Monthly Archives:

January 2016

10
January
2016
Tags: Shirtless Male Celebrities, Tom Daley
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Tom & Dustin: Men in Love

Let’s not beat around the pubic bush: this is nothing more than an excuse to post some shirtless Tom Daley photos. For that, you are very welcome, but it’s also to showcase the love affair between fiances Tom Daley and Dustin Lance Black, as photographed for Out Magazine. How my heart aches to have witnessed such affection as a little tyke growing up without any notion of what two men in love might look like. At any rate, I’m glad it’s here now, and I’ll do everything in my power to celebrate it, and share it, and make things a little easier for the next tyke who finds himself fancying blokes over dames.

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10
January
2016
Tags: General
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Mint Tea Ruminations

Sipping a cup of mint majesty tea, I looked up briefly from my book, ‘After Alice’ by Gregory Maguire, as the door opened. A cutting wave of cold winter air rushed over those of us by the door, as a family of three entered. A bearded gentleman, with a slightly receding hairline, guided his daughter as she walked awkwardly and unsteadily in front of her mother. Something was different about the girl – some disability or affliction left her footing unsure, and her over-exuberant and loud talking bursts signified deeper issues. I gave a faint smile as they passed, then listened as the barista greeted them with exaggerated friendliness. I felt a little relieved. People can be dismissive and cruel to anyone different, even children.

The barista asked the girl if she liked stickers. She clung closer to her Dad, seemingly trying to disappear into the folds of his jacket. He said she did and though I wasn’t watching, I assume some stickers passed from the barista to the girl. They placed their order and moved down to the pick up area.

A row of four empty stools stood near them, and the girl patted the seat of one, saying, “For Mama!” Her mother gratefully took the seat, and her daughter joined her as they watched another barista make a grand production of their drinks. He indulged the girl and performed fanciful feats of dairy art, granting some extra whipped cream to her delight and her parents’ appreciation.

I hoped the rest of the world would be this kind to her always. Maybe we each have to do our best to make sure it is. Even though I know it won’t be, I want to believe we could each reach deep inside and conjure such care for those who need it.

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09
January
2016
Tags: Madonna, Music
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The Winter of Evita

“One shouldn’t ask oneself how a person flies or why, but simply start flying.” ~ Tomas Eloy Martinez, ‘Santa Evita’

It was a frigid evening in Rochester, New York in the earliest days of 1997, made more brutal by the fact that I had just come from a spell of 80 degree days in St. Croix. The sky was dark, even with all the snow on the ground. No more snow would come tonight – it was too cold. Strange, the way that works, and the way we understood it. I pulled the ridiculous faux leopard fur coat tighter around me, its satin lining sliding against my fuchsia satin shirt. Along with my dark tan from the few days of sun that now felt so far away, I made quite an absurd visage. A heavy black cross topped with a silver Christ figure dangled from my neck on a black silk cord. Taken together, this was my get-up for the Rochester stop of The Royal Rainbow Tour 1997, and I was heading to the movie theater with friends to see ‘Evita.’

The lead-up to the new Madonna movie – the pre-comeback to ‘Ray of Light‘ – had been incredible, and I was visiting all my friends and making sure they watched the movie. (Super-fandom in full effect.) This time around the stop was Rochester, city of several watershed moments over the years, and that night we were making another one. Madonna was wowing audiences and critics alike with her star-powered turn as Eva Peron in the cinematic version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s classic musical. She’d fought hard for the role, and her performance proved that she deserved it.
 

 
With each red-carpet event, she appeared in Eva-inspired fanciful dresses. Demure yet glamorous, elegant yet over-the-top, classic and timeless. Madonna had just had her first child – a daughter named Lourdes – and her focus was also on that joyous event. I had nowhere near as important events going on in my life: a fake tour, a shambles of a romantic history, and a rudderless idea of any career. Looking back, however, I don’t think I’d been happier. I couldn’t see that then, even as I tried.
 
