Appearing on the recent release of brilliance that is Beyoncé’s ‘Renaissance’ album, Kevin Aviance brings their own brand of fabulousness to everything they do, and sometimes that’s simply being a living and breathing work of art. Today Aviance earns the not-so-coveted Dazzler of the Day honor, thanks to his place in gay history, and shining like a sparkling gem in New York City’s tiara of nightlife.
“WERK. FIERCE. OVAH. Aviance!”
The fading remnants of a supermoon hung in the air as our dinner party broke up at almost 2 AM. Andy and I saw our guests to their car, and looked up to the sky, where this scene played brilliantly out. I believe this was the Sturgeon Moon, another gift of August (which has been exceptionally kind to us thus far). It brought to mind a Matthew Sweet song that saw me through a few tricky college years, back when I didn’t quite know who I was, back when I couldn’t quite face who I was.
Those August moons of my youth crossed overhead, exploding in their light – that light that was always so vital in the darkness of an August night. For several reasons, an August night too often feels darker than any winter night – a strange phenomenon in the season of sun – and one that is a small price to pay for the glories of summer we are otherwise granted. We let the dark nights go, sweating and worrying through them, and if we’re lucky enough to see the morning, we forget how dark they were.
It is told by those who tell such things that this Sturgeon Moon is to be the last of the Super Moons this year. Did we channel all the good energy and dispel the bad? Did we soak in its power and drink in all of the proverbial moonshine? Full moons are usually troublesome, but there are some who believe we simply need to harness their energy the right way. I don’t think I’ve found the right way just yet, even though decades have passed since I first heard this beautiful song.
The song memory brings me back to being in Boston. On certain nights, at certain times of the year, the moon hangs in a specific space in the sky. It shines in through the bedroom window, and just kisses the foot of the bed. Once upon a time, unknowing people believed being bathed in moonlight could be the cause of such things as lunacy (from the root ‘luna’ meaning moon). I always flirted with disaster that way, seeking out the moon bath whenever I could, glad to have its reflected echo of sunlight in the middle of a dark night.
On those nights, when the moon peeked in and invited me out, I tentatively slipped a toe into its light, then a foot, then a leg and a thigh… we danced, the moon and I, and whether it was a dance with the devil or an angel, I only know it made me dizzy and exhilarated and defeated – always defeated – by its power and might and whatever secrets it saw – the very secrets that I bared and revealed beneath its intoxicating light. My college years were cloaked in such secrets, buried in silent screams, and only brought to light in a song like this.
Matthew Sweet sang to my younger self, when no one else could touch or reach me, and like a lullaby it was comfort and consolation. When I was 23, all I wanted was my 46-year-old future-self to reveal the secrets to all the questions and doubts and worries I had. Now that I’m that future-self, I find I have less knowledge and understanding than I did then, when not knowing was its own sort of wisdom. It feels like I’m going backward, and perhaps that’s the way it should be – cresting over the hump of middle-age and returning to that happier place of not knowing or understanding things, but simply being at peace with them. Finding the happiness where you can find it, taking pleasure and joy when and where they arrive rather than trying to force or create them. I like that view now. I like the not knowing.
And I like the moon.
Her Twitter profile says it all, and so much better than I ever could: “Minivan-driving single mom, law professor, consumer advocate ~ Usually carrying a whiteboard, always bringing the receipts”. This is US Representative Katie Porter, making her debut as Dazzler of the Day in a long-overdue honor for all her hard work for this great country. You’ve probably seen clips of her taking assholes to task for being, well, uncaring assholes who don’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves. She brings the receipts every time, and fights for the average American just trying to support their family. She knows how to do it, because she lives and practices everything she preaches. Check out her site here: https://porter.house.gov.
Holiday, celebration, come together in every nation!
Our Queen Pop Icon Goddess Madonna celebrates her birthday today, and so we celebrate her legacy and body of work, just as she is about to release another greatest hits collection – this of her 50 #1 dance songs (yes, she’s had 50 #1 songs on the dance chart, far and away more than anyone else in the world, living or dead, and the most any single artist has amassed on any single chart). She’s celebrating in Italy this year, and though it’s been a bit of a rocky go of it over the past year (she’s had a break-up, been attacked by fans and non-fans alike for her plastic surgery and looks, and made a few questionable moves on social media) she seems to be plotting the next main Madonna event. Her appearance at Gay Pride back in June was epic and reminded everyone who the fuck she was, and always has been.
