November 2016
There’s a lot going on in this work of art seen at Silver Fox Architectural Salvage. After a glorious brunch at dp, we drove a couple of blocks to check out what hidden treasures might be lurking at this trove of misfit objects. We’ll get to the monkeys later – for now, feast your eyes upon this three-dimensional shadow box of mythic proportion. Butterflies, roses, pussy willows and a wooden maiden. What more could a person want?
When I’m at my best, I’m pretty adept with the manipulation and machination of words to make a point or construe a sentence. Sometimes, a mere fragment is enough. Other times, lengthy ropes of letters and intertwined nets of words are required to fully capture and convey a thought or an emotion. However many characters or symbols one needs, communication is the end result of combining some very simple symbols – such as letters – into something that means more than their individual make-up.
These photos illustrate the raw materials of writing. They are the basic building blocks of communication and connection. This is how we begin to transmit knowledge. It brings me back to grade school, when we first learned how to form letters and then used them to form words. The circle of connection has a starting point after all.
As much as I dreaded school for social reasons, I didn’t mind the learning aspect, and reading was one of my favorite activities. The best parts of any school day were when the teacher would read to us from a book (I still remember the thrill I felt when our third grade teacher read ‘James and the Giant Peach’ to the class – the way a book could transport us to another world). In later years, we were left to make our own magic during ‘silent reading’ time, and while some took the opportunity to whisper and socialize, I would always find a remote niche, hunker down behind a bookcase, and immerse myself into the letters and words that meant escape and freedom.
It’s strange the way we hear things differently over the years. The first time I heard this song I hated it. Probably because it was in ‘Beaches’, which has been tainted by how much Suzie despises it. But as I sat waiting for Andy to pick me up one day it came over the sound system and I was struck with an incredible wave of melancholy. It wasn’t about to rain, but it was crazy windy, and there is sadness in such blustery conditions. I listened as if for the first time and the plaintive melody almost brought me to tears. Human kindness does that. So unexpectedly. Sad that it should be so surprising, perhaps.
It’s a good song for the season, when rain and wind will take away all remaining vestiges of the sun, when the world turns into winter, when we hunker down and hibernate because everything is too much to bear.
Up until now I haven’t written much on the election results here because there’s honestly not much more to be said. I wish I could say that I’m surprised Donald Trump won the electoral college votes necessary to be named President of our great nation, but I’m not. My family and friends will confirm that I always had doubts that America would do the right thing.
I wish I could be shocked that America voted for this man.
I wish I had the hope and belief that America would never stand for him to be President.
I wish I was so assured in the days leading up to this election that good would triumph over evil and the American people would make the right choice.
If I’d had that, if I’d been raised to have such hopeful ideals, I might relish the days of those beliefs.
But I never thought that.
I never believed.
I never had such faith in this country.
Sadly, and not for the first or last time, I was right.
I could not be surprised that this country would elect a man who represented and refused to denounce racism, homophobia, bigotry, and hatred.
How could I be?
How could I be surprised by that when I had a background and upbringing that saw me called ‘sissy’ and ‘faggot’ and ridiculed and attacked me for being gay and different? I still get called those names on social media on a regular basis – now more than ever. And I’m supposed to be surprised when our country elects a man who panders to the people who use those words? I’ve got a long litany of things I’ve seen online over the last few months – all from Trump supporters – things that denigrate and insult and threaten minorities and women and the LGBT community.
Why would I be surprised that this army of deplorable hate-filled people would vote in such a detestable person? And why would I believe polls that put him behind? Who would admit to such a thing before being given the sanction of an electoral college victory? I never bought into that.
When you’re locked in a grade school bathroom because some bully thinks you’re Chinese, you don’t believe that people are inherently good.
When you get rocks thrown at you and a group of kids calling you faggot as you’re walking home at night, you don’t have faith that people will vote for equality and acceptance.
When you get death threats on Twitter because you dare raise a voice against Donald Trump, you don’t trust that this country will make the right decision.
The sad thing is that I’m not more upset by this election – because I should be. If I was raised in a world that was right, I would be.
But I wasn’t.
And we aren’t.
That doesn’t mean I won’t keep fighting.
It does, however, go some way towards explaining why I will never judge anyone who doesn’t accept Donald Trump as our President. He doesn’t deserve it.
It was the week that our electoral college elected a monster, even if almost two million more people (and counting) voted for Hillary Clinton, but we here at ALANILAGAN.com are moving ahead with trepidatious optimism and the vow to never stop fighting for what is right and just.
