April 2016
“I CAN’T BE YOUR SUPERHERO RIGHT NOW
EVEN HEARTS MADE OUT OF STEEL CAN BREAK DOWN…” ~ Madonna
“The monster I kill every day is the monster of realism.
The monster who attacks me every day is destruction.
Out of the duel comes the transformation.
I turn destruction into creation over and over again.”
~ Anais Nin
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
“Together they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.” ~ Markus Zusak
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When the metallic scent of blood is in the air, and your hands are sticky with iron, there is always the temptation to flee. When the saw blade screams its shrill warning and the atmosphere is thick with dread, there is the desire to shriek.
Do not run. Do not yell. Simply submit.
It is easier that way.
There are some things from which you cannot escape.
Your blood is but one of them.
The stains of your sins are another.
Some scars can never be washed away.
As for what you have done…
And everything you are about to do…
There will be retribution – even for the grandest of warriors.
The heart sends every one of us to battle.
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
The Delusional Grandeur Tour returns to Boston this weekend, but first a look back at where we’re at, and from where we’ve come:
01) Intro/Curtain – Part One, Part Two, Part Three
02) Sunset Pool – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
03) On The Road Hotel – Part One, Part Two, Part Three
04) Rock Star Addict – Part One, Part Two, Part Three
05) Animal Demons – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
06) Steam Punk Birdcage – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
07) Red Riding Wood – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
08) Winter Top Hat – Part One, Part Two
09) Warrior Retribution – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five…
Tomorrow we continue the Warrior Retribution battle, and as you may have noticed, things are getting bloody good… or good and bloody.
The title of this post is the supposed common-name origin of the daisy. Being that they are JoAnn’s favorite flower, and this weekend’s Boston gathering is for her, I thought it fitting to kick off the festivities with the cheerful bloom. Suzie likes them too, and even I can appreciate their powerful simplicity and happy countenance.
Because of its wildflower status, and lack of refinement in a formal garden setting, the common daisy doesn’t get the same adulation as its more hybridized relatives, but the smaller and less-perfect blooms you find on the roadside carry their own charms. They have nothing to prove, content to exist and bloom beneath the heat of high day, holding their own against the brutal wind of passing cars or the chomping of a deer. Simplicity and endurance are a regular, and regal, pairing.
Behold the glory of the day’s eye.
Outside the 10th floor windows of my office, a hawk soars in circles. Carving wide curves in the air, its wings catch the currents and it floats high above downtown Albany. It doesn’t seem to be looking for anything to eat – no scurrying rodent down below, no nest to raid a little higher – it simply glides through the sky.
Without getting too anthropomorphic, it appears to be exulting in the freedom that being a bird entails.
Behind the glass, behind the blinds, I am not the only one who envies that freedom.
That Virginia Woolf moment when all you want to do is throw a party, but your whole inner-world is in turmoil, so you go out and buy flowers because it’s the last thing that might save your sanity – this is not a picture of that. Instead, it’s a portrait of the last big party I had in Boston – for JoAnn’s 40th birthday. This year we’re reconvening on a smaller and more intimate scale, and Kira will once again help out for the festivities. (At least, I hope she will…)
Spring gatherings always remind me of Gatsby, of nights when the perfume of unseen blossoms fills the air, and the world seems filled with the unfurling hope and promise of summer. In the hours before the guests arrive, we pause and take in the moment. All the preparation and cleaning, all the assembly and finishing – it comes together and there is an hour or two of quiet and peace. Sometimes that’s the best part of a party.
In order to have the best of both worlds, this upcoming gathering is designed to be on the cozier side of things. Very rarely do I get to talk to everyone at a party because there is too much going on and too many people involved. I’m looking forward to breaking that spell.
The dull and the mundane are often overlooked, but they have their stories too. Most of the time they never get told – too unexceptional, too uninteresting, too commonplace to be worthy of a tale. I’m not going to say anything on their behalf, however, as it would be conjecture and half-hearted guessing at best. Weave your own back-stories and make up your own fantasies on how these objects came to be discarded. It is a world of the lost.