My favorite Madonna songs shift and undulate, like the charts she once ruled. Depending on the season or the mood, certain songs come back into focus, while others fade more obscurely into the past. My top three, however, have remained static and in place for the better part of two decades. I’ll post the links here, in honor of the day:
3. ‘Vogue‘ ~ She gave good face.
2. ‘Like A Prayer‘ ~ She wanted to take us there.
1. ‘Drowned World: Substitute for Love‘ ~ She showed us her religion.
Water lapping at the edges of the pool and sun lapping at the edge of a shade tree.
A fun and funky pop song rife for a summer playlist.
Vision hazy from chlorine, water, and sunlight.
A summer’s day, perfect for being nothing more or less than a summer’s day.
And the albatross of our own myths and histories, tethered to our necks, even in the happiest light.
Summer is not the time to get too deep. There will be time enough for that in the fall. For now, a sunny song and a water dance. Lose your illusion, lose your inhibition, lose your swimsuit…
Today is his birthday, so this Dazzler of the Day is being celebrated on multiple fronts, the first of which is his heated race for Senate in Pennsylvania. Currently the Lt. Governor of Pennsylvania, John Fetterman is running against some GOP quack not worth mentioning. Honestly, at this point, anyone who doesn’t vote blue this year is anti-American. The Democrats have been developing and delivering policies that benefit all of us; the official Republican Party is anti-marriage-equality, anti-choice, and anti-environment. Here’s hoping Fetterman pulls out a win for the people of Pennsylvania – the other option is terrifying. As it’s also his birthday today, a donation to his campaign would be a perfect gift. Check out his website here: https://johnfetterman.com.
August continues her stretch of glory, with temperatures that have cooled down slightly, and blessedly, because as much as we love summer, a heatwave has its limits. This last week was glorious – low 80’s, lower humidity, and just as much sun. May we make this a habit through the end of the year… on with the weekly recap.
Downtown Albany was on floral fire.
The annual under-appreciated hosta post, to be repeated until we all appreciate the hosta.
There simply wasn’t enough time to stop this unpretty mess from happening. I tried. I really tried. The heat was just too much.
A fantastical ball scene, for those of us who love a good ball or two.
When Sharon shines she truly shines, and Sharon was shining this week.
The great cherry tomato harvest continues in earnest.
Unfiltered glory of the morning. It’s that time of the year, whether we like it or not.
A visitor all abuzz, reaching the uppermost heights of the garden, where the sunny orbs of the cup plant kiss the sunny orb of the sun.
In another section of sky, a peek of a rainbow, a promise of forgiveness, a piece of pretty.
Happy Gay Uncles Day (times three)!!!
The lone Dazzler of the Day was Robin De Jesus, and he was dazzling enough for all the days.
Yes, this is a real thing, and you have probably forgotten to get me the gifts I so richly deserve, so hurry up and head to my Amazon Wish List to rectify the situation immediately. (My birthday is also coming up, so purchase accordingly.) As for Gay Uncles Day, it’s more of an amusement than anything else – I get enough joy out of seeing my niece and nephews that I don’t need a special day to commemorate my role as Guncle. That said, who am I to deny anyone the chance to send gifts on the second Sunday in August?
Recently, the twins asked whether I ever held them both in my arms at the same time – we were discussing how small Jaxon was and whether they were ever so small. I have several photos of me holding them both, but I think this is one of the last times I was able to physically do so. We won’t be recreating this anytime soon or later, unless I want a broken back.
Seldom do I venture into the deep look back, the preference for nostalgia, the idea of recapturing one’s youth – choosing instead to gaze steadfastly and intently forward, to everything that is ahead and to come. Looking back slows the mental momentum required to keep going. Some days, momentum is all I have to muster.
Such was the case the other night as I was beginning the promotional planning for the 20th anniversary of this wacky website next year. I found myself lost in figuring out how to encapsulate two decades of life, and a life often-well-documented. That’s a long stretch of time, and part of me wanted to chuck it all and start completely over, the way I did in the early days of this site.
Now, there are too many archives and memories – and while there was a time when all I needed for memories was to make them, today I need documentation and visual aids to help with keeping them. Looking back is an arduous task sometimes, and we’ve only just begun…
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows, and what’s on the other side?”
Whenever I see a rainbow – or even the hint of a rainbow as seen in the sky here – I think of this song, and my heart feels a little fuller. Fuller from happiness, fuller from hope, and fuller, yes, from a tinge of sadness. It happened as I was making a few errands last week. Picking up some items for the twins and our next adventure, I was pulling into a parking lot (the sky is always best seen from a parking lot) when I spied this little rainbow peeking through the clouds. The day had been wild with storms and uncertainty, the kind of atmospheric mayhem that summer sometimes unleashes after days of heat and humidity. An unsettled atmosphere always unsettles the heart, and the rainbow has traditionally been portrayed as the balm at the end of it all.
