Dream, when you’re feeling blue Dream, that’s the thing to do Dream while the smoke rings rise in the air You’ll find your share of memories there
Remembering summer days is most often a waste of a winter, even if it feels good. If you learn to embrace the winter as much as you embrace the summer, you’ll find that life is a lot happier. Summer feels richer then too.
So, dream when the day is through Dream, and they might come true Things never are as bad as they seem So, dream, dream, dream
But this is spring, and in spring we dream. The Divine Diva Tour is about to take a turn into dreamland – into the fantastical forests of our childhood, when magic reigned and a unicorn lurked around every corner. The tale of a fairy isn’t always a fairy tale, but you’ll see that soon enough. You also have to meet a powder blue ice princess before we head into the woods. Mother said straight ahead, not to delay or be mislead…
Dream, when the day is through Dream, and they might come true Things never are as bad as they seem So, dream, dream, dream, dream So, dream, dream, dream
The recent online posting of ‘The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale‘ dovetails neatly with the spring dream theme currently playing out on our website, as our latest entry rekindles a dreamy summer day in the pool – harkening to the past and hinting at the summer to come. Such a crux is fertile ground for mental rumination, and to set the tone, keep scrolling to hear a dream-themed musical selection for your aural gratification.
Every night I hope and pray A dream lover will come my way A girl to hold in my arms And know the magic of her charms ‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
Dream lover, where are you With a love, oh, so true And the hand that I can hold To feel you near as I grow old
‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
Someday, I don’t know how I hope she’ll hear my plea Some way, I don’t know how She’ll bring her love to me
Dream lover, until then I’ll go to sleep and dream again That’s the only thing to do ‘Til all my lover’s dreams come true ‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
While it took place over twenty years ago, I still remember this photo shoot – it was a rare one that Andy agreed to do since I was tired of trying to grapple with a tripod in the pool. We’d had a delivery of steaks from my parents, and I hastened to make use of the dry ice in a martini glass.
Fluff and filler, the pictures formed a bit of padding in an already frivolous tour book, but there were darker turns to come, and knowing this I let the photos have their moment.
Please don’t make me dream alone I beg you don’t make me dream alone No, I don’t wanna dream alone…
Spring is slow to announce itself this year, shyly hiding behind the remnants of winter’s chill, even as we beckon her onward. Andy is anxious to get the pool open, though that doesn’t look to happen anytime soon with projected temperatures still in late winter mode. A song then, while spring remains a thing of dreams, and the song comes from decades ago, like the photographs that accompany this post. Time has passed, and continues to run; we are all just playing catch up now. In dreams we have the power to traverse time, to bend it in ways the mind has yet to fully understand. I like that sort of mystery – it keeps the world intriguing without being too endangering.
Spare a little candle Save some light for me Figures up ahead Moving in the trees White skin in linen Perfume on my wrist And the full moon that hangs over These dreams in the mist…
Unlocking the secrets to this song might unlock a memory of my childhood. Only vaguely do I recall it on the radio, and roller skating to it at High Rollers. Very much a child of the 1980’s, I was too young to truly take part in any sort of nightlife then, but old enough to have that decade burned permanently into my heart. According to Wikipedia, “The lyrics of the track describe the fantasy world a woman enters, every time she sleeps, when faced with a difficult situation in life.”
Darkness on the edge Shadows where I stand I search for the time On a watch with no hands I want to see you clearly Come closer than this But all I remember Are the dreams in the mist
Living out one’s childhood in the 80’s was the very best period in which to live out a childhood, though I suppose we all think our childhoods were the best times to have a childhood. In our case, it felt like a more quaint and simple time – a generation before cel phones and social media and all the nonsense that is the current conundrum of human existence. Oh we were far from perfect, and the adults around then sure fucked up a lot of shit that we’re all still paying for – but it was different from the way they’re fucking things up today.
These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
This is getting entirely too serious for a Friday night vintage music post, so let’s veer back into the more innocent aspects of the 80’s, and the scene at High Rollers, where colored rows of lights illuminated the roller rink, and I could step into the flow of the other skaters like it was a riotously-garbed river of neon and bangles and frizzy hair.