The bright, bouncing beats of ‘Buenos Aires‘ and its wondrously escapist theme lent the world endless possibilities. I criss-crossed the country, from New England to California to Florida and back – and then the world – jetting from Puerto Rico to Canada, London to the Philippines, Ireland to Hong Kong, and ended up right where I began. Whether I admitted it to myself or not, I was on the hunt for love. For the one person who would make it all ok, who would put me back together and reclaim the person I’d once set out to destroy.
 
Yet every one-night-stand or doomed affair took its toll, in ways apparent and hidden. ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall‘ seemed to be the way a life lived on the road might be. I sent postcards to friends, quoting the song in a vaguely-veiled cry for help: “Call in three months’ time and I’ll be fine, I know. Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow…” Surely there was more.
 
I practiced my powers of seduction, such as they were. Obsessed with being someone that somebody could love, I honed heartless nonchalance, casual apathy, and a killer wardrobe. I wanted to walk into any room and be the one that all eyes traveled to, whether or not they wanted me. The art of being fascinating. It was something that proved elusive to me whenever it mattered, whenever I most wanted to impress someone. More than anything, I wanted that person to know ‘I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You.’
 
In between my travels, I stayed up late into the night, reading ‘Santa Evita’ by Tomas Eloy MartÃinez, which followed the tracks of Eva Peron’s preserved body as it made its storied journey amid mystery and intrigue. Macabre stuff, and it haunted me into the early morning darkness. I was as lost as her embalmed body, traveling under the cloak of anonymity, grasping for something, but what… I did not know. I still don’t.
 
 
Madonna seemed closer to finding her way to it, whatever it was. When she sang ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina‘ the world bowed down to the balcony of the Casa Rosada, and we were all, for that one electrifying moment, Argentina. If we couldn’t help but cry, it was because she so moved us. Through it all, we only wanted to be ‘High Flying, Adored.’
 
I made my way in the only fashion I knew: shake it, fake it, and try not to break it. Soaring above the world and removing myself from the confines of reality and the constrictions of common sense, I crafted a persona  that would carry me over the rain-soaked dreariness of a love-barren land, catapulting me into the light-filled realm that rose ‘Rainbow High‘ and outshone any blood-letting past.
 
In the end, it was fantasy, like so much of my life. When I danced the ‘Waltz for Eva and Che‘ I did so by myself. I moved alone, and no one saw my fancy footwork. Such a wonderful waltz brought me around the world, but in the end I wound up exactly where I was at the beginning. My heart had been broken, or so I thought, and everything I did at that moment was done to impress the ones who got away. There was always more than one, always more men unmoved by anything I could muster. I didn’t know how to make my favorite song come true: ‘You Must Love Me.‘
 
On that wintry night in Rochester, as I sat in the movie theater flanked by friends on each side, I watched the life of Eva Peron – and the life of Madonna – play out on the screen, so much bigger and grander and better than I could ever hope to be. At that instant, it was enough to simply brush such greatness. It made one feel less alone.
My biggest fear in life is to be forgotten. ~ Evita Peron

 

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08
January
2016
Tags: Naked Male Celebrities
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A Gratuitously Nude Tyson Beckford

Every now and then one must begin the day with a superficial bit of man candy. Not an official Hunk of the Day (he’s already been that here), but a sexy tribute nonetheless. For today’s opening, we have the naked Tyson Beckford, who recently posted (then quickly deleted) the bottom photo. When Tyson Beckford bares his naked ass, that’s more than enough for a blog post of its own.

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07
January
2016
Tags: Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #118 – ‘Living For Love’ ~ Winter 2015

 {Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

THIS WILL BE A REVOLUTION OF INQUIRING FURTHER

OF NOT WORRYING ABOUT WINNING OTHER PEOPLE’S APPROVAL

OF NOT WISHING YOU WERE SOMEONE ELSE BUT PERFECTLY CONTENT TO BE WHO YOU ARE:

SOMEONE UNIQUE, AND RARE, AND FEARLESS.

