Just switch out ‘Asking for a friend’ with ‘I’m an obnoxious prick not even bothering to hide it anymore’ and call it a day.
Monthly Archives:
February 2019
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February
2019
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February
2019
28
February
2019
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February
2019
Petting the Pussy
I was very young when I first felt one with my fingers.
I’d stepped into the open crotch and raised myself up into arms that reached skyward.
It must have been a warm spring day because my memory tells me it was summer when it happened but the bloom calendar has this in dispute. Pussy willows bloom in early spring, so when I climbed into a large specimen as a child it was probably only April. Near the bottom of a slight slope in our neighbor’s yard, a magnificent pussy willow shrub had grown into a substantial tree, making use of the water that would occasionally dampen that section of yard.
Like forsythia and witch hazel, pussy willows marked the early spring blooms that signaled the happy demise of another winter. I bent a few twigs, breaking them off, and quickly climbed down, the little fuzzy prize procured. I don’t know why I would have been so high in a tree so early in the season, but kids are weird that way. Whenever the fruit trees bloomed I seemed to find myself up in their boughs, gleefully avoiding the buzzing bees making their pollinating rounds.
There is no more narrative on that pussy-grabbing day – I only remember being in the pussy willow and taking a few small stems with me. I think it remains in my memory bank because I have always thrilled at famous flowers or fruits being found in their native habitat, growing happily outside. Having seen the pussy willow in bouquets on various teachers’ desks, and learning about them in class, I was enrapt by their existence outside in a neighbor’s yard. It’s the same spell that was cast as I passed a tree fern and a stand of blooming agapanthus just casually thriving in a San Francisco courtyard. I was an adult then, but I remember it distinctly because we don’t see such things in the wilderness of upstate New York.
The renowned furry buds of the pussy willow are actually the catkins of the male flower. That’s right – the trademark kitten-like blooms that give the pussy willow its name are guys. The actual flowers that later appear are like tiny little clouds that dance about the fuzzy catkins. It’s all rather charming and mysterious, not unlike the shift from winter to spring, where things seem to happen in the mystical night, and life begins again as ice melts into water and the sounds of peepers fill the darkness.
27
February
2019
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February
2019
Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series
Advice for job hunters: only idiots reply to an automatic reply.
Desperation is not a good look.
Neither is an e-mail that comes in at 3 AM Saturday night.
27
February
2019
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February
2019
Pot It Like It’s Hot
This Japanese hot pot hodge-podge dish was my first encounter with kabocha squash and daikon, and it was glorious. Having previously avoided the Japanese hot pot craze, this also marked my first foray into that vaunted territory, so this initial trial was amateurishly executed, but the results tasted so good I must have done something right.
After trying out this miso soup from Candice Kumai’s ‘Kintsugi Wellness: The Japanese Art of Nourishing Mind, Body, and Spirit’, I aimed for something a little more complicated with her take on a Japanese hot pot. With its miso base and healthy ingredients (kabocha, tofu, and kale) it is a power -food stew particularly well-suited to the winter.
My favorite part was easily the kabocha squash, whose nutrient-rich skin is also edible once cooked a bit. I microwaved it for about four minutes before it went in the stew, which made for a more pliable gourd. After cutting it in half and scooping out the seeds, I chopped it into chunks, keeping the skin intact. (Have faith and go with it.)
This was also my virgin brush with daikon, which I peeled, cut in half, and sliced into little half moons. Tasting one, I relished the distinctive radish bite – the perfect contrast to the mellow, buttery nuttiness of the squash. Based on these two ingredients alone, we were well on the way to something good, but more flavor was coming.
The base of this is a decent sprinkling of toasted sesame oil, a thinly-sliced yellow onion, some freshly-grated ginger, a hefty helping of miso paste (see if you can find a low-sodium version) and an ample dash of mirin for deglazing. There is a big bunch of kale in the version I made (the original recipe says collard or mizuna greens can also be used) and a cup or two of super-firm tofu chopped into little cubes. It doesn’t get much healthier than that. For additional earthy flavor, there’s a heaping pile of shiitake mushrooms. Taken together, the ingredients turn about six cups of water into a golden stew. The kabocha skin softens into something firm but yielding – a most interesting texture that never veers into anything tough or crunchy. Try it out – if you really don’t like it, leave it off (along with all those extra vitamins ensconced within the green skin).
I sprinkled a bowl with some bonito flakes and some wakame seaweed (I’ll see if I can upload a YouTube video to give you the magical full-motion effect of those fish flakes). It was so good I didn’t even miss the optional Togarashi that was recommended as a light topping/garnish.