{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.}
I KNOW YOU’VE BEEN WAITING, YEAH
I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU, YEAH
I KNOW YOU WANNA GET UP, YEAH
COME ON…
EVERYBODY, COME ON, DANCE AND SING
EVERYBODY, GET UP AND DO YOUR THING
EVERYBODY, COME ON, DANCE AND SING
EVERYBODY, GET UP AND DO YOUR THING
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Her first official single, ‘Everybody’ was Madonna’s clarion call to the world to ‘Dance and sing, get up and do your thing.’ Strangely enough, it was never a favorite of mine, and to my recollection she only performed it on two tours (The Virgin Tour and The Girlie Show Tour). It was the latter’s performance, where she intertwined some Sly and the Family Stone, that won me over with its funkiness (and Madonna’s exuberance when performing it for the masses).
LET THE MUSIC TAKE CONTROL
FIND A GROOVE AND LET YOURSELF GO
WHEN THE ROOM BEGINS TO SWAY
YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY
COME ON, TAKE A CHANCE
GET UP AND START THE DANCE
EVERYBODY, COME ON, DANCE AND SING
EVERYBODY, GET UP AND DO YOUR THING
EVERYBODY, COME ON, DANCE AND SING
EVERYBODY, GET UP AND DO YOUR THING
Despite its iconic historical status, the song still doesn’t do much for me. And as much as I appreciate the sentiment, and its rallying egalitarian cry for all-inclusive fun, I’m just not especially impressed with it. That’s ok. Even the most die-hard Madonna fans have songs that rank low on their personal lists. Besides, if and when she decides to rework this for a live performance, I’m sure I’ll be the first on board to join in the fun.
LET YOUR BODY TAKE A RIDE
FEEL THE BEAT AND STEP INSIDE
MUSIC MAKES THE WORLD GO ‘ROUND
YOU CAN TURN YOUR TROUBLES UPSIDE DOWN
GONNA HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR MIND
GONNA LEAVE YOUR TROUBLES BEHIND
YOUR BODY GETS THE NOTION WHEN YOUR FEET CAN MAKE THE MOTION
EVERYBODY, COME ON, DANCE AND SING
EVERYBODY, GET UP AND DO YOUR THING
EVERYBODY, COME ON, DANCE AND SING
EVERYBODY, GET UP AND DO YOUR THING
It was the beat-fueled chirp of a raw form that would soon transform into the Madonna that conquered the world, but for that moment, it was just a girl dancing and singing and doing her thing. Celebratory, carefree, and completely unaware of all that her life was about to become. Or maybe she did know, and the rest of us simply had to catch up.
DANCE & SING, GET UP DO YOUR THING.
SONG #125 ~ ‘Everybody’ -1982
I miss ‘Mad Men.’
None of my friends got quite as into it as I did.
Maybe it was the deliberate pace of the show, and the nuanced atmsophere and detail-saturated obsession that its creators managed to create and maintain over its entire run.
There was something Zen-like about the show, in the way that somewhat-violent but fantastical trilogies sometimes are (‘Star Wars’ and ‘The Lord of the Rings‘ for example). ‘Mad Men’ carried its own violence, but it was in the splintering of families, the devastation of divorce, and the disillusionment of a country awakening to its inner-turmoil. Decades away, but it might as well have been yesterday.
Another major lesson of gardening (of which I was reminded this week) is to listen. Not to the birds and the bugs and the other noisy stuff, but to the grander story the garden is telling you. It’s not usually a short story – it plays out over years, when the cycles and the growing patterns can be established and observed. This is one of the more difficult lessons – patience is tough, but the lesson itself is easy. The lesson of learning to listen is tricky, because it also involves understanding what is being told. It’s also a thing that unfolds over time, something in which most people today aren’t willing to invest.