I WANT TO START A REVOLUTION OF LOVE…

A grand orchestral introduction and a parade of shirtless minotaur-men ushered in the Madonna of 2015, as she took to the Grammy stage to kick off the ‘Rebel Heart’ era. Most pop stars have only one or two ‘eras’ for which they are known. Madonna has had many: ‘Like A Virgin‘, ‘True Blue‘, ‘Like A Prayer‘, ‘Blonde Ambition‘, ‘Erotica/Sex‘, ‘Evita‘, ‘Ray of Light‘, ‘Music‘, and ‘Confessions on a Dancefloor’. Her ‘Rebel Heart‘ era may be the most interesting and compelling, at least for long-time fans, as it is the first in which she has not enjoyed major mainstream success. And yet it may be her most artistically powerful and critically lauded.

In early 2015, after the gut-wrenching leak of much of the ‘Rebel Heart’ album, she set out to do a proper intro to her new work with the first single ‘Living For Love’. With an updated 90’s house feel and some gospel backing, it was first-rate Madonna – an ‘I Will Survive’ for the current generation – rousing, empowering, and gloriously uplifting.

FIRST YOU LOVE ME AND I LET YOU IN,

MADE ME FEEL LIKE I WAS BORN AGAIN

YOU EMPOWERED ME, YOU MADE ME STRONG

BUILT ME UP AND I COULD DO NO WRONG.

 

I LET DOWN MY GUARD, I FELL INTO YOUR ARMS

FORGOT WHO I WAS, I DIDN’T HEAR THE ALARMS

NOW I’M DOWN ON MY KNEES, ALONE IN THE DARK

I WAS BLIND TO YOUR GAME, YOU FIRED A SHOT IN MY HEART.

This was a Madonna draped in the richest red, her passion and heart on full unabashed display, but shot through with a prickly world-wariness that read less as bitter and more as wise. The anticipation and excitement for new Madonna music was always grander than it was for others, and this lead single was a throwback and a step forward. Like a phoenix, she would be called upon to rise a few times, and even though she’d always succeeded, nervousness greeted the arrival of any new work. It was as if I had some vested stake in the reception and success of one of her projects, as if somehow my existence depended in part on the existence of Madonna, as if a failure for her would somehow be a failure for me. That’s a little crazy, but that’s true fandom, and I’ll never apologize for it.

Thanks in no small part to its early leak, the song and video for ‘Living For Love’ failed to catch fire on the charts (with the notable exception of the Billboard Dance charts, where she would land a history-shattering #1, breaking her own record). In a landscape where melody and meaning are losing out to shock and salaciousness, the OG shock mistress barely made a dent. As for the video, I find it may be too deeply beautiful and symbolic to find a place in the current pop world. Yet it appears that Madonna is far beyond that, and has been for some time. For die-hard fans such as myself, the charts no longer as much, if anything at all. The lack of airplay and Billboard numbers has not diminished my love for Madonna’s music; if anything, I listen to it more intently and defiantly.

TOOK ME TO HEAVEN, LET ME FALL DOWN

NOW THAT IT’S OVER I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIFTED ME UP AND WATCHED ME STUMBLE

AFTER THE HEARTACHE I’M GONNA CARRY ON

 

LIVING FOR LOVE,

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GIVING UP

I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIVING FOR LOVE

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GONNA STOP

LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP

As for my own little maelstrom of a life, at the time of this song’s release – right around the holidays – I had my own bit of family business to move beyond, so this song doubled as more than just a break-up rebound anthem. It was a clarion for anyone who’d been hurt or wronged, a way of working out the pain in a piece of pop music, the kind of therapy that Madonna has been giving me for years. The best kind.

