When Ryan Murphy decides to make you a star, nothing’s going to stop that from happening. Witness the celebratory two-pronged entertainment attack that is ‘Monster’ and ‘Grotesquerie’ which is currently putting an often-naked Nicholas Alexander Chavez front and center of Hollywood, which also grants him this virgin Dazzler of the Day crowning.
Vicomte de Valmont: I often wonder how you managed to invent yourself.
Marquise de Merteuil: Well, I had no choice, did I? I’m a woman. Women are obliged to be far more skillful than men. You can ruin our reputation and our life with a few well-chosen words. So, of course, I had to invent, not only myself, but ways of escape no one has every thought of before. And I’ve succeeded because I’ve always known I was born to dominate your sex and avenge my own.
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Ever since I was a young boy, the power of femininity has been apparent to me. More than that, I knew from a very young age that women were the driving force of the world, literally giving birth to anyone and everyone who ever mattered, made a difference, and populated the world. We owed it all to the ladies. That they were the ones who traditionally wielded such femininity was only part of their power, and often merely the veil – easily discarded, impossible to ignore, and hazy in a lace-like dream. Growing up, I wanted to tap into the power of that femininity. I thought I could do it with the perfect perfume, the subtle sly smile and glint in my eye, or the delicate swirl of a tongue against a dripping, engorged cock. The foolish workings of a young boy’s mind – to think that being feminine could ever be so simple and stereotypical, so completely sexist, and birthed from an impenetrable patriarchy. I mistook poses for power, thought I could approximate control with the right stance, the right look, the right outfit, the right attitude. And somewhere deep inside I knew that wasn’t the real power of femininity. The sirens, the witches, the wardrobe – they all played their part, but there was so much more to it. Some days all I could do was dress it up…
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Marquise de Merteuil: When I came out into society, I was fifteen. I already knew that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do what I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and observe. Not to what people told me, which naturally was of no interest, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practiced detachment. I learned how to look cheerful while, under the table, I stuck a fork into the back of my hand. I became a virtuoso of deceit. It wasn’t pleasure I was after, it was knowledge. I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear, philosophers to find out what to think, and novelists to see what I could get away with. And in the end, I distilled everything to one wonderfully simple principle: win or die.
Currently turning in a riveting performance in the latest ridiculousness from Ryan Murphy – ‘Grotesquerie’ – Niecy Nash-Betts earns her first Dazzler of the Day crowning, and while the show itself is silly, showy, over-the-top gratuitous fun, Nash-Betts grounds it in her portrayal of Lois Tryon. It’s a master class of acting, running the gamut from the deepest pathos to the lightest whimsical hilarity, often in the whiplash span of a few minutes. She’s given a few monologues that start somewhere you think you know, and then she takes it into a totally different realm, and by the end you feel exhilarated and moved in ways you no longer thought possible from television. Check her out on FX’s ‘Grotesquerie’ and prepare to be marveled.
This naked fluorescent lighting system is just plain homophobic.
That’s all.
It’s nice to see the warty pumpkins get their time in the proverbial sun, as these gourds and their ubiquitous popularity will attest. Way back when I was a little kid, the more perfect the pumpkin, the better, and it was always a challenge to go to some pumpkin place and find the best of the bunch. Invariably there would be a side that was obviously the one that rested on dirt, or a patch of mottled or less-than-ideal-orange that indicated some lack or excess of light or water, or some other imperfection that marred the otherwise plump and round perfection of the picture we all had of a pumpkin. It’s heartwarming to see the embrace of other forms, such as in this extravagantly bumpy specimen nestled amid a patch of ornamental cabbage that sets its coloring and texture off in gorgeous fashion.
Halloween has come a long way since the days of flimsy plastic masks tied precariously around our heads with a bit of springy string. The perfect pumpkin has become the perfectly unique pumpkin. There’s not a better holiday to celebrate being a little different.
Credit the impending arrival of the full Hunter’s Moon, or just my own dwindling sanity, I spent a day at the office wherein I forgot my belt, and was without cologne or contacts thanks to some pesky allergies. After almost getting stuck on an elevator on my way out of the building (we bolted and then walked the remaining flights when we couldn’t get down past the fourth floor) I gratefully collapsed on the floor when I got home and began my daily meditation.
A literal grounding is the ideal way to start meditating these days. I lower my body to the floor, stretching out my legs and arms and letting all of me sink into the ground. There’s something very powerful about grounding yourself like that, and letting gravity exert its full effect on your entire body. It levels everything out for a moment. It also reminds me how one day we will all become part of the earth again, no matter how we choose to exit the place. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you know the routine. There’s a peace in that if you allow the thought to fully expand.
At the time that I write this, it is past the nine o’clock evening hour. A hard frost has been forecast for tomorrow (today as you’re reading this), and after a day of Andy and I sneezing from allergies, I hope it takes out everything in its path. It’s time. The day hinted at colder things to come, as Andy came in chilled from a final attempt at salvaging one more pool day if it warms up next week. I captured a few final blossoms as seen here, already slightly mottled from the cool nights, and likely to be gone by tomorrow. You may be witnessing what has already departed. Ghostly apparitions befitting the season.
A rare moment bordering on regret, perhaps? I wonder if I should have spent more time with these begonias. They did pretty well in a season that found usual stalwarts struggling. Hidden by a pink curtain and located behind showier and taller pots of papyrus and elephant’s ear, these begonias were paired with a red fuchsia – and both performed admirably when I thought to take in their beauty. I wish I’d thought more.
Stevie Nicks is about to provide the bulk of the soundtrack for our October listening list (coming up shortly, since we just released the Fade-to-Black Fall Playlist). I hear her siren’s call, drawn to the sweet music, and the spicy scent of pine warmed by the afternoon sun in our little side-yard, and I try to join in the dance. It’s there in the wind. It’s there in a falling leaf. It’s there in the soft and sticky brush of pine needles.