Is it cloak and dagger Could it be spring or fall? I walk without a cut Through a stained glass wall Weaker in my eyesight The candle in my grip And words that have no form Are falling from my lips
These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
There’s something out there I can’t resist
The anthemic rock love ballad was something that spoke to me in ways and on levels I didn’t completely fathom. The very first hints of a romantic world began to reveal themselves in the slightest flutter my stomach gave when a cute guy crinkled a smile in a direction that was never mine. The boys whizzing by me in their tight acid-washed jeans barely saw me there – I was slight and shadow and insignificance – and no one noticed until they lowered the limbo rod and I found myself in the top five contenders after everyone else had knocked the thing down.
The sweetest song is silence That I’ve ever heard Funny how your feet In dreams never touch the earth In a wood full of princes Freedom is a kiss But the prince hides his face From dreams in the mist
A little wisp of a child, I watched the method of the other skaters, mimicking the leg positions that allowed my limber form to slide beneath the rod without brushing it. When I sensed that I might be the last one able to slide beneath it, and the discomfort of all the watching eyes became too much, I’d lift my back just enough to knock it down. The same way I threw the middle school spelling bee. My shyness kept me mentally and emotionally safe, even as it held me back from being the best. For me, and for what I could handle at the time, it was a worthwhile trade-off; the heat of their gazes left me breathless and almost physically in pain from the world watching me.
“Why did you do that?” he asked. “You could have had it.”
I pretended I didn’t know what he was taking about.
At night, I’d imagine what it would be like to be brave enough to win.
These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
Dreams dissipate in daylight, but a dreamy quality pervaded the entirety of this return to Boston. After splurging on a dinner at La Padrona on Friday night, I kept things simple on Saturday, starting with a very early lunch at Pho Pasteur in Chinatown. Spring might have been in the air, but so was the remaining chill of the night and morning. A solitary adventure allows one to be more observant than if one was to be regaling a friend with stories. I miss alone time sometimes.
Play this record for a dreamy vibe.
After finding some possible anniversary shirts and collecting some food items from Eataly, I spent most of the day walking and planning – finalizing anniversary dining plans and texting them to Andy for his approval. There was magic in the air, and Boston held its usual allure.
I bought some food items at Eataly and had a dinner of nibbling various things at the condo, then headed out to try some cologne (my wished-for anniversary gift) and close the night with a lavender vanilla latte at Jaho. It reminded me of my early days in Boston, when walking around was its own reward and destination, when I thought I was trying to find someone to love but was really just trying to find myself.
The next morning I got up extra early to get back home – because Andy is home – and I had a quick breakfast at Charlie’s Diner. It was an easy and quick goodbye, because we will be back in May…
Whenever I’ve been away from Boston for any substantial stretch of time – which for me means a couple of months – I feel inexplicably shy when I return, like some innocent schoolboy who makes in-roads with potential friends by Friday, only to have them forgotten over a weekend. I also feel like I’ve lost track of the city with all the changes – new restaurants opening, old restaurants closing, new shows playing, old stores moving, and the latest alleged racial profiling incident at the Newbury Hotel. It’s a lot to process.
Somehow, I always feel more innocent in these moments, like I felt when I first moved into the condo way back in 1995 – yes, we are approaching thirty years of Boston life, and still I have moments of feeling like I don’t completely belong. There are benefits to being a novice, a sense of openness lacking from those of us who border on the jaded and wise. To think we already know a place, to think we have mastered anything on this earth, is the surest way to lose sight of seeing, and seeing so much when we think we’ve already seen it all. There is a thrill to taking in a city as if for the very first time.
There is also a thrill to revisiting places that once held significance and meaning, such as this sepia-shaded corner of Copley, where I once kissed a man – the man who was the first man I ever kissed – and it feels more like a dream than a memory, but maybe that’s just a protection device, a mind-trick to ease any residual hurt.
Boston has its memories and mysteries and dreams, all waiting to be discovered, then probed and solved, and sometimes resolved. It just takes a day or two of adjustment, and the discomfort of being an outsider fades away. This trip felt more like a dream anyway, tinged with the romantic notion of finding anniversary places to celebrate – places that appeared only in the night, and only in the spring. Maybe only in my imagination, which lends a danger and a freedom all at once.