We started in quiet and stillness.
Some things will always hold true.
A delicious brunch at dp.
A glorious and unlikely pair that makes me smile.
Feeling down? Get dressed up.
This Jedi isn’t going underground anytime soon.
Madonna was always late for the Rebel Heart Tour, and so was this review.
Throughout it all, we still have the Hunks of the Day: Jesse Wellens, Jay Ellis & Mark-Paul Vosselaar.
Bonus: a shirtless Ryan Gosling and equally-shirtless Liam Hemsworth.
And for anyone feeling down or frightened or simply dismayed with the state of affairs at the moment, there is always hope, and as long as I’m able I’ll do my best to provide a little sanctuary and escape from the rest of the insanity.
Because it’s not all gloom and doom, nor is it all hope and nature walks, here is a gratuitous post of Liam Hemsworth all shirtless and shit. That will continue to be a hallmark of this site: shirtless male celebrities, gratuitous male nudity, and the trash and smut some outwardly condemn but at which they inwardly thrill. Mr. Hemsworth has been a Hunk of the Day before this, and the GIFs below are ample evidence as to why. His brother, Chris Hemsworth, was also a Hunk of the Day (and his bulge deserved its own post), and if there’s anything this blog knows about it’s sibling rivalry. The Hemsworth brothers can duke it out any day, and we’d all just watch in glee.
Somewhere along this thirteen-year-old website’s journey things became less about me and more about that which inspired and tickled and sometimes offended me. Granted, it’s still from my perspective, and as long as it’s mine I’ll post whatever the hell I want, but day after day of myself gets boring, and you may have noticed that I’m not as interested in posting my own photos as I am of other things, other people, other inspirations.
I’ve also tended to steer clear of going full-on political, even though I will step into the muck from time to time when it’s warranted. However, there’s enough of that on my FaceBook and Twitter feeds, and I want to get back to the basics of what this blog was originally intended to be: a sanctuary of stillness and calm, with accents of eye candy and humor, where beauty and strangeness and contemplation exist in a peaceful realm.
Here is a list of several posts that exemplify what I most want this little piece of the internet to be. They warm my heart, so I’m hoping they warm yours too.
The beauty of a scarf.
The beginning of an obsession.
The grandness of neroli.
Drawn by the undertow, my life is out of control.
When in doubt, make this cocktail.
And when you’re at your wit’s end, pamper yourself.
Yesterday I did what I haven’t done in months: spent the entire day inside the house. It was chilly outside, but the sun was pouring in our living room, the couch was fluffy with pillows, and ‘The Perfume Lover’ was on the table waiting to be opened. A Norfolk Island Pine gracefully drooped its evergreen fronds to my right, and I could begin to make out the roots of several Narcissus bulbs being forced into growth by the window. I pulled a cozy robe around me and sank into the sofa. French music by Franck played in the background as I turned the pages, lost in this tale of fragrance and perfume by Denyse Beaulieu.
Outside the window, wind tore down the leaves from the maples and dogwoods, while a Japanese umbrella pine swayed in its wake. Branches scratched against the glass panes, but all I felt was the warmth of the sun, and all I heard was the beautiful tickling of a piano. Silk curtains, striped in shades of sky blue and buttercream, framed the bright windows, and I paused in my reading to simply enjoy the space and the moment. It was too pretty to leave and do some holiday shopping at the mall, so I stayed there, alternately reading and snoozing in the sun, basking in the lazy Saturday like a cat. Andy came out and made a cup of green tea, setting it on the table in front of me beside a pile of books on art, and my own Tour Book.
In a world that seems to grow ever dimmer by the day, this is what I need to do. Light a candle, settle into the quiet, and turn out the rest of the chaos. It will be a winter of meditation, of stillness and silence in as many places as I can find and conjure them. It will be a time to shut off the television and radio and computer and cel phone. It will be a time to remember what we can control, what we can fix, what we can do, and what we cannot. Mostly, I hope it will be a time to heal.
We’ve all been battered a bit.
It’s a bit of a travesty that Ryan Gosling has not yet been named a Dazzler of the Day, but I’m holding out until he gets caught naked sunbathing or dropping trou in his next movie. Until then, here’s a birthday post to tide over his fans (in case you missed the first shirtless Ryan Gosling post here), and an online plea for him to take it off in support of his first Dazzler crowning. I’m not too proud to beg.