My next meet-up with miso may be the miso chocolate chip cookies that Ms. Kumai raved about in her book. It’s a winter of miso madness, but I’m not mad about it in an angry way. Miso makes me happy.
26
February
2019
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February
2019
26
February
2019
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February
2019
Meditative Mornings
Some days dawn like a Mary Oliver poem – all hope and promise and beautiful heartache…
I don’t usually get to embrace the morning. It passes in a rush of waking and showering and doing my best impression of a man who can dress himself for work. As it likely it for many others, my mornings are on auto-pilot, and the older I get the more mundane and drudge-like they sometimes feel. Every once in a while a blip will occur, some minor snag that reminds me I’m still imperfectly human no matter how many times I’ve done this: a squirt of lotion instead of toothpaste on the toothbrush that is just about to go in my mouth, a drawstring that gets right in the way of the stream of urine, or putting one contact lens into the eye that already had one in already. Fun, fun, fun.
Once upon a time I practiced meditative mornings over the weekends – when sun was out, either reflecting brilliantly on the snow, or mingling softly among the blades of grass – and there was no music, no television, and no washer/dryer duet. Silence and stillness. It grounds the heart, setting a bedrock of peace for the day no matter where it might take us. I miss those meditative mornings. Perhaps I’ll set my alarm a bit earlier so I have time to start the day in peace. It may make a difference.
Meditation need not be anything complicated or lengthy. Actually, it’s better in my case if it’s neither, and simplicity is integral to the experience. Even just five to ten minutes of sitting in uninterrupted silence each day can work wonders. If you can stretch it to fifteen, that’s even better, but something is better than nothing. I find it takes a few minutes to clear my brain of worries and plans and concerns and daily stuff. That’s why it’s sometimes easier to do it first thing in the morning.It’s quieter then, too.
So here’s to those contemplative mornings. May they greet the day in peace, and carry the mindset through the rest of the hours.
25
February
2019
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February
2019
The Lady, The Queen & the Night They Made the World Right
Can we end the arch-enemy narrative now please?
Lady Gaga and Madonna are good.
Let the world take a lesson… from an Oscar party.
25
February
2019
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February
2019
Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series
It finally dawned on me that I’ve been channeling Tina Turner in ‘Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome’ for all my adult life. Bust a deal, face the wheel. #RaggedyMan
25
February
2019
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February
2019
Post-Academy Awards Recap
The golden luster of all those little dickless statuettes has hopefully not yet worn off for all the Oscar-winners from last night, but we are definitely moving forward into the next week, as it’s the last one in February. The sooner it’s over, the better. On with one quick look back…
We begin with some scent planning.
Desperately seeking mall solace.
Are my days of tea-bagging at an end?
Mike Rickard, living ‘Out Loud.’
A shirtless Nick Jonas afternoon delight.
Is that a pipe in Cristiano Ronaldo’s underwear?
Yawning through the Academy Awards.
Do follow these #TinyThreads.
Hunks of the Day included Ben Platt, Chris Harrison, Don Benjamin, Jack Muldoon, Reggie Bullock and Tobi Jasicki.
24
February
2019
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February
2019
Oscars Commentary 2019: For better or worse…
If I must, I suppose I must…
Regina King is a goddess who knows how to drape it.
Melissa McCarthy, proving me wrong in that not everyone should wear a cape at least once in their lifetime. Looks like a shower cap on her shoulders.
Mark Ronson is wearing just enough chicness to set a tux apart from the pack.
Linda Cardellini belongs on Fraggle Rock, and that’s not an insult.
Henry Golding’s outfit is as elegant as his accent.
Diane Warren – bringing back the dickie. No. God no.
I want Michelle Yeoh to be my fairy godmother.
Kasey Musgraves – what’s wrong? Couldn’t get Glinda’s bubble and wand too? (That said, I adore it. Oh wait, just saw it again. Nope. Give it back to Glinda.)
Apologies to Awkwafina: I think Glenn Close did this better yesterday.
Gemma Chan – I am here for this color, but why the shower curtain ruching?
James McAvoy – A black tux. For the Oscars. Groundbreaking. {Just take it off.}
Glenn Close – Restoring my faith in the cape. Take a lesson Melissa McCarthy.
Angela Basset – I’m questioning my sexuality.
Spike Lee – Channeling Prince’s work in Batman.
Jennifer Hudson – A one-shouldered scarlet dream.
Richard E. Grant – The richly-hued tux must match how good he smells.
Jennifer Lewis and Shangela: giving me life. Operation ‘Avenge the Kevin Hart Debacle’ in effect.
