Monthly Archives:

March 2015

A Mid-Day Late-Winter Poem

Lines For Winter 
by Mark Strand

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself –
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

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Twinning in the Winter

There’s nothing quite like having a fun Sunday morning after a sleepover at the tail-end of winter. Last weekend we had the twins over and they kept us busy all the way through Sunday. When they asked to stay for a little longer while their Dad had to pick up some wood, I couldn’t refuse. The photographs speak for themselves.

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A Wait at the End of Winter

WAITING

By John Malcolm Brinnin

 

What reasons may the single heart employ

When, forward and impervious, it moves

Through savage times and science toward the joy

Of love’s next meeting in a threatened space?

What privilege is this, whose tenure gives

One anesthetic hour of release,

While the air raid’s spattered signature displays

A bitter artistry among the trees?

 

Thus, in our published era, sweetness lives

And keeps its reasons in a private room;

As, in the hothouse, white hibiscus proves

A gardener’s thesis all the winter through,

So does this tenderness if waiting bloom

Like tropics under glass, my dear, for you.

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A Senior Recital: Caleb Eick

Back in my high school days, I played the oboe. I was pretty good, but I was far from great. While music came pretty naturally to me, the oboe is an unnatural, and decidedly difficult, double-reeded woodwind to master. Thanks to a wonderful private teacher, Mrs. Green, and hours of work and perseverance, I managed to do decently enough for various NYSSMA performances and ultimately ended up making it into the Empire State Youth Orchestra – a rather competitive place for young local musicians. I also had the opportunity to perform with the Albany Symphony Orchestra and the Schenectady Symphony Orchestra. The point of this thin musical résumé is that I know how much hard work and effort goes into making a career in the arts – especially in the world of music. You have to be dedicated, driven, and basically obsessed with perfecting a craft that is largely imperfect. Very few are the times when you feel you’ve had a perfect performance – but that is precisely the goal of many a musician. It’s an elusive quest, but a noble one, and so my heart always feels a certain tug for those who attempt such a path.

Caleb Eick is one such musician. Currently, he is preparing for his Senior Recital this Friday. A baritone majoring in Vocal Performance, Mr. Eick knows the discipline and work ethic involved in a musical career. Music also opened a world of acceptance and possibility for someone who preferred Chopin to science or sports. (Not that classical artists were his sole inspiration; he equally favors the work of Panic! At the Disco and Paramore.) Last year he was named the first Auriel Scholar at the College of Saint Rose:

The Auriel Scholar program is an educational program, aimed at mentoring college-aged voice students, that provides practical experience and knowledge of the inner workings of a professional arts organization. Students involved in this program have the opportunity to sing in a fast-paced professional choir, acquire advanced choral and vocal skills, learn challenging repertoire and add practical performance experience to one’s resume – all the while learning the business skills it takes to become a music professional. The Auriel Scholar program is a valuable apprenticeship that helps students get a head-start on their professional musical careers.

His Senior Recital is scheduled for this Friday (you are are all invited) and will feature works by Lully, Campra, Bellini, Verdi, Schumann, Bizet, Gounod, and Vaughan Williams. A challenging program, Mr. Eick has been preparing for it for over a year, and it contains pieces that span from the Baroque period to Late Romantic and 20th Century works. Great music transcends time, and great musicians remind us of that.

Music made sense. It allowed one to move in ways you couldn’t in any other situation. Music allowed me to connect with people on a deeper level that we don’t allow ourselves to in our everyday interactions. ~ Caleb Eick

The Senior Recital of Caleb Eick

Friday, March 13, 2015, 7:00pm
Kathleen McMannus Picotte Recital Hall
The College of Saint Rose
Albany, New York

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A Revelation & A Rebellion: Madonna’s ‘Rebel Heart’ Review

It’s become almost impossible to objectively review any Madonna album at this point in time. Thirty years of an unprecedented stint in the spotlight (a light that continues to shine brightly as everyone continues to offer their take on the woman). It’s worth resurrecting one of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes: ‘The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.’ To cavort, wrestle, and entangle yourself with the fickle beast of fame takes something altogether superhuman – to win more often than not takes a miracle. The fact that the world still has an opinion on Madonna – no matter what it may be – is proof that she’s still winning.

