Tomorrow I’ll break out a bussy post, so come back for that to kick off your weekend right.
For now, just some tantalizing pink blossoms doused with wetness – because the plant kingdom is sexier than anything the human body will ever produce, no matter how naked we get.
Are you old enough to remember when Calvin Klein got into all that heat and controversy for those 70’s-inspired porn/heroin chic ads featuring super-young almost-models? Troye Sivan‘s latest video for ‘Rush’ is like one of those brilliant ads brought to magnificent life – a slice of glorious abandon and divine debauchery to match the spirit of summer. Just when you think the gays had already found their summer anthem (‘Padam, Padam’ by you-know-who) Sivan comes out with this scorcher which has an even hotter video and sound, absolutely resounding with summer vibes and sweaty nights.
‘Rush’ unabashedly takes its name and inspiration from the well-known brand of poppers (you know – the one with the lightning bolt on it). For the bad-gay record, I’ve never tried poppers. In some ways, I’m as square as they come. For those who have, and for anyone who wants to approximate that fabled euphoria, this song and video are a way to access the high without the risk. You do you.
Burning the candle at both ends, rather than running the risk of using the midnight oil, I sit in the attic and write these words, knowing you won’t read them until the next morning, and slightly hesitant because of that. Night-writing usually results in something moodier than what we typically want during the day, and I try to keep an ear open to what this will sound like when the light is in the sky again.
My schedule has been edging toward less and less sleep, which tends to run me into the ground, and I’ve found myself dozing off around 6 PM, whether I’m in a chair, or couch, or bed. The damn Wordle streak I’m on (122 and counting!) has me slightly obsessed and half-hoping it ends soon so I can let go of the stress and pressure, and start missing days again. Oh the silly things we put ourselves through, the silly things we humans do. All to pass a day, or a night. Why can’t we simply sit and be?
A song then, for such a sentiment.
A song for putting me to bed for the night, and for greeting you first thing in the day.
Maybe it’s a little sad for one or the other, but even summer has its tinges of sadness, and sometimes they are worse than the winter because the world now feels at odds with the heart.
A meditation followed by a night swim – this is how I get my kicks, and it’s more glorious than any of those wild nights of my 20’s. Fine for their time and place, and completely repellant and disagreeable to me in thought and deed now. Our capacity to grow and change and keep doing it year after year is one of my favorite parts of being human. It almost makes up for all of our failings and falterings.
I wish a meditation and a night swim solved the pain and the problems that plague any average adult living in this world. I wish I knew better how to handle the sorrows that creep across our paths on any given day. I wish there was more to do than offer a hug or a word of encouragement. I wish…
It isn’t that I don’t want to be forgotten.
That’s the big fear, isn’t it? Being forgotten. Being here for as long as you have been here and not being remembered for any of it. As if being here, then, were entirely meaningless. As if being is meaningless.
The artists who acknowledge and own up to their egos will admit to this being part of their art.
It isn’t that I don’t want to be forgotten.
Having loved, and having been loved, is, I think, the purpose of any purity in our lives. We can pretend there are loftier aims and goals, maybe some greater meaning and altruistic impetus to get us into heaven, but I really think it’s smaller and more finite than that. Such a little thing – love – a four-letter word to rival all the other four-letter words.
Artists want to think the work is what will remain, the work is what will endure, and then only if it’s good and true and authentic.
I am not a good artist.
All I will ever have to leave is a little bit of love – but if I leave a little each day then I will be happy with my life, and none of it will have been wasted or wanting.
Sometimes I get too wrapped up in the day to remember this.
Sometimes I fall into the trappings of just getting through the damn drama of the day.
Sometimes I simply refuse. Defiant to the noble cause, impossible to the very end, and insisting upon hurting my own heart and taking the rest of the world down with me.
And I, sometimes, Aspire Instead.
Reclaiming the original #TinyThreads, this is a picture that leaves room for your own imaginary interpretation. Picking up what must be our gazillionth bag of brown mulch for the garden from Lowes, I returned to the car and found this matching puddle of paint next to it. My first thought was ‘Oopsie, the Ice Blue Show Queen had an accident!’ Your thoughts?
Finally emerging into the spotlight since her hospital stay a number of days ago, Madonna made her social media comeback announcing that her Celebration Tour would begin in Europe this October, with the North American leg being rescheduled for next year. If it means she is getting healthy and stronger, I’m fine with this news. I was beginning to worry because when things are that shrouded in silence and mystery, it usually portends something worse than anything the public is immediately told.
In the meantime, this recent post outlined my Top Twenty Madonna timelines. Of course twenty is too few, so here are a few more entries worthy of another look.
Come join the party with this ‘Celebration‘, which chronicles a summer moment in Boston.
‘Nothing Fails‘ in the 100th Madonna Timeline entry.
My favorite thing in the world: ‘Words‘.