For many years, I fought listening to the garden. I fought against the soil type and the climate ad the rainfall, and I thought I could defy nature and create micro-climates and other such ideals that would enable tricky plants to grow well. That’s only possible to a certain extent, and in the end it’s a losing battle. In recent years I’ve come to embrace what the garden was saying.
A stand of Solomon’s seal flourished and multiplied, so I spread it around the backyard – a gorgeous motif that lasted spring until fall. The early spires gracefully unfurling, and giving way to sweetly-scented flower rows, then the handsome variegated foliage that stood stout and pretty through the high heat of summer, and finally the bright yellow transformation of fall – these were hardy yet gorgeous plants that I’d taken for granted. They did well in the shady nooks of my backyard, but I wanted to grow sea holly and tea roses so I did, and I failed.
Those failures need to be heard. With a generous gift certificate, I invested in a Lady’s slipper orchid – $180 from White Flower Farm – and it was heartbreaking when, no matter what I did, it failed to thrive. I watered it with dechlorinated water, which is no easy feat with our hot and dry summers, yet it did dismally, ultimately dying, so I gave up on that species and settled for a more traditional and robust hosta. An average plant that does well is always prettier than an exotic plant doing poorly.
That’s hard to take when you want to cultivate the rare and exotic, but there’s no point in forcing something that’s never going to happen. We’ll save that for another lesson.
Pull me off of my knees! On a Monday morning, my favorite thing to do is lament the passing of another weekend. I think back to those precious moments on Friday, when it all began, when it felt like we had all the time in the world to do all the things we wanted, and the possibility of excitement and merriment and fun was all we needed. I think of a key – the key to a car and the start of an adventure. The key to a hotel room, and the anticipation of seeing what’s on the other side. The key to our Boston condo, and the beginning of a few days away. The key to a heart…
As of this writing, and a full three days of working outside in the yard, my body is about to give out, so forgive me if this recap is lazy as a clam. (Are clams even lazy?) Anyway, we began the week with a few changes. Nothing too major, just a couple of differences you may or may not have noticed, starting with a revamped posting schedule that goes back to a more energetic time. That’s right – the third post has returned.
That makes these recaps slightly more involved, so we may have to jumble the Hunks together, or in nifty little snatch batches, like this one: Tommy Didario, Tom Daley, Kevin Stea, Aaron Valenzuela & Adam Von Rothfelder.
We also have a semi-regular mid-week feature – the Wacky Wednesday post – in which some silliness relieves the drama and seriousness of most of the intent around here.
Attention has shifted to the garden, thanks to some decent weather at long last. It’s catch-up time now, but there’s always a moment for a good gardening lesson.
The birthday of a good friend is a good thing indeed.
Chris Pratt was already a Hunk of the Day, but he gets a special post for taking his shirt off. Same goes for these guys. And Daniel Macedo.
Adam Levine paid tribute to Prince in this amazing way.
I am now a proud member of the Beyhive.
Aside from patience, the other virtue that gardening has taught me is that of flexibility. I can be a rigid fucker, it’s true. My Virgo nature doesn’t embrace or enjoy change – at least not at first. It takes me time to get into a groove. A couple of moments to acclimate myself to something new. But the garden doesn’t pussy-foot around. If a storm is going to knock down a tree or fell a few perfect delphinium spikes, those things are going to go down no matter what. If a winter with nary enough snow cover heaves and rips the roots from the crown of a beloved specimen, get ready to bid it farewell.
Until recently, I was always looking for permanence and stability in the landscape. I wanted plants that would endure, trees and shrubs that would not require regular replanting or replacement. I wanted to plant something once and have it be there forever. But most plants won’t stay put. Even the most well-behaved and slow-growing ones will eventually require pruning or replacement. That changing face of the garden took some getting used to, but the lesson of change is an important one.
The flexible tree branches can sway and bend in the most violent storms. Those that remain rigid, refusing to yield, are the ones that get broken and torn asunder. I’m working on being more bendy.