Spring was just beginning, and only these snowdrops and some witch hazel bushes were in bloom. It was enough – hope comes from the tiniest places and spaces, while its existence signals something far more powerful and soon-to-be-pervasive at work.
When I arrived at the condo, I was greeted with all the Christas decorations still up, and there is something terribly sad about seeing Christmas decorations in spring. My first act, before even unpacking my bags, was to take all of that down. As I did so I cursed myself for putting it all up in the first place. Such a silly thing to do when so many other things after so much more. It’s how I usually feel, and the summer erases the annoyance so that when. late fall comes I’m ready to do it all over again. How foolish we humans can be.
With the holiday decor put away, and the holiday curtains taken down, the condo opened up, feeling lighter and brighter and ready for spring, along with all the happy things that can happen in the season. My favorite hour was at hand, and sunlight began pouring into the bedroom bay window. Winter already felt far away.
Gunning for the sweet aural elixir of Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Espresso’, this new song by David Archuleta explores a more sensual side of the guy who was named Dazzler of the Day here. It’s called ‘Crème Brûlée’ and the gays should be lining up for a taste. It’s never too soon to crown the next summer smash, even if things move light years faster than they ever did in my top 40 radio youth. This one would have been an ideal sonic addition to last summer’s ‘Coquette’ scene, but better late than pregnant is what I always say. Give it a listen, give it a whirl, give it a kiss and a demure twirl.
This is a lovely little tease for our summer theme, one which Emi has once again foretold and crowned as the official theme for next season. It’s nothing like coquette, and I love it for that.
Our theme for the season is Spring Dream. It goes perfectly with this dreamy doo-wop bop that sees us into the first evening of spring. Greeting the green season is this fluffy bunny doing double-time and preparing the way to Easter. The world awakens with life and possibility.
Life could be a dream Life could be a dream Do do do do, sh-boom!
Life could be a dream (sh-boom) If I could take you up in Paradise up above (sh-boom) If you would tell me, I’m the only one that you love Life could be a dream, sweetheart Hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin’ we’ll meet again, boom (ba-boom)
Life could be a dream (sh-boom) If only all my precious plans would come true (sh-boom) If you would let me spend my whole life lovin’ you Life could be a dream, sweetheart (do do do do, sh-boom)
Every time I look at you Something is on my mind If you do what I want you to Baby, we’d be so fine
Oh, life could be a dream, sh-boom If I could take you up in Paradise up above, sh-boom You’d tell me, darlin’, I’m the only one that you love Life could be a dream, sweetheart Hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin’ we’ll meet again, boom (ba-boom)
Every winter Andy and I wait for the bedroom lamp on his side of the bed to throw its rainbows against the wall, as it signals that spring is almost at hand. We’ve been watching these rainbows grow in strength and saturation the past couple weeks. Soon, the oak leaves will obscure the sun, meaning that summer is almost here, and the rainbows will go away until another winter.
Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you
Birds singin’ in the sycamore trees
Dream a little dream of me
Say nighty-night and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me
While I’m alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me
For now, spring has arrived, and the rainbows are here again. A covenant, a promise – just like spring itself. A feeling, a romance, a memory – and all in a song. While Andy eagerly plans the opening of the pool at the first sign of any stretch of warmer weather, I play the music that brings the season of hope to mind.
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Leave the worries behind you
But in your dreams, whatever may be
You’ve gotta make me a promise, promise to me
You’ll dream, dream a little dream of me
This spring, the light and loose theme for the blog will be that of a dream. Especially in the earliest days of the season, there is still a winter haze that hangs over the cold nights and mornings, offset by the thrill of warming days and the bursting of spring bulbs through the wet earth. It is a dreamy sort of crux, where winter and spring do their awkward hand-off – one not quite ready to leave, one not quite ready to arrive. And us, not quite watching somewhere, all averted eyes and downcast gazes. The sheepish, happy conundrum of spring. Welcome…
One of my favorite date nights with Andy was when we got to see an advance screening of the HBO version of ‘Grey Gardens’ in a Boston movie theater. It was a magical spring evening, and we stopped for a night cap at a Copley bar that would only be around for a season or two. We walked back to the condo on a perfect April night, slower than usual, not wanting the spell to dissipate.