It reminds me of an August day on which I was traveling the New York State Thruway in the year of the Royal Rainbow World Tour – 1997. I finished up the last few stops and sailed along as a magnificent rainbow took the remaining rain and clouds and produced a visage of beauty. It spanned the horizon in front of me, stunning in its breadth and intensity, and I took it as an omen that I was exactly where I supposed to be. That doesn’t happen often in life, particularly in the life of what was then a newly-turned-22-year-old just barely embarking upon his life’s journey, but I felt it. That rainbow reached around and framed the vision of my future. I had no idea where I was going, but I throttled ahead without looking back, ever reaching for the rainbow that was elusively ahead of me that day, and every day since.
A visitor all abuzz lands on the central crown of a Helianthus flower, soaking in the sun and the pollen and nectar. It is the epitome of a summer scene, repeated countless times in our backyard as our cup plants and perennial sunflowers draw in the birds and bees and butterflies, all happily going about their pollinating business.
These flowers are keeping the summer garden going strong, but I sense they are cresting, and the gradual decline in blooms and exuberance is about to begin, signaling the slow slide to fall. We’re not quite ready for that, as it’s been such a glorious summer, but we are also powerless against time. Our only recourse is to soak in every moment and be as present as possible when the sun is shining and the bees are buzzing.
Enjoy your weekend, friend.
Not many people go online unfiltered anymore, but plants don’t have such vanity issues, so this is a completely unfiltered pair of photos of a simple morning glory. I say simple, but it’s stunning in its hue and shades, and the starlike central design that almost feels like it’s imagined. Nature usually only allows them the morning in which to bloom and shine, but now and then an overcast day will elongate their glory. We are in no mood to hasten summer along, so any extension of its spell is appreciated, especially at the start of a weekend.
Happy Friday!
Our bountiful cherry tomato harvest happily continues unabated. These luscious fruits are just the latest from only two cherry tomato plants that were established in pots earlier this season. They have climbed beyond their cone-shaped support and risen to the top of our patio canopy, leaning on the poles and now the canopy for support. Together they have formed a sort of living arch, from which dangle dozens of little tomatoes, quickly ripening and filling whatever container is on hand for the harvest. I’ve been eating them uncut in a bowl with mozzarella pearls and fresh basil, coated in balsamic vinegar and olive oil. It’s a heavenly combination. Thank you summer.
The ubiquitous Rose-of-Sharon has been bursting into its mid-late-summer bloom all over town this past week. I’d resisted planting this because it is absolutely everywhere, but like the hosta and the hydrangea, it’s everywhere for a reason, and its blooming power and timing is key to such popularity. I’ve also found that anything coming into bloom at this late stage carries an excitement that would be lost in early June, when everything in the world seems to bloom.
Along with those reasons, the flowers are quite beautiful, especially when viewed close-up. When you only have one bush in your yard, the mainstream white-washing of it goes by the wayside, and you are left only with its merits, and the reasons it was so popular in the first place.
This piece of music, written by Hector Berlioz, is from the Ball Scene in Fantastic Symphony. Unsure of whether the world will ever be able to safely throw a grand ball again, the mind modifies and creates a smaller-scale version in a fantastic dinner gathering where the desired intimacy of a large party is conjured with smaller scenes and intricate tablescapes.
This is fantasy. A brief bit of mind-play built within and upon the imagination – the most sacred and fertile ground of all. Palaces, cities, countries, and worlds have been erected there ~ there, where there is no limit, no physical or scientific boundaries, no laws or restrictions or mandates – and once you understand the power that resides within each of us to imagine, the bounds of the real world don’t seem to matter as much.
This is why I never minded waiting around in airports or sitting alone in a quiet room or being a passenger on a five-hour drive. My imagination has been a place of refuge since I was a child, and I’ve fostered and fed it every day of my life. It allows for a sense of contentment and entertainment that almost everyone else I know lacks, and seeks to find in various ways. Not that my way or theirs is better or worse or demanding of comparison. There is room enough to make our different methods through our lives. Personally, I find my mind’s imagination an easy way to access contentment when the mundane reality of the world puts us in situations that aren’t pleasant or fun. One can fight and stubbornly rage against them, or one can accept them and go into a different state of being – whether that’s through meditation, deep breathing, or some fantastical lark that’s half memory and half dream, and entirely made up in one’s head.
