He Knew All The Words

Adrienne and Nick came up for a quick but fun-filled weekend to celebrate Nick’s 30th birthday, which is today. They arrived early on Friday, and after dropping their stuff at my place and doing a bit of shopping, met me at my office for lunch. We ate at Landmarc, which was delicious as usual and a nice return to something very familiar to Adrienne. I went back to the office and the Collas went back to Brooklyn. We met up at Blue Ribbon Downing Street Bar for cocktails after work. We lucked into the corner seats and stayed there for three rounds, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and getting caught up.

We’d planned for Friday to be a casual dinner and for Saturday to be the nicer dinner to celebrate Nick’s birthday. Well, Friday’s meal was, I suppose, casual, but it was a long drawn-out affair and somewhat pricey. And it was perfect. We ate at Peppolino — another welcoming, familiar venue for Adge. The food there is just ridiculously perfect. But we ate so much of it that we couldn’t even have any ridiculously perfect desserts like their ricotta cheesecake or the heavenly panna cotta. We returned to Brooklyn, and with Adrienne being tired she promptly went to bed. But it was only a bit past midnight so Nick and I headed out for a draaank. We went to Pete’s Alehouse where I was served a Maker’s on the rocks about the size of my head. From there we went to Floyd, where we watched drunk people play bocce and had two more rounds.

Needless to say, Adrienne was up before Nick or I on Saturday morning. She went out and bought bagels and cream cheese and OJ and a breakfast sandwich for Nick. We had a nice slow start to the day. The weather this weekend is lovely — sunny and low 60s. So we took advantage of the sunshine and enjoyed a nice walk on The High Line, NYC’s new elevated park on the west side. We window-shopped our way through the Meatpacking District into the West Village. After wandering for hours we needed lunch. So we started at Grom for some gelato (!) then hopped a cab to the East Village to get some Crif Dogs. Mmmmmmm. This was Nick’s only firm requirement for the trip and we enjoyed it immensely — maybe even more so for it not being 3am and drunk off our asses, which is how we’ve usually experienced Crif Dogs.

We headed back to my place to nap, relax, listen to some music, and have a pre-dinner cocktail. We bumped our dinner reservation back by an hour and really took our time getting going. We took a cab to Union Square and had a wonderful birthday meal at Blue Water Grill. Nick had a two-pound lobster that was so beautiful we almost cried. It was another long, leisurely dinner — fish and sushi rolls and drinks and wine and desserts and digestifs. Wonderful.

And then just like that it was all over, saying goodbye as I put them in a cab and off they go, back to Florida…. By the time I post this, they’ll just be touching down in the Sunshine State.

I am not a vodka drinker. But Adrienne Colla is.

On the occasion of my 38th birthday, Adrienne (née Zaza) bought me six elegant little apéritif glasses (five of which survive to this day). I promised I’d invent a drink in her honor to serve in these glasses. Well you can file this one under “Better Late Than Never,” as three-and-a-half years later I have finally (!) completed my task.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer you the Virgin Zazaura Apéritif.

Cin-cin!

I’m going to write a longer entry about bullying, about the It Gets Better campaign, and about my complicated reaction to tonight’s episode of Glee. But for now I’ll just say two quick thoughts (and yeah, #1′s a big spoiler):

1. The bully is gay? The bully. Is gay. ????? Would you please give me a fucking break.
2. Darren Criss is ridiculously cute, and this rendition of what’s-her-name’s stoopid song is soooooo much better than the original! Here it is:

Heart melts.

When a loved-one dies, memories can be a salve for the wounds of grief and sadness. Dad has paid loving tribute to his sister Palma in a new story he sent me, recalling from his childhood the beginnings of her marriage, and the trust and sweetness Aunt Palma always embodied, in this case, by way of secretly entrusting him in her personal affairs. Again, this story has been added over at the old site, where I encourage you to read all of Dad’s stories, which are touching and, more often than not, very very funny. Thanks for another story, Dad.
– DMZ

The Unknowing Co-Conspirator

In August of 2010, my dear sister Palma died after a long and courageous fight with diabetes. Attending, as she had requested, her very simple funeral, my mind wandered back to two events that took place many years ago.

In July of 1949, I was just eleven years old. Palma, who was eighteen, invited a young man to our house, so that he could ask my father’s permission to marry her. This came as a complete surprise to Mama and Papa, who strictly forbid my sisters to date at that age. Also, Martha, our oldest sister, was engaged to be married the very next September, and according to an old Italian tradition, daughters must be married off in chronological order, eldest to youngest. So, being the epitome of the Italian father, Papa quickly dismissed the young man, asking him to never darken the doorway of his home again! And so Joseph Frank, the would-be suitor, left, and a weeping Palma was sent to her room. The crisis had been met and dealt with.

The very next week, while the family and some friends celebrated Papa’s birthday, Palma called me up to her room, and asked me to carry some paper bags of old clothing to the basement. I made two such trips, and anxiously went back to birthday party, for fear I’d miss out on cake. Meanwhile, my sister Martha and her fiancée returned home from a matinee movie, and joined in the party. Mama, missing Palma’s presence, asked Martha to go upstairs and bring her down to join in singing Happy Birthday. What Martha found when she went to their bedroom, was a note from Palma, saying how she could not live without “her Joe,” and so they were eloping that day. The bags of old clothes I had carried to the basement were actually Palma’s clothes. She could not risk using a suitcase, for fear of being caught. She used me and the cellar exit to make her escape! The celebration was over.

The newly weds, fearful of Papa’s anger and possibly some other real or imagined retribution, made a home in Kane, Pennsylvania, a good three to four hours away from our home in Ohio. I missed my sister, who was always ready to give me treats (she liked to make fudge, which never set, so we ate it with a spoon), or help me entertain myself.

By autumn, I had not seen Palma for several months, and then one day I looked up from my desk at school, and there she was, peeking in the window of my classroom door. I was so excited to see her, and I jumped out of my seat. The teacher asked me to sit down, and I remember saying, ”but that’s my sister, and I want to see her.” Mrs. Schrader went out to the hall, heard Palma’s story, and allowed me to go out and see my sister. What a happy reunion. But once again, Palma asked me to keep a secret and not tell the family that she was in town. Once again we were co-conspirators!

Months later, on December 24, Mama received a phone call from Palma from Kane, Pennsylvania. In tears, Palma told Mama that there had been a fire in their apartment, and although they managed to save most of their furniture, they were basically homeless. When Papa heard this, he told them to hold tight, that he would be there as soon as possible. So on Christmas Eve, in a snowstorm, Papa drove his truck into the hills of Pennsylvania, and brought Palma, Joe, and their belongings home to Youngstown. Mama got the gift of a lifetime — her family was together again!

– Marco Zaza