to find a crop of ripe, flavorful heirlooms in the store. Since the season is short, once they start appearing, I gorge myself. One of the simplest and most delicious pasta sauces is made using only slow-roasted tomatoes (which I then toss with Parmegiano Reggiano). This recipe is SO easy, and I prepare a big batch to freeze and savor in the tomato-void of winter.   Continue reading »

Imagining the Female Body as a Paint Brush

Yves Klein the influential and dashing French artist used the term, anthropometries, for his canvases that were filled by slathering curvy nude models with paint and using them as human brushes (while he pranced around in formal wear). Klein died in 1962, of a heart attack when he was only 34, but within his jam-packed seven year career, he riveted audiences and art critics. He had the instincts of a modern marketing genius and patented a gorgeous ultramarine color, calling it “International Klein Blue.” The first major U.S. retrospective of his work in over 30 years is at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington, D.C., until September 12.               Continue reading »