I COULD GET CAUGHT UP IN BITTERNESS

BUT I’M NOT DWELLING ON THIS CRAZY MESS

I FOUND FREEDOM IN THE UGLY TRUTH

I DESERVE THE BEST AND IT’S NOT YOU

 

YOU’VE BROKEN MY HEART, BUT YOU CAN’T BREAK ME DOWN

NOT FALLING APART, ONCE WAS LOST NOW I’M FOUND

PICKED UP MY CROWN, PUT IT BACK ON MY HEAD

I CAN FORGIVE, BUT I WILL NEVER FORGET

The best revenge is happiness. The best way to finding peace is to put your faith in love. Not in being loved, but in loving even when it’s not returned. It’s a waste, and, worse, a source of anger, to continue to wish for people to be fair and righteous, to love you as you have loved them. It’s a certain guarantee of heartbreak to rely upon others to provide such a safe haven.

Yet in spite of this, I will love, without condition or expectation, and I will put my faith in that.

TOOK ME TO HEAVEN, LET ME FALL DOWN

NOW THAT IT’S OVER I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIFTED ME UP AND WATCHED ME STUMBLE

AFTER THE HEARTACHE I’M GONNA CARRY ON

Â

LIVING FOR LOVE,

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GIVING UP

I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIVING FOR LOVE

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GONNA STOP

LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP

As I watched Madonna at the Grammy Awards last winter, premiering her new song for most of the world, I felt a little better, the way Madonna always made me feel a little better. At one point she spun in a circle, tossed her hair forward and back, then led her dancers in sweetly-choreographed abandon, much the same way she bounced around to ‘Like A Virgin’ three decades ago.

The spark was still there. The girl was still inspiring. Best of all, I still needed her.

LIVING FOR LOVE,

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GIVING UP

I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIVING FOR LOVE

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GONNA STOP

LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP

SONG #118 – ‘Living For Love’ ~ Winter 2015

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06
January
2016
Tags: Literature
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Emily Dickinson Was Not A Pussy

Somewhere along our literary history, people started to think of Emily Dickinson’s poetry as cute and harmless fluff. In truth, it was far darker and more sinister than surface readings or historical reputation would allow. As is often the case with poets and poetry, things were never as simple as they seemed. Ms. Dickinson was a complex character, and her work often delved into the introspective reaches of the soul. What she brought up was not always pretty or nice, and she didn’t disguise it as such. It just took the rest of us a little longer to catch on.

One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted
One need not be a House
The Brain has Corridors surpassing 
Material Place

Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior Confronting
That Cooler Host.

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a’chase
Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter
In lonesome Place

Ourself behind ourself, concealed
Should startle most
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror’s least.

The Body borrows a Revolver 
He bolts the Door 
O’erlooking a superior spectre
Or More

~ Emily Dickinson

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05
January
2016
Tags: General
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Saturation Explosion

I love color.

Strong, bold, bright, jarring, shocking color.

I love shades that are saturated with pigment, rich full hues that challenge the eye and prove formidable matches to any decorative environment.

It’s a polarizing preference. In today’s bland world, there is safety in beige, and mainstream acceptance of pastels. To sell a house, you will be told to paint the walls white (no matter how exquisite your taste). To select an outfit, you will be told that basic black can never go wrong. I’d rather risk it all and make myself happy before bowing down to any sort of safe choice.

These photos were taken in Cambridge the last time I was there. Cambridge is more colorful than Boston, less prim and proper. I don’t know why I don’t spend more time there. Well, yes I do. It’s the Red Line. The brightest T line often takes the longest time to move passengers along, especially during rush hours. Still, for a jolt of inspiration as seen here, it may be worth the wait.

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04
January
2016
Tags: General
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The Very First Recap of a New Year

Smack that little baby New Year on the bottom and send him on his way, we are charging ahead into the wide-open expanse of a full twelve months of possibility and hope. Of course, we need to close the book on last year, which will finally take place with this post, a recap of the week that came before, which straddles this year and last like… some really amazing straddler. 

The very last Hunk of 2015, Harry Lawesdy.

A winter wonderland in transition.

Zac Efron naked, and in motion.

New York, gorgeous in Oud.

2015 in Review: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.

New Year’s maintenance.