The art of dressing up is one I learned early, following the cues of ‘Dress You Up‘.
There was that time Madonna took us to ‘Medellin‘.
‘I Don’t Search, I Find‘ and when Madonna is involved, getting there is most of the fun.
With a striking video directed by David Fincher, ‘Bad Girl‘ was a song set to a cinematic thrill.
Everything feels so strange, I’m ready to take this chance, I need to dance… ‘I’m Addicted‘.
Best of recovery wishes to Madonna, and gratitude for always giving us ‘Something to Remember’.
Well, he doffed his shirt for Greta Gerwig’s upcoming’Barbie’ movie (hello hype!) and as promised in this shirtless post Ryan Gosling gets crowned as Dazzler of the Day. ‘Barbie’ has been getting raves, and I didn’t even need good review to want to see this movie (think pink!). As for Gosling, he’s been capturing audience’s rapt attention thanks to impressive on-screen turns in ‘The Place Beyond the Pines’, ‘La La Land’ and ‘Blue Valentine’. Now there is even Oscar-talk of his performance in a freaking ‘Barbie’ movie. That takes talent.
Somewhere between the cute and tiny toadies that are barely more than tadpoles and the enormous monster of a frog in ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’ comes this big guy. After the heavy rains we’ve had of late, I walked out to inspect the pool and found him (or her or them) swimming in the shallow end. It was the largest one I’ve ever encountered in all our years here, and I ran inside to have Andy get him out. That’s what husbands are for, right?
While I’m not prone to anthropomorphizing creatures, this one lends itself to human traits all too easily. Such expression, such stunning beauty, such gorgeous camouflage – as I leaned down to get its close-up, I almost started talking to it.
So that’s where we are at folks – rain and insane.
I did not kiss it.
That’s what husbands are for.
Continuing this dazzle from down under, Christian Hull is an Australian comedian and social media star whose hilarious work garners him this Dazzler of the Day crowning. With an exuberant and contagious energy over the simple joys he encounters, he brings a much-needed sense of joy to the social media awfulness that is all too pervasive. Check out his YouTube page here for a dose of giddiness.
Amid a forecast of rain and storms, I’m conjuring sun the only way I know how – in these Coreopsis blooms. Each is a sunny orb of color and pizzazz, and this will have to do for a Monday recap.
A summer cologne wish for anniversaries and such.
Before there were Threads, there were #TinyThreads.
The nine-week contact lens ordeal from Visionworks.
A quick post and a casual bouquet.
Another pet peeve – it’s what I do.
Tomorrow comes again (or, the very last iris of the season).
Dazzlers of the Day included Kim Cattrall, Scotty Dynamo, Laurie Metcalf, Dave Becker, Roger Frampton, and Chrissy Flanagan.
Leave it to Madonna to continue the summer song vibe with this record-breaking return to the charts, along with The Weeknd and Playboi Carti. It’s easy and breezy and ideal for the summer season, the sort of song that percolates gently, easing into a sunny morning. Do I care about the lyrics? About as much as I care to be popular. This is just about the groove, the vibe, the languid shuffling movement that feels like slow-motion swimming, the only way to get away from the heat right there on the surface.
A summer vibe then – the summer of ’23 – too soon to tell what it will become, too early to feel how it will end. Pass the iced tea. Let’s have tomato sandwiches for lunch, the kind that turn the mayonnaise pink, the pretty mess dripping down our fingers. Even the bees are welcome to a taste.
The heat is high. The canopy does little to shield us from that. A hyacinth bean twirls its dark purple vines around a trellis, a clump of nasturtiums shading its base. Summer winds around itself now, heat building on heat, and a line of sweat drips down my chest, tickling and causing me to look down to make sure it’s not a bug. A salt lick for the horse inside of all of us.
Summer shade in a song, summer secrets held too long. Lounging by the pool, sunglasses hiding where my gaze might fall, I know the seductive pull of the sunny season. It’s California and Florida balled up and thrown into a sea of flames. It’s light and water and dancing across the surface. It’s sitting as still as possible to remain as cool as possible as if that were remotely possible. The conundrum of summer – like the queasiness of Sunday night – is impenetrable and impossible. That’s why we had Sunday tea dances, why we braved the bridges to bear down on Provincetown, why we pinned our hopes and dreams on that one perfect swimsuit that would bring all the boys to the yard. Summer was the infuriating and tantalizing tease that the most diabolical devil couldn’t conjure even at his cruelest turn.
Every once in a great while, someone breaks through the social media bedlam to touch me in just the right way, providing something I didn’t realize I needed so badly. In the case of this Dazzler of the Day, that magical person is Chrissy Flanagan, and when I stumbled upon one of her videos in which she’s grappling unsuccessfully with a lamp which refuses to remain lit, I laughed – deep, stomach-muscle-building laughter, with tears pouring forth from my eyes – and I was reminded of how much joy there still is in the world if you know where to look for it.