You cannot guess
What loveliness
Belongs to you
If you would dance
We’d have a chance
To share it too
On this last night of winter, I find solace in the springs we’ve had, and the one about to arrive. In dreamy entrancement, there is a giddy sense of possibility – the greatest gift that spring provides.
I am not gay enough
To share a waltz
Tonight I boast
One of my most, unhappy thoughts
I dream too much
But if I dream too much
I only dream to touch your heart again
What lovely thoughts as we see winter gently out the door, and what gratitude I feel for a winter that did what winter was supposed to do. She kept her chill, blanketed the gardens with a healthy cover of snowfall for most of the coldest days, and provided us the slumber needed to barrel through the rest of the calendar year. Winter, we bid you farewell, knowing you will come again when it is time.
Twenty years ago, the only freedom I knew was the outward kind. Freedom to roam, freedom to dress up or down, freedom to speak and shout and scream. All superficial, all vain, all relatively meaningless. At the time, while I felt the literal freedom, I also felt entirely bound and tied up inside. This is the most insidious sort of imprisonment – the self-lockdown that some of us inflict upon ourselves, and so often not intentional or deliberate or even noticed or acknowledged. I certainly didn’t see it or feel it then – I felt only and ultimately entirely free. How was I to know there were prisons that weren’t made of concrete and steel bars?
Heaven knows I was just a young boy Didn’t know what I wanted to be I was every little hungry schoolgirl’s pride and joy and I guess it was enough for me
To win the race, a prettier face Brand new clothes and a big fat place on your rock and roll TV But today the way I play the game is not the same, no way Think I’m gonna get me some happy
I think there’s something you should know (I think it’s time I told you so) There’s something deep inside of me (There’s someone else I’ve got to be) Take back your picture in a frame (Take back your singing in the rain) I just hope you understand Sometimes the clothes do not make the man
All we have to do now Is take these lies and make them true somehow All we have to see Is that I don’t belong to you and you don’t belong to me, yeah yeah
Freedom (I won’t let you down) Freedom (I will not give you up) Freedom (Gotta have some faith in the sound) You’ve got to give what you take (It’s the one good thing that I’ve got) Freedom (I won’t let you down) Freedom (So please don’t give me up) Freedom (‘Cause I would really) You’ve got to give what you take (really love to stick around)
Even without chains or shackles, even without armor or clothing, it’s possible for one to be weighed down and tied up with the inner constraints of our own minds. You can throw away all the bags and coats, kick off all the shoes and jewelry, and strip out of everything, even the cologne, but the ties of a fettered mind won’t be undone until you’re ready to truly examine yourself and acknowledge who you are. Twenty years ago I wasn’t nearly ready for that, so I hid myself with a naked vanity that proved too good a mask for my own benefit. Not only that, but such vanity would prove a different kind of prison of its own; I was shackling myself with an image I wouldn’t ever be able to entirely shake.
Well, it looks like the road to heaven but it feels like the road to hell When I knew which side my bread was buttered I took the knife as well Posing for another picture everybody’s got to sell But when you shake your ass, they notice fast And some mistakes were build to last
That’s what you get, I say that’s what you get That’s what you get for changing your mind That’s what you get, and after all this time I just hope you understand Sometimes the clothes do not make the man
These days I can look back and wanly smile at the shenanigans of my youth, the things I felt I needed to prove, the stories I needed to write and live out, the mark and legacy I wanted to leave behind. It all feels so foolish and still so precious. And I have much of it documented here – in what I’m posting now, in what I’ve posted before, and in all I have yet to post – ripe for examination, consideration, and exoneration. There is a fatigue to the well-documented life – but it’s the best kind of fatigue.
My husband, retired police officer and former upholder of rule and law, seems to have had a thing for bad boys, at least judging from his line up of formers and one terror of a hubby. He may have been the one wearing a ‘Get Wicked Tonight‘ t-shirt the first time he met my parents, but I got buzzed on a high ball with his Mom the first time I met his.