Memories of Narcissus.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour continues into the New Year.

SteamPunk baby!

BirdCage baby!

This hat will fly.

The first Hunk of 2016: Alex Mytton.

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03
January
2016
Tags: General
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The Winged Hat of Truth

We seek the knowledge and the truth, hoping that they will bring us into a happier awareness. Where we ever got the idea that understanding could lead to contentment is a notion I’ll never quite grasp. There is bliss in not knowing, and an innocence that can, not wrongfully, be mistaken for happiness. Everyone says they would rather know the truth, no matter how difficult it may be to fathom and process, but I rarely find that to be true. It’s something they say to sound noble or enlightened, but it’s a fool’s wish.

When you ask me if I like your outfit, you are not asking for my honest opinion. You are asking me to echo the idea – your idea – that your outfit is fine. When I don’t do that, when I don’t conform to your pleasant expectations, you end up getting stung. It’s much easier, and better for all involved, to go along on your merry way, not inviting an opportunity for disagreement. I have learned not to voluntarily offer my opinion. I play the game myself, from both sides. It doesn’t matter much. Everyone gets burned.

I’ll hold onto happy ignorance, blissfully pulling the wool over my own eyes, if it means blunting the blow of a hurtful bit of truth. Like Blanche Dubois, I will clothe a naked light bulb in gauzy make-believe and magic, for the benefit of all involved. Like Norma Desmond, I will live in my own little cocoon of silky splendor, subsisting on delusional grandeur, happy and satisfied with the sandcastles of self-importance I’ve erected upon the shores of my mind.

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03
January
2016
Tags: Delusional Grandeur Tour
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The DG Tour: Steampunk Birdcage ~ Part 2

“There is something sinister, something quite biographical about what I do – but that part is for me. It’s my personal business. I think there is a lot of romance, melancholy. There’s a sadness to it, but there’s romance in sadness. I suppose I am a very melancholy person.” ~ Alexander McQueen

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

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02
January
2016
Tags: Delusional Grandeur Tour
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The DG Tour: Steampunk Birdcage ~ Part 1

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

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02
January
2016
Tags: Delusional Grandeur Tour
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Falling Back on Tour

This weekend brings the next stage of The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book: SteamPunk BirdCage. It’s far less inflammatory than those fucking-bunny shots from the ‘Animal Demons’ section, so those who are easily offended may return, for the moment, and pick up where the journey last left off. For those who enjoy those sensational moments, stay with us through this relative lull in action.

I tend to like the quieter moments, particularly when backed by a Northeastern fall. The photos from this segment are framed with shots captured at Thacher Park, one of upstate New York’s gorgeous hiking spots. I managed to be there just as the foliage was turning – a few more days and the brilliance you see here would be blown away.

A fern retained its bright green hue, though it was on the verge of going pale yellow. As the nights cooled and the ground dried out, it would eventually turn a ghostly cream color, the leaves almost transparent when backed by a dying sun.

Fall has often proven to be fertile ground for my creative fire. The bite in the air, the chill in the night – they each served to spark a drive that may have slowed and softened in the summer sun. In the fall, I usually felt reinvigorated – and the beauty of the season was its own inspiration.

{A behind-the-scenes note: these photos were taken a couple of years ago. I wasn’t sure how or when or where I was going to use them, but when this section of the Tour Book was being created, they fit into it perfectly – the colors acted as an entry point for some of the browns and burnt umbers that are coming up. The changing of the leaves was also a signifier of transition – and following the scorching ‘Animal Demons’ section, we needed a little transition.}

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01
January
2016
Tags: Flowers, Gardening
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Narcissistic Memories

My experience with forcing paperwhite narcissus began, strangely enough, in Cape Cod, on a summer vacation with my Mom and her friend Diane. My brother and I were just thrilled to be at the beach for a few days, catching crabs and collecting sea shells, while my Mom had a friend with whom she could talk nursing and grown-up items. At night, we all came together in a little hotel room and went over the events of the day, while I listened to Diane tell me stories of African violets (she had a small collection that was in full bloom the few times we visited her apartment). She also told me how to force narcissus.