Madonna: Rebel Heart Tour
September 26, 2015 — TD Banknorth Boston
She stands there, resplendent in the Bob Mackie gown she wore to the 1991 Oscar ceremony, looking every inch the superstar, dripping in diamonds, her bright blond hair glowing like a halo around her. Those blue eyes twinkle as she shimmies and shakes, and only when the camera pulls away slightly do we see that she is caged. A metal screen holds her back, framing her legendary body. Bumping and grinding, she shakes her booty just as she did at the end of that legendary 1991 Oscar appearance.
But all is not well, as the stomping of soldiers and the brutality of actions results in a bruised and battered Madonna, her gown sullied and her diamonds encrusted with blood. Is this what the world has done to her, or what she has done to herself, her image, her entire history?
She is beaten down, bloodied and left for dead at the hands of masked soldiers.
She waits to be rescued but it’s not a knight in shining armor who comes to her aid, it’s Madonna herself in flowing ‘Ray of Light’ hair, suited up in black fight gear, racing and leading a group of soldiers to the start of a revolution. That’s always been her way – saving herself and not counting on a man, or a woman, or anyone other than her own multitude of selves.
The battle cry of the ‘Rebel Heart Tour’ has been sounded, and the clarion of ‘Iconic’ sees her descending and breaking out of a metal cage that deposits her in the center of the maelstrom. She begins as Woman Warrior, dispensing cross wielding samurai with assured ease. Her own bulky get-up of red streaked with black is also soon dispensed, revealing an elegant black brocade dress for the polarizing ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ and early hit ‘Burning Up‘ (for which she also plays a mean electric guitar).
Costumes and choreography are the mainstay of any proper Madonna show, and this evening finds her making clever use of a multi-song strip-down that ends with a sheer nun-inspired look for ‘Holy Water‘ – arguably the most controversial portion of the show. In all fairness, it’s pretty benign, even if it does find Madonna pole-dancing with scantily-clad nun figures. Getting beyond that, though, it also provides the evening’s seminal set-piece: a last supper brought to thrilling life. The image is an indelible one, and it fittingly segues into ‘Vogue’ because, well, didn’t Jesus Christ himself strike the most iconic pose of all? There are no such crucifixion scenes here, and after pushing the envelope (a phrase seemingly crafted for the sole purpose of Madonna) she comes to a new salvation in ‘Devil Pray’.
A ghostly interlude of ‘Messiah’ finds one of her back-up dancers working some serious performance art, and when Madonna returns things take a brighter, if bluer, turn with the 50’s garage-themed exuberance of ‘Body Shop’. As she did on her ‘Rebel Heart’ album, Madonna manages to reconcile her rebel and romantic sides for perhaps the first time in her career. Up until now it’s usually been one or the other, with varying results for each. (For every rebellious ‘Like A Prayer‘ or ‘Erotica‘ moment there was a softer ‘Evita‘ or ‘Bedtime Stories.’) On this tour, she melds those often-opposing views into a cohesive look back (and, as ever, forward) on the duality that has made her such a transfixing icon.
The heart of the show may be her sweetly-earnest rendition of ‘True Blue’ on which she plays the ukulele. Many of us fans never thought we’d see the day she’d sing the title track of the album to which she dedicated and so generously doted on first husband Sean Penn, but here it was, transformed into an unsaid ode to those fans who have stood by her in the very truest of blue manners. Equally-pleasing was the racing performance of ‘Deeper and Deeper’ which finds her breaking things down in a West-Side-Story-meets-Michael-Jackson moment of choreographic bliss.
Madonna’s ambivalence of love has always been one of her most interesting features, and the arrival of the melancholy mash-up of ‘Heartbreak City’ and ‘Love Don’t Live Here Anymore’ is one of the more dramatic, and assuredly mature, moments of the whole show. Yet getting over heartbreak is what Madonna has done in repeatedly fine fashion; here she does so in an infectiously-retro romp through ‘Like A Virgin’ finding that shiny and new feeling for the umpteenth time. It’s a simple yet effective crown-pleaser, a throwback to the girl who giddily danced and sang all by her lonesome while the rest of the world watched in flummoxed fascination.
An immense cape seems to run the length of the entire extended stage, and Madonna throws it off before diving into an unfortunately choppy version of ‘Living For Love‘. For those who recall her cape-inflicted fall from a stage, this is a triumphant return, indicative of what Madonna has espoused over and over: the ability to get right back up from any fall. It wouldn’t be a Madonna tour without a damn performance of ‘La Isla Bonita‘, but this time it works as a lead-in for the flamenco-tinged outfits and musical slant of a majestic mash-up. This one runs through some of her earliest and most beloved hits – ‘Dress You Up‘, ‘Lucky Star‘, ‘Into the Groove‘ – given a slowed down but still-smoldering flamenco spin.