Nicholas Hoult – I am here for all of it, whatever the wrap is going on. (It’s actually a Dior tux, and it’s glorious.)
Is Sam Rockwell playing Lex Luthor for something?
Amy Adams always looks so friendly and approachable. Not sure I want that on this night. I want glamorously intimidating and elegantly terrifying.
Jason Momoa – Bohemian black tie sans tie. It works with the hair, even if the fit is just slightly off. (He still looks better naked,)
Charlize Theron – Joan Crawford will rise from the dead to get her shoulders back.
Rami Malek – Another black tux. What more is there to say? Take it off?
Sam Elliott – matching the hair to the shirt. Well-played, sir.
Jennifer Lopez, please don’t cut yourself on any of that! (PS – I’ll take it when you’re done. Thank you, Tom Ford.)
Bradley Cooper – Whoa! The magenta sequins and ostrich feathers are over the top! Just kidding. Just another black tux.
Emma Stone – I’m torn. Need to see it closer…
Lady Gaga – The jewelry is magnificent. The McQueen is the color of 90% of the tuxes. The effect is largely that of this year’s Academy Awards: underwhelming.
I love Maya Rudolph so much that I will refrain from commenting on that… dress.
Tonight Rachel Weisz comes complete with a cherry-red baby-proof bib. Not sure why.
Chris Evans is such a gentleman, and that jacket is divine.
Waiting for Bette Midler to save another Awards show… in 3, 2, 1.
Camo for the Academy Awards? Interesting choice. Not as successful as this one, sorry Pharrell Williams.
Melissa McCarthy’s bunny just won the Oscars. {Careful with those rabbits, Glenn Close is in the FRONT ROW.}
Nope, Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper’s performance just won the evening. Classy. Elegant. Moving.
Spike Lee & Barbra Streisand: Best Couple of the Oscars. #hats
Glenn Close was robbed. Our country can’t elect anyone anymore.
Julia Roberts is pretty in pink, even with those fish skeleton earrings.
24
February
2019
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February
2019
Cristiano Ronaldo’s Pipe-lined Underwear
Some filler posts are filled better than others, but you don’t have to take my word for it. Gaze upon the form of one Cristiano Ronaldo, football player extraordinaire who also has his own line of underwear which he has been kind and generous enough to model time and time and time and time again.
24
February
2019
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February
2019
My Super Bowl: The Oscars
This year’s Super Bowl was one big-ass dud (with the possible exception of the Adam Levine strip show) but ball games never interested me as much as shiny phallic men. Tonight is the Academy Awards, and once again I’m not as excited about the night as I’ve been in the past (cite a combination of the new Academy nomination process – how many films are up for Best Picture now? – tiresome hosting issues (Kevin who?) and just getting older and growing uninterested in such things). I still have some favorites, including ‘The Favourite’ and Glenn Close, as well as Cate Blanchett and Nicole Kidman in whatever gown they’ll choose to wear, and of course I’ll watch because there’s something comforting about fluff and entertainment in this present climate.
In the past I’ve done some online posts about the Oscar ceremony (some FaceBook stuff and lots of Tweets) and a recap of commentary on this very blog, and perhaps I’ll get a second wind and do a bit of that, but as we near the last month of winter, I’m probably going to be too exhausted for any of that. (Follow or Friend me just in case.)
Anyway, let’s get some glamour going. We need it now.
23
February
2019
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February
2019
In the Nick of Time, a Noon-time Jonas Treat
While the rest of the world alternately celebrates and condemns the appointment of Shawn Mendes as the new body and face of Calvin Klein (almost as divided as the views on Adam Levine’s shirtless gyrating at this very-non-epic Super Bowl), a few have expressed their belief that the new CK bulge rightfully belonged to Nick Jonas. I suggested as much in this underwear-proposal post, but I also suggested Mr. Mendes as a possibility, so no complaints. The state of the internet demands conflict and discord and no unanimous celebration about much of anything these days, so it’s no surprise that Shawn Mendes in his Calvin Klein underwear didn’t win universal praise. Perhaps the same would hold true for Nick Jonas, I don’t know. Compare his underwear bulge and body in posts here and here and here, and then witness him out of clothing altogether in this naked Nick Jonas post. {See also a half-naked Joe Jonas here, here, and here.}
23
February
2019
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February
2019
Mike Rickard: Living ‘Out Loud’
I TRIED TO CHANGE MYSELF, BE SOMEONE ELSE
LOST MYSELF ALONG THE WAY
IT TOOK ITS TOLL, I FINALLY KNOW
THE PRICE THAT I HAVE PAID
AND IT’S TIME TO CHANGE…
That noble sentiment, so much easier said than done, is the opening salvo to Mike Rickard’s latest album ‘Out Loud.’ The title track, dedicated to the “victims, survivors and families of the Pulse Orlando shooting†resounds with defiant jubilance, refusing to be cowed or broken by hatred and fear. “I thought I was the only one,†he sings, “But I know I’m not alone. The faces may change but the story’s still the same. I am them and they are me, and we are strong.†Setting up the strength of love to vanquish hate, it’s a proclamation that Rickard has made throughout his musical career, but perhaps one which was difficult even for him to fully believe. The past few years have made political activists out of anyone who dares to be different or dares to be themselves. Rickard takes up the mantle, putting fear and frustration to song, as in the shuffling ‘Alright’ and the melancholy ‘Don’t Feed the Ghosts’ – the latter of which finds him ready to give final exorcism to past events, a glorious kiss-off to what has come and gone but still finds a way to haunt him.