Ageist, sexist, and below-the-belt jabs aside, the single constant that most people side-step when it comes to the woman herself is what she has always done best: music. With ‘Rebel Heart‘, the music once again almost gets lost amid the tumultuous journey to get here: early leaks and piracy, sexy photo shoots and red-carpet ass-flashes, and that dangerously epic tumble on stage. Now that the album has seen its official release, the world can hear things as Madonna originally intended.

Opening with an instant Madonna classic, ‘Living For Love’, things get off to an anthemic powerhouse start, as a gospel-tinged chorus builds to a rousing hand-clapping climax. At first I was oddly unimpressed by the song. Yeah, it was good, but was it great? It took a few listens, one magnificent video, and a pair of live performances to reveal the merit of this. Madonna knows what she’s doing. That some of us still doubt and wonder only makes her prove it, and such drama is what drives much of the album.

“Tell me I’m no good and I’ll be great,” she defiantly commands on ‘Iconic’, following up,  “Say I have to fight and I can’t wait.” With a spoken-intro by Mike Tyson and a bit by Chance the Rapper, ‘Iconic’ is a pretty pop song draped in other distractions. As on bonus tracks like ‘Autotune Baby’ there’s a gorgeous song trapped within the skittering rap and musical madness, and she’s going to make you work to find it.

For ‘Rebel Heart’ Madonna worked with everyone and their mother ~ Diplo, Avicci, Nicki Minaj, Chance the Rapper, Natalia Kills, Nas, Kanye West, Alicia Keys and even Mike Fucking Tyson ~ and it’s apparent in the sometimes-jarring stand-alone construction of the songs. While some Madonna albums (‘Ray of Light’ or ‘Confessions on a Dancefloor’) work best as a cohesive whole, others offer a smorgasbord of songs that have nothing to do with one another (‘True Blue’ and ‘Music‘). Each format has its merits and drawbacks, and ‘Rebel Heart’ is decidedly in the latter bunch. The first eight songs alone are the very definition of extreme, veering from the wild and wonderfully crass ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ to one of the most tender songs she’s written in her career ‘Joan of Arc’. Such a roller coaster is sometimes difficult to stomach, but to her credit Madonna manages to wrap it all up into one giddy ride.

‘Devil Pray’ is a glorious folk song accented by electronic flourishes, vocal distortions, and a melody-line oddly reminiscent of ‘House of the Rising Sun’ while rumored second single ‘Ghosttown’ is the sort of power balladry that Madonna has never been given the due respect owed for such majesty. (See ‘Rain‘ or ‘Live to Tell‘ or ‘Drowned World’.) ‘Ghosttown’ is rife with apocalyptic images of the end of the world, but Madonna finds solace in holding onto another person. That sort of rumination is what lifts the album through its sagging points. Like the pair of bitch songs: ‘Unapologetic Bitch’ and ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’. The former stings an ex-lover over a reggae-electronic beat and the latter is an all-out aural assault on any naysayers. Those two cuts fall clearly on the ‘Rebel’ side of the equation, but they veer toward the grating. Madonna does rebellion more convincingly on ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici’ where she ticks off a list of all the provocative and milestone pop culture markers she’s staked over the years (name-dropping ‘Ray of Light‘, ‘Musicâ’, ‘The Power of Goodbye’, ‘Like A Prayer‘, ‘Open Your Heart’, and ‘Justify My Love’) and on challenging tracks like ‘Illuminati’ where she espouses the “all-seeing eye” and shoots down conspiracy theories with commanding authority.