It’s the perfect personification of this tour: a magical warm-hearted amalgamation of a multitude of countries – China, Japan, Mexico, Spain, France, and of course America. It’s a tour for the world, for a multi-generational cross section of humanity which Madonna has somehow always managed to unite – in adoration, in exasperation, in inspiration. When she dives into her 1987 #1 hit ‘Who’s That Girl’ (which most Madonna fans figured we’d never hear live) accompanied only by a guitar, it’s an astounding moment of introspection served up to the world. Standing near the edge of her heart-shaped stage, she moves into a joyously-nostalgic performance of ‘Rebel Heart’ while artwork by her fans plays on an enormous video behind her. Simple stuff, but powerful as hell when you listen to the lyrics and think about how far she has come – and how far all of us who have been on this journey have come.
For the final segment of the evening, an art-deco flapper send-off that finds Madonna dripping in sparkling crystals, all elegance and showgirl sexiness as she begins a slow-burn intro to the now-classic ‘Music’ – it soon revs up into a high-octane ‘Smooth Criminal’ scene. An unnecessary re-hash of one of her weaker songs, ‘Candy Shop‘ gets some extra flapper attention here, but it’s a shimmering straight-up almost ballad-like rendition of ‘Material Girl‘ that truly shines.
On this day, her son David turned ten, and he was the surprise ‘Unapologetic Bitch‘ of the evening. As such, he showed some serious dance moves before Madonna paused in her usual banter, foregoing the usual litany of ‘fucks’ at that point, and, in charmingly awkward mother-son fashion, explained to him that sometimes it’s ok to swear if it’s in a song. Later she dedicates a vocally-precious version of ‘La Vie en Rose’ to him. It is a rare and thrilling unguarded moment where the mother kicked in, and it was both startling and heartwarming to see this woman whom we’ve watched kick ass and take no prisoners for sentimental bullshit taking off her armor. That’s what this Woman Warrior is doing with her Rebel Heart tour. She’s still an ass-kicking renegade, but underneath it all she’s human. It’s that Madonna – the only Madonna – who rules and slays and loves – whom I’ve adored for 30 years. It seems the rest of the world is finally catching on.
Tomorrow I will post my long-overdue review of Madonna’s ‘Rebel Heart Tour’ (from her September 26, 2015 Boston date) but before we get down to that serious business, here’s another preview: the set-list of that glorious tour. For those songs that have been featured on the Madonna Timeline, click the links and enjoy.
1)Â Â Â Â Iconic
2)    Bitch I’m Madonna
3)Â Â Â Â Burning Up
4)Â Â Â Â Holy Water/Vogue
5)Â Â Â Â Devil Pray
6)Â Â Â Â Messiah
7)Â Â Â Â Body Shop
8)Â Â Â Â True Blue
9)Â Â Â Â Deeper & Deeper
10) Heartbreak City/Love Don’t Live Here Anymore
11)Â Like A Virgin
12) S.E.X.
13) Living For Love
14) La Isla Bonita
15) Dress You Up/Into the Groove/Lucky Star
16) Who’s That Girl
17) Rebel Heart
18) Illuminati
19) Music
20) Candy Shop
21) Material Girl
22) La Vie En Rose
24) Holiday
Every warrior falls down now and then. It is inevitable.
It’s ok to fall if you get back up and engage again.
It takes many battles to wage and win a war.
In-between there are moments of peace and clarity.
Brave women and men have fought and died for the freedom this country affords.
That freedom will always prevail.
Justice, truth, and equality will win out in the end.
That’s the essence of America.
Â
Be vigilant. Â Be strong. Â Be yourself.
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,Â
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the windÂ
Like agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinnedÂ
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,Â
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,Â
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek–Â
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushesÂ
My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,Â
And will be born again–but ah, to seeÂ
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!Â
Oh, Autumn! Autumn!–What is the Spring to me?
after a lifetime of goldfinches,
meandering streams,
lambs playing,
the passionate hands of the sun,
the coolness under the trees
talking leaf to leaf,
the foxes and the otters sliding on the snow,
the dolphins for whom no doubt
the seas were created,
the spray of swallows gathering in autumn –
after all of that
the tall distance is what I think of now.
~ Mary Oliver