In her deep smoky voice (she was a smoker ~ something alien and fascinating to my brother and myself) she went through the step-by-step instructions on how to make a daffodil bulb bloom indoors in the middle of winter.

I listened intently to the method. She said they would grow in gravel or soil or just plain water (provided the bulbs weren’t fully immersed, or they would rot). Rapt with wonder at the idea of bulbs growing anywhere other than six inches under the ground, I made her repeat the instructions several times on that vacation, as if she was telling the most fascinating story ~ which, in my mind, she was. Committing the simple process to memory, I repeated it back to her to make sure I had all the steps. It was as much for my own knowledge as it was to hear her explain it all again.

It’s been a few years since I last grew a batch of paperwhites, but when I saw them a few weeks ago, I potted up several to bring some early sneak-peek of spring into the house. My method is not so haphazard as throwing a few bulbs into a gravel and water grave and letting them fend for themselves, but it remains a simple one nonetheless.

I begin by storing the bulbs in a dark, cool place for a couple of weeks. (Some people pop them in the fridge for a week.) Paperwhites will usually grow just as well without a proper cooling period, but I like to mimic their natural cycle as closely as possible. When ready to plant, I use tall glass cylinders, so as to afford viewing the roots and bulbs and stems all at once. (Feel free to wind a fancy ribbon or length of rustic burlap around the base if you don’t like the look of soil and roots.) The tallness of the container will come in handy as these invariably require staking or support of some kind.

I pour in about an inch or two of gravel into the bottom of the container (not required if your pot has drainage), nestle the bulbs in and packing them tightly against one another, then top with soil about two-thirds to the top of the bulbs. I like soil in addition to the gravel because it provides a bit more stability. (Though you’d be surprised at the tenacity of the roots alone in supporting the leaves and blooms.)

Water well, but not enough to let the water rise to anything higher than the bottom of the bulbs. The important thing is to avoid any possibility of rot. In a few days, the roots will start descending, and you may see the bulbs rising out of the soil. I try to push them back gently, but I’ve also let them do their thing. The main thing to remember is that they will most likely require some sort of staking or support. The use of tall glass cylinders helps with this, but I still end up typing the stems together so they don’t bend or break. They grow surprisingly tall (mine top out at about two feet, stretching for sun, stretching for spring).

Some find their potent fragrance offensive, or at least unbecoming. I happen to like it. It reminds me of the tail-end of winter, of greenhouse-like rooms filled with light and a chaise lounge for reading. Mostly, it reminds me that even though winter has just begun, the days are already getting longer. We are on the right path. Hope is a narcissus bulb.

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01
January
2016
Tags: General
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The First Post of the New Year – 2016

I like new beginnings.

The idea of a brand new clean slate.

The ability to leave things in the past.

The chance to forget, always so much better than having to forgive.

Such is the opportunity that comes with the arrival of a New Year.

It’s a self-imposed idea, a notion laid upon us by the ticking of the calendar clock, but I’ll take it. It’s a better proposition than Valentine’s Day or St. Patrick’s Day.

As for what the New Year will bring to this site, expect no major changes, although the idea of ending this blog recently entered my mind for the first time since its inception. Not as something I’m seriously contemplating, just as a possibility for the future. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be some cut and dry thing but rather something that happened gradually and organically over time. Instead of a couple of posts a day, perhaps a lighter schedule. Nothing to worry about just yet, or celebrate if you are so inclined, so put the bubbly away.

Until then, this remains my primary outlet for creative expression – my way of engaging with the world. If you like what you see, come back for more in the next year. If you don’t, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here in the first place. But as the great Oscar Wilde once wrote: “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” The same holds true for visiting this blog.

Happy New Year to all who enjoy what I’m doing here… and to those who don’t.

{Featured Photo: Lavender Cake by Andy, and it tastes even better than it looks.}

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