Madonna’s own hurt and vulnerability form the crux of what makes her so lovable in spite of her self-obsessed tendencies. Scars form a metaphor for a number of cuts here: “We made it through the fire, Scarred and we’re bruised but our hearts will guide us,” she sings on ‘Hold Tight’, while ‘Beautiful Scars’ expounds upon its titular theme atop a percolating modern-disco backing track. After everything she’s been through (and put herself through) a few battle wounds are to be expected. For the woman who once showed off her naked body in ‘Sex’, she’s been largely uncomfortable in her skin – no one who shape-shifts in such chameleon-like ways could be entirely happy with herself. Madonna works that out through the music here.

One of the strongest cuts on the album, ‘Inside Out’ finds her seeking a deeper connection: “I wanna know what you’re all about, You’re beautiful when you’re broken down, Let your walls crumble to the ground… Every scar that you try to hide, all the dark corners of your mind, Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” It also boasts the best bridge Madonna has written in years ~ big, beautiful, and soaring: “Let’s cross the line so far we won’t come back, Can’t read your mind, I shouldn’t have to ask, Cynical smile, Time to take off your mask, I’m on your side so let me love you, let me love you.”

Madonna has said that she wanted to focus on solid song-writing this time around, and she’s largely succeeded, even if you have to hunt to find some of them. (Buried gems lie in hidden wait behind the distractions constructed around ‘Illuminati’, ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ and ‘Iconic’.) Other songs are more readily accessible. ‘Heartbreak City’ is emotionally haunting, chronicling the dark ending of a relationship, as the steady drum march drones toward its inevitable ending.

 

Despite its double entendres of soft porn and some almost-clunky car lyrics, ‘Body Shop’ allows Madonna to make the most casual and breezy delivery of a song in her entire career. Thanks to some super-sweet melodies, this is actually a stellar cut. It’s got wisps of world music to it, a gently-driving undertow of clap-along percussion, and a whimsical banjo base that lends a wistfulness that defies the listener not to sway along.

Then comes ‘Holy Water’ in which she out-Princes Prince himself – straddling the line between sacred and profane, sexy and silly, earnest and completely comical. It’s over-the-top, ridiculous, and epic in its electronic soundscape of the moment. Bonus: it directly quotes one of her biggest hits with an incomprehensible wink and nod.

Percussion plays a main role on this album, driving in some songs, dropping out in the middle of others, and it comes in all forms. From the natural hand-clapping of ‘Body Shop’ to the thundering beats of ‘Hold Tight’ to the racing programmed power of ‘Graffiti Heart’ it’s always exhilarating. Remember, Madonna got her start playing the drums, and the beat has always been her most powerful stock in trade. Even when something starts out as quietly as ‘Wash All Over Me’ the percussive march of time arrives to obliterate: “Torn between the impulse to stay, Or running away from all this madness. Who am I to decide what should be done? If this is the end, then let it come, let it come, let it rain, rain all over me.”

In the end, Madonna is at her best when stripped down and working a pop song within its basic framework. The lush orchestral grandeur of ‘Messiah’ and the gorgeous melody of ‘Joan of Arc’ find her at her most vulnerable (“I can’t be a superhero right now, Even hearts made out of steel can break down”) but the music is so rich the introspective lyrics are buoyed by her delicious delivery.

Title track ‘Rebel Heart’ provides the emotional apex and namesake centerpiece of the beautifully unwieldy collection, finding Madonna at a certain peace: “I’ve spent some time as a narcissist, Hearing the others say, ‘Look at you, look at you’ Trying to be so provocative, I said, “Oh yeah, that was me,” All the things I did just to be seen.”

Three decades into the fascinating career we’ve had the privilege to watch unfold before our eyes, she’s still finding new ways to surprise and rebel, and it’s still the best show in the business. As the brilliant ‘Graffiti Heart’ reminds us, Madonna played with Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring in the 80’s, and the artistic scene of New York City that was so fresh and vibrant and raw is something that Madonna, even in all her commercial success and polished personae, has kept as key to her artistic merit. Now she’s inviting the rest of us to show her our graffiti hearts, to reveal our scars, to confess and to be ourselves. Throughout all the guises she adopts in this latest romp ~ a rebel heart, unapologetic bitch, martyr, lover, sinner, and queen, there’s one thing she can’t help but be: Madonna.