Being that this year marks our 25th anniversary of meeting (and 15th of being married) our early days have been on my mind of late. That kind of nostalgia is warm and sustaining, and sometimes it’s been what’s seen us through the rough days. As Andy once said to me at a difficult moment, “There’s history there.” I don’t think he realized how much I took that to heart, and how much I took him to heart.
The good girl in your dreams is mad you’re lovin’ me I know you wish that she was me How bad, bad do you want me? You’re not the guy that cheats and you’re afraid that she might leave ‘Cause if I get too close, she might scream, “How bad, bad do you want me?”
‘Cause you like my hair, my ripped-up jeans
You like the bad girl I got in me She’s on your mind, like, all the time, but I got a tattoo for us last week Even good boys bleed How bad, bad do you want me? ‘Cause you hate the crash, but you love the rush And I’ll make your heart weak every time You hear my name, ’cause she’s in your brain and I’m here to kiss you in real life ‘Bout to cause a scene, How bad, bad do you want me?
Before we ever met, Andy had seen me in Oh Bar when Suzie and I were out for a night of fun. I didn’t notice him, but he noticed me (and dismissed me with a ‘Bitchy Queen’ sizing-up assessment of my attitude. He would later tell me that when I walked by him the Jimi Hendrix song ‘Foxy Lady’ came to his mind.
Back in the beginning of our relationship, for one of our earliest get-togethers, I invited him for a pasta dinner at my parents’ home – they were out for the night. I made what I thought was a funny comment, but it was more cutting than anything else for him, and we had our first fight, which ended with him leaving. It was so early in our dating that I simply stood my ground and refused to yield or admit that I might have been wrong in what I said or how I said it. We didn’t know each other’s histories or trigger points then, and we didn’t quite know how special what we had would turn out to be.
You panic in your sleep and you feel like such a creep ‘Cause with your eyes closed, you might peek So hot, hot that you can’t speak You’re so fucked up with your crew but when you’re all alone, it’s true You know exactly what we’d do – How bad, bad do you want to?
I was a bit of a hellion in those early days – at the young age of 25, I was just beginning to figure out exactly who I was, and it wasn’t easy. I didn’t always make it easy for Andy, or anyone in my life in those days, and if being bad was wrong, I never wanted to be right. There was a razor-sharp edge to how I acted in those days, and while I tried not to cut Andy as soon as I understood his sensitivity, it couldn’t help but happen sometimes. Hurt people hurt people no matter how careful we try to be, and in those days everyone around me ended up getting hurt. Those streets ran both ways though, and it’s not entirely accurate to paint me as the villain in every scenario. Not that I’d have been averse to such a characterization, and something told me Andy secretly thrilled at some of my more diabolical machinations. As I said, he didn’t mind a bad boy.
Which brings me to this latest Lady Gaga song, ‘How Bad Do U Want Me?’ I’m completely obsessed with it and all of its layered meanings. There’s the literal reading of its title, which seems to be a simple question of how badly you want or desire someone. A slightly deeper digs brings out the more resonant idea of someone questioning how bad they want their paramour to actually be, and how bad the object of one’s affection may actually want to be. It also posits the question of what exactly is bad?
‘Cause you like my hair, my ripped-up jeans You like the bad girl I got in me She’s on your mind, like, all the time, But I got a tattoo for us last week Even good boys bleed How bad, bad do you want me? ‘Cause you hate the crash, but you love the rush And I’ll make your heart weak every time You hear my name, ’cause she’s in your brain and I’m here to kiss you in real life ‘Bout to cause a scene – How bad, bad do you want me?
Over twenty five years, I slowly, and mostly, grew out of my bad boy eras, and at times Andy had his own bad boy moments, flip-flopping our roles and jolting us into an awareness of how precious and precarious love could be. I also grew to realize, with friends who stuck with me for decades, that I couldn’t be entirely bad all the time; the truly bad and the awful among us simply do not maintain friendships for that long. Sometimes we mistake being young for being bad.
And sometimes being bad is the best thing you can be.