Flanagan is a former sausage queen (aren’t we all) and has the meaty background to back it all up, but she has recently moved into a new business venture, one which showcases her gorgeously-infectious energy and enthusiasm – it’s called Chaotic Social, and though it’s halfway around the world (greetings Australia!) the spirit she captures on camera for her online outlets carries over the distance without any sort of deterioration. A sausage queen who can sew and paint and conjure colorful enchantment is my kind of person. (Her fashion style alone is giving me life this week.) Check out her beautiful link tree here.
“The break of up a decade long relationship and subsequent bouts of loneliness have led me – Sydney’s former Sausage Queen, Chrissy Flanagan – to solve others’ desire to make adult friends, as well as my own.
It’s often said Sydney is a particularly tricky place to make friends as an adult. If you miss out on doing any of the big four locally or at all – high school, uni, work, kids – it’s hard to bridge the gap, leaving many of us lonelier than we would like.
And yet, as adults we’re embarrassed or too self conscious to use modern tools such as friend networking apps to solve this problem.
Chaotic Social is seeking to bridge that gap, in the form of classes on weird crafts, mad skills and naked ambition, where you’re encouraged to roll solo and go home with a few new mates in your phone.
While making hectic articles such as creepy dolls, bad badass self portraits and bedazzled tiddie tassels, we will also have big chats and indulge in purely fun sh!t like blue light discos and stand up. Yes there will be games, no participation is not optional.
Formerly co-owner of restaurant The Sausage Factory and brewery Queens of Chaos, my notoriously rowdy and long running sausage classes will continue Sundays at the new venue.”
~ Chrissy Flanagan
When we were young I thought I needed the bombast.
Maybe I did.
Maybe I needed the driving guitars, the wall of sound, the driving noise, and the rush and wail of the original version of this song. Back then it carried the power to pull me away from the ledge, and perhaps that’s precisely the drastic and bombastic shove which saved me, something to jolt and shock and force myself into any other state than the one in which I simply wanted to cease existing. That sort of mindset requires a bigger bang than the orchestral song you are about to hear here. Necessary for its time and purpose in life, and long fallen by the wayside in favor of something more sustainable and reasonable.
These days, I am finding more meaning and resonance in a quieter mode of living. When you’ve had a proper thrashing when you’re young, and lived a few crazy years of fun and wildness, you can have your mid-life crisis, embrace it, and hopefully come out on the other side a bit better for all of it.
“Such men believe in luck, they watch for signs, and they conduct private rituals that structure their despair and mark their waiting. They are relatively easy to recognize but hard to know, especially during the years when a man is most dangerous to himself, which begins at about age thirty-five, when he starts to tally his losses as well as his wins, and ends at about fifty, when, if he has not destroyed himself, he has learned that the force of time is better caught softly, and in small pieces. Between those points, however, he’d better watch out, better guard against the dangerous journey that beckons to him –the siege, the quest, the grandiosity, the dream.” ~ Colin Harrison
Every time I feel that I might be moving beyond this pocket of danger, and that others in my orbit are safe too, something happens that reminds me we are not quite fifty, not quite to the shore yet. Even the most seemingly-innocuous storm could be the one to take us out – to sea, to loss, to regret, to worse… And I wonder if there will ever be a safe day, a day or time when we can simply relax, let down our guards, and be. I wonder and I hope… and I listen to this song called ‘Tomorrow‘.
Today in the garden the very last Japanese iris bloomed – through the afternoon storm, and unexpectedly, as I had thought their blooms were already done. This one must have hidden itself in the fading remnants of its predecessors, tricking me into thinking the display was over when really there was one day more of beauty. That’s the magic of a tomorrow – you never know what might show up and bloom for you.
Fresh off this simple post comes another quick hit to loosen things up. It was getting entirely too dense with the detailed and privileged post of whining from this morning, so here is a view of our lace-cap hydrangea, enjoying a banner year in the garden. Happy Friday!
Why does anyone use these ridiculous things? The concept is lovely, the look is sweet, but the practicality is nowhere in evidence. My first, and last, brush with them came gratefully with some cheap-ass version from Target or Marshall’s, made of plastic, but designed in the same way as these fancier ones from Crate & Barrel. In all the designs I’ve seen, you’ve got to fill the thing with a good two to three inches of whatever you’re drinking before you even reach the spout. For a household of two, that’s already way more liquid than can be imbibed in a single sitting.
And if you do happen to have a party or event where you’re serving a bazillion people, once you come close to finishing the thing, you are left with that same two to three inches of liquid that you must tilt and twist and pour without breaking it or spilling it or swearing up a storm in front of all the kids.
Don’t even get me started on what happens when all the pretty fruit you are inspired to add clogs the damn spigot.