Like its various versions (Standard, Deluxe, Super Deluxe) ‘Rebel Heart’ is a fragmented affair ~ a fascinating patchwork that almost becomes a rich tapestry, but even when it’s a mess, it’s a gorgeous mess (witness the sonic wonder of ‘Holy Water’ or the scattered multiple-personalities of ‘Iconic’). In the end, Madonna reveals and revels in the rebellion of her heart, and as she continues to forge new ground in the way a female artist is perceived and behaves, she proves to be as relevant as she was thirty years ago.

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Behold: She Comes Tomorrow

My review of Madonna’s ‘Rebel Heart’ album will be posted when it’s officially released tomorrow, but for now a brief look back at the woman who has inspired me more than anyone else in the world. There’s always something special about a new Madonna album, and every time it happens I feel the same excitement and electricity in the air. Though this one was muted slightly by early leaks, I can’t help but get caught up in the spirit as we anticipate tomorrow.

Madonna has released thirteen studio albums (not counting soundtracks or greatest hits collections) in her stellar career:

My favorite remains 1998’s ‘Ray of Light’ for reasons that have as much to do with the music as with whatever nonsense was going on in my life at the time. Madonna means something different to everyone, but you can’t say she doesn’t matter. In the end, isn’t that what we all want? To matter? Tomorrow, we see what her ‘Rebel Heart’ reveals…

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Marching On, but First This Recap

It looks like we may break into the 40’s this week, and I honestly don’t know how my body is going to react to such a tropical heatwave. I hope it doesn’t explode. This spring is going to be a riot of celebration, and a lot of work for my new project, but that’s all in the distance. For now, a closer look at the last week, before Madonna completely takes over the inter-ether.

She already showed up in this quick look back at her most compelling album thus far.

A classic Italian dish turns out better than expected, even if I still don’t love tying up the meat.

Douglas Williams is a Hunk who knows his way around the opera house.

My brother celebrated his birthday, inching ever closer to the 40-mark that I’ll hit this year.

Justin Leonard in all his splendor.

Dickhead/douchebag Daniel Murphy proved what a complete tool he is.

Straight ally and super-sexy rower Laurence Hulse sent pulses racing with his Hunk of the Day feature.

Ben Cohen took some of it off, and I mean hair.

Pardon me while I play the grand piano.

Watch the butter around this booty.

What kind of mood does Miles Davis Moody inspire in you? Personally, it would never fit.

A fun and enthralling romp of a read, ‘The Andy Cohen Diaries’ is just as wonderful as expected.

Two words: Greg Kelley. Click him up.

I want YOU.

A spectacular Special Guest Blog by my friend Joe. This is the shit I’m talking about.

Desperately Seeking Spring.

Ed Sheeran is technically a ginger, and now a Hunk of the Day.

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When Iris Eyes Are Smiling

Up until this year, the snowiest winter in Boston history was 1995-1996. I was living there during that dismal winter, and it was trying to say the least. I think most of the snow that year came in March, with a few bad storms even coming in April. I still remember one of the last storms that came ~ it started snowing when I was leaving campus and heading into the city, and as it started to come down heavier and heavier I almost started crying right there. It was just too much.

At the end of my wit and sanity, I sought out an outlet where I’d find some hint of spring, some desperate grab at salvation in the midst of dirty snow and winter depression. I found it at the New England Flower Show. Back then it was held in some cavernous convention center on the Red Line (which was also in relatively consistent service that year). I woke up early on a Saturday and made my way through the cold into the flower show, and from the moment I entered and saw the bright sunny blossoms of a pot of narcissus, my heart felt instantly at ease.