Uh-oh, oh, you love a good girl Uh-oh, oh, you love a good girl bad Uh-oh, oh, you make a bad girl Uh-oh, oh, you make a bad girl mad A psychotic love theme How bad do you want me?
Not to name-drop here, but I’ve been texting with Josh Groban.
Yes, that Josh Groban.
And there’s a good chance you have been too, as he posted his text number for anyone to sign up for announcements. So no, I’m not that special, and no, I don’t believe he’s personally sending out the automated messages, and no, I really don’t care. As a self-professed Grobanite, I came into his fandom kingdom when he was melting hearts on Broadway in ‘Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812’. Since then, I’ve revisited his musical catalog – richly varied and anchored with his incomparable vocal talent – and watched his entertaining appearances in live concerts and talk shows, as well as his social media feeds which reveal a hilarious, witty, and impressively-compassionate person.
Such a rarity these days, when most celebrities are afraid to be themselves because they either don’t know that for which they stand, or are simply too concerned with what others might think. Groban has seemingly and only ever been himself – a supremely talented performer with a love of theatrical arts who also happens to be a genuinely good person who cares for the well-being of others. Today he easily earns this Dazzler of the Day honor. Check out his official website here for all the excitement coming up (there are more than a few Gems on the way, and it’s gonna be alright.)
This piece of music by the Danish String Quartet is titled ‘The Peat Dance’ and it recalls a windy day in Ireland when I was in some tour group marching across the peat bogs, pausing in a peat-thatched cottage for some Irish coffee to take the sting out of the cold. Humans are funny in the ways we walk through winter together, and apart.
Suzie enjoys the Danish String Quartet, and we are currently in the midst of planning for a dinner loosely called ‘Suzette’s Feast’ in an homage to ‘Babette’s Feast’. Ours will likely be a sad and silly approximation of the wonder that was Babette’s glorious meal (Suzie has already nixed the turtle soup, and I haven’t been able to locate any quails to stuff – we are having Mom do up some Cornish game hens for the latter) but this is how we traverse the final weeks of winter. Together.
Hope is on the swiftly-moving air currents (a clumsily-disguised description of wind because I’m tired of saying that word). It’s in the shift of the sun, and the disappearing hour this weekend. It’s also in the burst of new growth on our indoor plants – a sign that comes before the snow has melted, before the first cranky and crinkled unfolding of the Lenten rose.
This is a fern that we’ve had since I first met Andy – a descendant of one of his Mom’s original plants – and somehow we’ve managed to keep it alive for twenty-five years. It’s in our sunniest window (and if you’re having trouble with ferns, I advise trying them in a bit more light – when the literature says they can survive in deep shade, that usually means the deep shade of the outdoors – indoors is by its very nature already shaded). This fern, like most of us, has had good years and bad years, and right now it’s looking very lush and happy, thanks to a prime spot right beside the humidifier. Ferns always like high humidity, especially in bright light.
I sense spring in its verdant new growth. Promise, too.
Every time that I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face gettin’ clearer The past is gone
It went by like dusk to dawn Isn’t that the way? Everybody’s got their dues in life to pay
For the 10th anniversary of MTV, the music that once played, well, music, celebrated itself with a few powerhouse performances (and one glorious therapy session in noirish brilliance by Lady M herself). Strangely, for those who thought they knew me, my favorite musical portion was when Aerosmith took to the stage after a piano floated through the air and they launched into their classic ‘Dream On’.
I watched the performance in our basement rec room – lights off, the space lit only by the glow of the television – and with a full orchestra backing the band, the maelstrom of music and spectacle took me out of my miserable life for five minutes. Transported on the crests of musical majesty, I soared through the night, leaving behind the wretchedness of that basement, where I once hid as a child, where I carved out the only safe space I ever knew, and only because it was the space within myself.
This is it – this is the part. Listen as it builds, listen as it becomes salvation, listen as it becomes redemption. Then sing. Sing for your soul, sing for your survival, sing your way out of whatever your life has become. Sing with me…
Sing with me, sing for the year Sing for the laughter and sing for the tear Sing with me, it’s just for today Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away