‘Out Loud’ accomplishes what Rickard has always done well: it tells stories, setting emotion to characters and music, and bringing the listener along for the ride, as it so compellingly proves with ‘Six Queer Kids’ and its powerful video. Telling the not-uncommon tale of a boy kicked out of his home for being gay, and the ensuing tragedies that result, it weaves its warning with a barely-there lining of hope:
SIX QUEER KIDS WILL DIE HOMELESS EVERY DAY
FOR NO OTHER REASON EXCEPT THAT THEY WERE GAY
AND IF IT GETS BETTER, WELL IT DIDN’T FOR THEM
SO FOR EACH ONE THAT’S LOST, WE’VE GOT TO FIND THEM
SO WHO’S GONNA BE THERE, WHO’S GONNA CARE ENOUGH
TO HELP WITH NO STRINGS ATTACHED, TO LOVE WITH NO QUESTIONS ASKED?
WHO’S GONNA BE THERE, WHO’S GONNA CARE ENOUGH
TO LET HIM KNOW HE’S NOT ALONE, TO HELP FIND A SENSE OF HOPE?
WHO’S GOING TO, WILL IT BE YOU?
Contrasting with the somber social themes, the midsection and heart of the album has Rickard waxing wistful and romantic, as on ‘You’re to Blame’ and ‘Taste Your Smile,’ in which he indulges in some happy reflections on being in love. “So let me say it, let me lay it on the line,†he sweetly opines, “I still see you, like I saw you for the first time.†As in most great love stories, ambivalence and doubt creeps into this one as well, yet the honesty that tempers it brings about something more genuine and lasting. As heard in ‘Wouldn’t Be Love’ the narrator finds a way of reconciling the trials and breaking points of life as the very things that strengthen and solidify love. The complex quartet of love songs rounds itself out with ‘What Love Looks Like’ – a simple but heartfelt distillation of a true romance that sways gently and sweetly.
Sonically, Rickard’s music has evolved since ‘Stirred, Not Shaken’ ~ moving further along from the occasionally-country inflections of that early work to incorporate a few more electronic flourishes without sacrificing song structure. It makes sense given the trajectory that can be explored later on in ‘Sweat’ and its follow-up remix EP that ‘Out Loud’ completes this journey in brilliant fashion.
The penultimate cut is a gorgeously string-adorned aural jewel to keep on keeping on: ‘Not Finished Yet;’ comes with telling punctuation to indicate that Rickard’s voyage is far from over, and it speaks to a broader and more compelling message to anyone about to give up. He closes out this album with ‘Surrender’ – a dose of hard-earned wisdom that uncertainty and doubt, when acknowledged and honored, are the other sides of acceptance and confidence; without them any genuine self-love rings slightly hollow. It takes most of us a number of years before coming to such a place. After an album, and a lifetime, of introspective tension, Rickard finally lets loose, surrendering in a clever sonic illustration of steely vulnerability. A little bit bruised, a little bit broken, and all the more beautiful because of it.
TOMORROW IS A WHISPER THAT MAY NEVER SPEAK
SO I’M GONNA LIVE THIS MOMENT HONESTLY
I’LL LAUGH A LITTLE LOUDER, LOVE A LITTLE HARDER
BE A BIT MORE OF ME, LIVE LIKE I AM FREE
WHY SHOULDN’T I, WHY SHOULDN’T I?
{If you happen to be in the Atlanta area this evening, pop in to Mike Rickard’s listening party for his latest album, ‘Out Loud’ at the Red Light Cafe. For more information on ‘Out Loud’ and other work, check out Mr. Rickard’s website here.}
22
February
2019
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February
2019