The scent of flowers and earth ~ the smell of life and warmth ~ immediately calmed the restless winter in my heart. Great swaths of muscari and tulips and iris colored the winding paths, while arching birch branches shaded certain nooks. Near the entrance was an enclosed circular garden room, where a kentia palm elegantly arched over a sumptuous reading chair, and ferns swayed gently in the lightest breezes produced by hurried passers-by. I took my time walking through the displays, pausing to inhale the various scents, examining the scenes both as a whole, and by each individual strand of moss or blade of grass. The sight of all the greenery had a way of healing the hurt of that long winter.

We do what we have to do to survive.

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Where Academia & Pop Art Collide: Special Guest Blog

{Had history and biology played out differently, I might be in Dr. Joseph Abramo’s position right now. He’s married to my first girlfriend. Yeah, that could have been me. For his wife’s sake, and his I guess, it’s better that it never worked out. Joe has become one of my rare, and therefore treasured, straight guy friends. I still remember the first night I met him: I welcomed him to my attic with typical theatricality, and I’m not sure he knew what to make of it all. Through the years though, he’s become a friend in his own right, and he’s one of the few people who can appreciate Mahler as much as Madonna. (Don’t even get him started on a treatise of ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears because he can go deep.) He’s also one of the only people on earth to get me to sing along with him (I croaked out a few bars of ‘Like A Prayer‘ as he strummed the guitar.) We also worked on some artistic creation as well, in the form of a few Halloween songs that were more of an excuse to hang out with people I love than any real hope at Billboard glory. When I first contemplated the notion of a Guest Blog, his was one of the first names that came to mind because I knew it would be interesting, intellectual, and just a little bad-ass. It does not disappoint.}

The Crux of Academia & Pop Culture

By Dr. Joseph Abramo

It is a pleasure to write a guest blog for Alan’s website. I’ve been an admirer of his musings, photography, and writings ever since my wife and his childhood friend, Melissa, introduced us. One of our first in-depth conversations was about Madonna. This makes sense because, for a day job, I am a professor, where I teach courses in music and education. I work with twenty-somethings who want to be music teachers.

The professorship is not as glamorous as one might think. We are not the bespectacled, elbow-patch-wearing ilk the general population imagines us to be. In fact, we usually dress more informally than other professions, something I’m sure Alan would be horrified by.

As part of that informality many of us often study topics that some people may be surprised by. One of my topics of study, for example, is how music teachers can incorporate popular music into the classroom. If you were one of the many adults who think back to music lessons as the banging out of awful classical music on the piano, or inducing headaches by blowing air into the oboe, as Alan did, then you can imagine the need for music teachers to have the discussion about using music that is a little more relevant to students. The truth is that the classical music that I and most music teachers love is simply not interesting to most people.

But popular music is incredibly interesting to many people, and for good reason. It allows us to escape repeatedly into our own worlds. My mother tells me that when she was a teenager, she listened to her recording of Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Sound of Silence’ so many times that the record turned grey because she wore the grooves out. For me it was hearing ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ by Nirvana, and buying an electric guitar to learn how to play the song. The repetition irritated her, but she endured it thinking back to her similar relationship with Simon and Garfunkel. For Alan, it is his indefatigable love for Madonna, which he chronicles on this blog.

But our love for popular music is not just frivolous indulgence. It is not simply, as Dick Clark blandly said, “the soundtrack to our lives.” It tells us something about ourselves and about the important issues of the day. Beyonce’s sudden use of feminism, for example, tells us about contemporary womanhood. In many ways it has shown how feminism, once reviled as radical, has become as bland as singing about wanting to “rock and roll all night and party everyday.” This is both a blessing and a curse for feminists. It shows the inroads feminists have made in helping everyone understand issues of equality. But this mainstreaming of feminism might also water down and misrepresent its message. Some, for example, interpret Beyonce dancing on a stripper pole in front of the giant word feminism as a misunderstanding and dismantling of feminism through this popularization. Others see it as an important demonstration of contemporary feminism – that “women can have it all.” Which is it? Probably both and neither; it is a double-edged sword.