In times of doubt and uncertainty, I find it best to reconnect with nature. Sitting in the soft blanket comprised of leaves and moss, the earth embraces all of us if we let it. There is healing in that embrace, and in the music of a woman who has seen more than most of us. She knows our secrets. She knows a way out. She knows.
The wisdom unseen by men, the wisdom gleaned by women, and the wisdom discerned by those somewhere in between or beyond such limited labels is the wisdom of the ages. It changes with the passing of time, something we as humans don’t always want to admit or acknowledge, because that might require a change in our own beliefs. We don’t usually like to change our beliefs – it’s messy and makes us uneasy – but if you learn how to do that, you learn a bit of magic that will unlock hidden doors for as long as you keep your mind open. It’s the kind of magic that lights the darkest black ink nights…
Lately I’ve felt the downward pull of time and age – two of many things over which a person has little to no control. Time and age – the sorcerer and the sorceress that lord their ways over us all.
Whispers on the fall wind.
Slivers of hints written in the veins of leaves.
No way to make it all make sense.
Barely a wisp of a song, hardly a melody.
Pricks in the silence.
Ripples on the water.
The witch’s cry is silent.
Vamping while I return to the land of the office and regular responsibilities, these merry marigolds, hardly dampened by the rain, are taking the moment to do an impromptu parade and tide over those hungry for a traditional Tuesday morning blog post. This is it, peeps – indulge and enjoy!
The vacation glow will be gone by the time you are reading this, and I’ll already be back in office-mode, trying to catch up on hundreds of e-mails and wondering precisely how many days remain until I might retire… a happy daydream to see us through any work-week nightmare.
I love an ornamental cabbage – the colors, the architecture, the design – all of it thrills the visual sense. The way they nestle a rainfall, turning it from something annoying into something amazing is one of the greatest lessons of nature. Here, they provide a moment of pause before I muster the energy to recap our holiday weekend in Ogunquit – but first, the weekly recap begins here, a bit later than usual in the day.
Backlit, brilliant and beautiful.
Welcome to a new black parade.
A new urinal cake is always cause for celebration.
National Coming Out Day – a thing since 1988.
The Fade-to-Black Fall Playlist.
Dazzlers of the Day included Joe Keery, Joe Locke, and Cheryl Dunye.
“In the Western tradition there is a recognized hierarchy of beings, with, of course, the human being on top—the pinnacle of evolution, the darling of Creation—and the plants at the bottom. But in Native ways of knowing, human people are often referred to as “the younger brothers of Creation.” We say that humans have the least experience with how to live and thus the most to learn—we must look to our teachers among the other species for guidance. Their wisdom is apparent in the way that they live. They teach us by example. They’ve been on the earth far longer than we have been, and have had time to figure things out.”
“Children, language, lands: almost everything was stripped away, stolen when you weren’t looking because you were trying to stay alive. In the face of such loss, one thing our people could not surrender was the meaning of land. In the settler mind, land was property, real estate, capital, or natural resources. But to our people, it was everything: identity, the connection to our ancestors, the home of our nonhuman kinfolk, our pharmacy, our library, the source of all that sustained us. Our lands were where our responsibility to the world was enacted, sacred ground. It belonged to itself; it was a gift, not a commodity, so it could never be bought or sold. These are the meanings people took with them when they were forced from their ancient homelands to new places.”
~ Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants’
We are scheduled to be wrapping up our fall pilgrimage to Ogunquit tomorrow, and before I work up the energy to recap that, here’s a linky look back at previous Ogunquit trips in the fall. While I love the promise and hope inherent in a spring visit, our fall visits are cozy, quiet, and beautiful vacations – always worth a look-back.
It was the 90’s, and we took photos like we were in ‘Interview’ magazine. In the attic of my childhood home, we survived the stultifyingly boring summer with photo shoots and lazy lounging while music played and someone made the two-flight trip down for more chips. We lived vicariously through videotapes, and magazines, and CDs – all relatively obsolete these days – and it was enough. We yearned and hoped and made ourselves into something better than we were before – with the sort of work and imagination that once was required. We tried harder then, back before such entertainments and passings of time came at the tap of a finger on a phone.
People could sit still then, and simply be. We talked. We engaged. We read and laughed and made the moment mean something. We didn’t shut down by shutting out the world outside of our ridiculous phone screen. Now I’m sounding old, when I enjoy the phone as much as the next person. Maybe I just miss those 90’s days, when life seemed simpler, the way it always does in our younger years.
Our fall playlist is finally being posted here – a little late perhaps, but I hope you find it worth the wait. It begins with songs that inspired the ‘Fade-to-Black’ theme, segues into a rollicking femininomenon section with a couple of disco moments, and brings us all back to black in the end. Click and listen, preferably in the order in which they appear. (Apologies, I’m an anal-retentive Virgo after all.)
Paint It Black – Westworld version
For What It’s Worth – Stevie Nicks
Paint It Black – Rolling Stones
Edge of Seventeen – Stevie Nicks
You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) – Sandra Bernhard
Gimme Gimme Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) – Abba
I Can Do It With A Broken Heart – Taylor Swift
Brave New Girl – Britney Spears
Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl – Chappell Roan
Chemical Sunset – Orville Peck
Back to Black – Oscar and the Wolf
Your Heart is as Black as Night – Melody Gardot
Demons in My Sleep – Peaky Blinders
Bacchanal from ‘Samson and Delilah’ -Camille Saint-Saëns
When It Rains It Pours – Twiddle
Welcome to the Black Parade – My Chemical Romance
Paint It Black – Cello version