Reactions to popular music also tell us about society, too. Former Arkansas Governor and Fox News Channel host, and presumed 2016 presidential candidate Mike Huckabee’s critique of Beyonce as imposing liberal urbanites (read as ‘Black’) values upon the humble conservative middle Americans (read as ‘White’) demonstrates that not everyone embraces equality.

Similarly, recording artist Hozier’s video ‘Take Me to Church’ suggests progress for Gay rights and marriage equality. The song’s lyrics are about heterosexual love; a man sings about a lover, using the pronoun ‘she.’ But the video depicts images of queer love. This mixing of queer and hetero love blurs them, erodes the indefensible distinction that society has made between them and puts them on an equal plane. The fact that such a video was inconceivable twenty years, but passed with little comment today, shows real progress in gay rights and marriage equality. But predictably, like Huckabee’s reaction to Beyonce, some decry the mainstreaming of queer culture as an indication of the decay of ‘good ol’ American values,’ and perform rational, ethical, and legal gymnastics to fight equality and restrict freedoms.

It is because of this “academic” aspect of popular music, along with its ability for us to escape into ourselves that I love popular music, and why I think it has educational value. The cultural theorist Stuart Hall said that he studied popular culture because it is “one of those sites where this struggle for and against culture of the powerful is engaged: it is also the stake to be won or lost in that struggle. That’s why popular culture matters.” Popular music serves as a mirror to ourselves, it tells us about our desires and pleasures. It is a barometer: the ways people react to popular music gives us a reading of where society currently sits on important issues. Use any other metaphor you want to describe its ability to clearly reveal to us the state of society. For Hall, this is the power of popular culture. “Otherwise, to tell you the truth,” he continues, “I don’t give a damn about it.”

So next time you listen to your favorite artist, take some time to ask, “What does this say about society?” Does it articulate my values? Are those who are quick to devalue the music I love creating a veiled critique of me and my values? Or maybe you don’t ask these questions; maybe you just listen and escape into yourself. Either way, to tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn.

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Join The Company (Yes, You!)

As a candelabra once sang, “Be our guest, be our guest, be our guest!” The Special Guest Blog feature that was implemented earlier this year has quickly become one of my favorite things about this blog. Part of it is due to the fact that I get a brief break in posting duties (I’m not getting paid for this, people) but mostly it’s because I get to inject a new perspective and a new voice into a blog that’s been saddled solely with my hubris for the past twelve years. (Yes, this website has been around since 2003. Do the math. I’m a dinosaur as far as personal (and most professional) websites go.)

Thus far we’ve heard from a doting father (and straight ally), my lifelong sister-figure, a pussy cat, an acerbic cook, and the woman who once funked out to ‘Freeway of Love’ with me in Rochester, NY. Tomorrow, we get a dose of academia and high-brow musical theory as my friend Dr. Abramo makes his debut here. What I’m looking for next is something to expand the voices heard in this space, which means going beyond my close circle of friends. (We’re reaching the limits of said circle, as it’s never been very big.) I’d like to open it up as a forum for anyone who has something to say – no matter how frivolous or superficial, no matter how probing and deep, no matter how unlikely or unexpected – I just want to hear and see something new. (And I like a Sunday morning break.)

This is where you come in – because I know the silent majority of readers is just that – silent. If you know someone who has a great story, or just wants to get something off their chest, send them this way. If you have something you’d like to share but up to now haven’t had the platform or outlet to do so, consider this space yours. Or if you just have a secret to confess, let this be your confessional. It’s not as private as a priest, but it’s a lot more fun. Send ideas and submissions to alanilagan1[@]gmail.com. Let your voice be heard!

(By the way, the following folks are especially encouraged to join this elite group: people I’ve lost touch with, people I’ve wronged, peopled I’ve loved, people I’ve hurt, people I’ve fucked, and people I’ve yet to meet. For example, the fabulously-attired and wonderfully-bespectacled gentleman from NYC seen below: Who is he? How did we come together in this photograph? Where can I get that jacket? These are questions that need explanations.)

 

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The Andy Cohen Diaries

Having already written the best-selling ‘Most Talkative’, Andy Cohen knows his way around book, and his latest literary venture is an enthralling, saucy, dishy good read. ‘The Andy Cohen Diaries’ takes its inspiration and namesake from another famous Andy ~ Mr. Warhol ~ and the result is a page-turning romp where names are named, Housewives are tamed, and Kevin Spacey is shamed.

An effervescent, light-hearted and admittedly shallow recounting of a year in his life, Cohen punctuates the proceedings with a surprisingly introspective look at fame, celebrity, and pop culture. He’s become a pop fixture in his own right, having propelled the Bravo network into a water-cooler topic with the ever-expansive Real Housewives’ shows and his own ‘Watch What Happens Live!’ which has injected new life into the rather tired late-night talk-show format. He remains, at heart, a pop culture fan, and that’s why his television show – and this book – work so wonderfully. His love for celebrities is authentic, and his excitement over getting to play with them is contagious and palpable.

The Warholian flourishes and fixation of all things famous, along with the endless name-dropping (the guy’s on a first-name basis with Madonna for fuck’s sake) seems like it would get dull after a while, but to Cohen’s credit (and the sly conversational skill with which the book is crafted) it never deteriorates into a one-note affair. The ebb and flow of a single year churns along, as Cohen alternately seeks and dismisses the quest for love, which arrives unexpectedly in the form of his dog Wacha. It may not be romantic, but love is love – and the relationship between dog and man is sweet and fully-realized here.

Cohen has managed to tame the fickle beast of fame by remaining grounded in some surprising ways. Rather than take the vain stab to the heart that a handsome but uninterested guy’s dismissal of him might produce in a needy freak like myself, he takes it all in stride and moves on to an evening with his pooch, largely unaffected. Those moments are the ones that work the best – the oddball side of charm and endearing vulnerability, coupled with a matter-of-fact stoner’s philosopher that life is still all good, for the most part.

Further stabilizing what could have been an exercise in self-obsession heavy on indulgent massaging (literally) is his core cast of characters – Kelly and Mark Consuelos, Anderson Cooper, Sarah Jessica Parker, Jimmy Fallon, and his own mother (whose capitalized emphasis of certain words is not only REMARKABLY EFFECTIVE, but riotously HILARIOUS). Together, with his beloved New York City, and newly-found love of his life Wacha, this is in some ways an ensemble piece, and Cohen’s love for all of the supporting characters lends a depth lacking from more self-obsessed celebrity diaries.

There is some serious behind the scenes dish that we’re likely not getting, as Cohen is clever and shrewd enough to understand that he can’t quite bite off the hand that feeds him, but he does get to nibble (Kevin Spacey and Rachel Ray might have some marks on them) and while he doesn’t get too deep or specific about his infamous Real Housewives franchise, there is some unsaid stuff that keen Bravo viewers will be able to figure out.

Fame and celebrity do come at a cost, and in the social-media world that Cohen (in his popular Twitter and Instagram incarnations) has himself celebrated and used to great advantage, there is also something to be reviled. In opening up the platform to everybody, you open yourself up to attack, and if anything seems to dampen the otherwise pretty affable Andy front, it’s the comments and attacks that come out of nowhere.

“After all these years of putting myself out there, I am pretty thick skinned, but the shit gay people say about me is, wow. I am apparently a lecherous, disgusting, old, crazy, cliche, star-fucking, ladylike, bossy bottom. That’s it in a nutshell,” he writes. And if you’ve ever made the mistake of reading the comments on any given website that allows them, you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about.

He also ruminates on the changing world around him, lamenting the quickened whitewashing of New York, as greedy landlords drive out individual restaurants and one-of-a-kind bookshops. The new world order of dating habits also makes him wary: “I am from the generation of meeting on the street and connecting – there was nowhere else to do it, but Grindr and Tinder killed that. I still look at everybody. I dig eye contact!”

That sort of longing for connection drives the narrative, and like most engaging celebrities, Cohen is as interested in others as he is in himself. You need both to properly connect to an audience – and thanks to this charming addition to his oeuvre, Cohen can now count readers among that group. His world is rarefied yet accessible, and his all-inclusive recounting of an enchanting year makes for a compelling and magical read.

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Booty & Butter

Like much of my family’s communication, the way my brother and I talk is largely fucked-up. In this instance, and many of the interactions with my brother, it’s more comical than anything else. I’m talking about when he was trying to explain the name of this car to me. Originally I think he said it was a Malibu, but then he switched jokingly to the ‘Malibooty’ so that’s what I’m calling it. It’s the same old nonsensical gab we have from time to time, like when we text about football. Anyway, here it is – the Malibooty – in all its green glory – with a backdrop of butter.

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An Evening Poem

THE LETTER
By Amy Lowell

Little cramped words scrawling all over the paper

Like draggled fly’s legs,

What can you tell of the flaring moon

Through the oak leaves?

Or of my uncurtained window and the bare floor

Spattered with moonlight?

Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them

Of blossoming hawthorns,

And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of

loveliness

Beneath my hand.

 

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against

The want of you;

Of squeezing it into little ink drops,

And posting it.

And I scald alone, here, under the fire

of the great moon.

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Manscaping by Ben Cohen

I can think of no one more brilliant than Ben Cohen to come out with a few male grooming products. Mr. Cohen has been celebrated for his hirsute hotness, but even the hottest guys need a bit of manscaping from time to time. To that end, he’s offering a line of grooming products to help the hairier among us to keep things under control. (I’m all for a natural look, but there are limits to how much hair actually looks good. If you can braid it, it’s got to go.) Sadly, these grooming tools are not yet available on these shores, which is another reason to go to London. Perhaps I can persuade Mr. Cohen to send me a sample so I can test it out for the American market and do a proper write-up. It’s the least I can do.

Actually, scratch that – if I ever get in touch with Ben Cohen it will be to request a pair of his underwear. (Not his actual underwear, but a pair from his underwear line. Oh who am I kidding?)

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Dickhead of the Day: Daniel Murphy

I toyed with the term ‘Asshat of the Day‘ but I eventually opted for alliteration, as I almost always will. (Douchebag of the Day would work just as well. So would Just Plain Stupid.) This is Daniel Murphy, a Mets player who recently made a few ridiculously-off-putting comments when addressing the day the Mets spent with former baseball player, and openly gay athlete, Billy Bean:

“I disagree with his lifestyle… I do disagree with the fact that Billy is a homosexual. That doesn’t mean I can’t still invest in him and get to know him. I don’t think the fact that someone is a homosexual should completely shut the door on investing in them in a relational aspect. Getting to know him. That, I would say, you can still accept them but I do disagree with the lifestyle, 100 percent.

Maybe, as a Christian, that we haven’t been as articulate enough in describing what our actual stance is on homosexuality. We love the people. We disagree the lifestyle. That’s the way I would describe it for me. It’s the same way that there are aspects of my life that I’m trying to surrender to Christ in my own life. There’s a great deal of many things, like my pride. I just think that as a believer trying to articulate it in a way that says just because I disagree with the lifestyle doesn’t mean I’m just never going to speak to Billy Bean every time he walks through the door. That’s not love. That’s not love at all.”

Mr. Murphy, you have a lot to learn about love. Mets’ general manager Sandy Alderson had invited Mr. Bean to address the team in an effort to make the environment more inclusive for all people. Mr. Murphy proved that he needed the lesson most of all, and then failed to glean anything from it. That’s just stupid – and sad.

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