With luscious locks of hair to rival Beyoncé (and that similarly never met a fan that didn’t adore them and set them into glorious flight for every photo) Law Roach is one of the most celebrated stylists in the Hollywood scene. Witness the fabulous lewks he was integral in conjuring for Zendaya’s promotional appearances for ‘Challengers’ and ‘Dune 2’, as well as Celine Dion’s comeback last year. This marks Law’s first Dazzler of the Day crowning, and it definitely won’t be the last we’ll hear from him.
When I stuck a letter into our mailbox for the postal worker to pick up on their later round, I had to step gingerly around large patches of rippled ice and snow; by the time I picked up the mail at the end of the day, the ground was clear of all ice and snow, just a muddy and wet space that promised of spring. A day of melting is a sign we are headed in the right direction, even if the temperatures plunge again every night. The overall trajectory is promising. It’s been a while since we’ve had such a feeling.
Let’s have a song to celebrate, part of the extended preamble for our next project posting, something that hints at the whimsy and escapism to come…
I’ll stop the world and melt with you You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time There’s nothing you and I won’t do I’ll stop the world and melt with you
To catch melting as its happening takes a different kind of magic and acute perception – most often we only notice the before and after – the act itself is always more elusive, shunning to be seen in motion, as if it might diminish the sorcery. It’s seen in the dripping of an icicle, or the sweet, sticky running of an ice cream cone; hardly ever when it comes to the heart or the malleable movements of the mind, and those are the places where melting is most important.
Dream of better lives the kind which never hate (You should see why) Trapped in the state of imaginary grace (You should know better) I made a pilgrimage to save this humans race (You should see why) Never comprehending the race had long gone by
While Pedro Pascal has already proven he knows how to rock a red coat, it’s nice to see he can rock a pair of red swim trunks equally as well. In these beach shots, he’s also displaying all his shirtless glory, and if you’re a fan you should check out his crowning as Dazzler of the Day here. It looks like he’s reading ‘Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead’ by Olga Tokarczuk, which is described as “a deeply satisfying thriller cum fairy tale…” and I am all in for that right now.
Maybe we should stop relying on algorithms to dictate our choices and simply engage with all the varied things that interest us. And maybe the algorithms should allow us to do that.
Love and lunacy on full display in the winter sky – this is Venus making motions to kiss the moon on an early February evening. Winter has always held its enchanting delights if you know where and when to look for them. I’m not so well-informed, so this was a happy catch that I didn’t realize I made until after the fact. The Cowboy Junkies wrote a song about this scene for their album ‘Pale Sun, Crescent Moon’.
Reach a hand to the crescent moon Grab hold of the hollow If she sits in the palm of the left That moon will be fuller tomorrow If she sits in the palm of the right That moon is on the wane And the love of the one who shares your bed Will be doing just the same
‘Won’t you come with me’, she said ‘there’s plenty of room in my iron bed You’re looking cold and tired And more than a little human I know I’m not part of the life you had planned But I think once your body feels my hand Your mind will change And your heart will lose its pain’
Lunacy and love, and years past have already swirled beneath our life bridge, long carried away by currents we caused and currents we could not control. Knowing moon, winking Venus, and the power and might of a winter’s night. Whatever bit of warmth that remains from a memory, whatever sees you through the dark, these are little prayers to which we cling.
Do I reach for you When I know you’re on the wane? Do I sense you when I know you’re not around? Do I search for you When I know you can’t be found? Do I dare to speak your name?
Oh crescent moon, how we long for you to cradle us right now, lifting us up from this wretched planet if only for a night of comfort. Humans are reckless and relentless in their torment. What a lovely predicament to be as constant and removed from us as a heavenly body. Do you watch us from your lofty vantage point or are you wisely and sensibly tuned-out to all our awfulness? I wouldn’t blame you for either – I feel torn myself.
Raise your eyes to a moonless sky And try to wish upon a rising star Search all you want for her blessing But you won’t find her sparkling there Now cast your eyes to a part of the sky Where nothing but darkness unfolds And watch as all around you She reveals the brilliance of secrets untold
If I focus, and block out the noise from this crazy world of plane crashes and encroaching fascism, I can escape to the chiffon-shrouded world of Lawrence Welk, flying along on a cloud of accordion comfort, and finding momentary respite in the flight of fantasy…
“A free press is fundamental to human rights, democracy, and the rule of law.” – Antonio Guterres
Way back when Hilary Clinton was running against the orange blob in 2016, I saw the press do its ‘both sides’ bullshit, and obsess over her e-mails in an attempt to equalize the monster who was already breaking the law. The New York Times has already been proven to have given lopsided coverage to those candidates then, and it only got worse in the ensuing years. Giving any sort of normalized leeway to a man who has been repeatedly shown, and convicted, of breaking the law seems a questionable stance, even and especially if you’re reporting solely on facts.
Cut to the current moment, after the press helped Trump to a win in the last election. (All the talk about a President’s age dissipated when they finally coerced Biden out of the election, all the wondering of a President’s competence disappeared when there was a black woman running against him, etc.) Now the press offices of the New York Times, NPR, Politico and NBC are being ‘rotated’ out of the Pentagon to make room for OANN and Breitbart. LOL!
Happy FAFO to the Free Press, which is now suffering greatly in print and television form, so congrats to them on aiding in their own deterioration.
Sunday night, in the dark of mid-winter, light seemingly still glowing from the snow, though I know that could never be. Moonlight, perhaps, the kind that brings out a certain wildness, that would have us dancing naked beneath its glow if it were just a smidge warmer. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…
Bed, bed I couldn’t go to bed My head’s too light to try to set it down Sleep, sleep I couldn’t sleep tonight Not for all the jewels in the crown I could have danced all night I could have danced all night And still have begged for more I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I’ve never done before
I’ll never know what made it so exciting Why all at once my heart took flight I only know when he began to dance with me I could have danced, danced, danced all night
It’s after three now Don’t you agree now? She ought to be in bed!
I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night And still have begged for more I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I’ve never done before
If I’m up beyond three these days, it’s not from the overwrought excitement from a night of dancing – quite the opposite. My nights are more restless than usual, my sleep not unfettered from bother and worry. Middle-age, I suppose, and so far from the carefree slumber of youth. Sunday nights aren’t supposed to feel sadder the older we get, are they?
A swan’s beauty and grace is matched by its brutality in the way of survival. Power and might must be tempered with all that is exquisite; every gift of elegance must be tainted with icy indifference. Nothing is ever perfect, no entity is ever truly divine. That rarely keeps us from trying – to achieve perfection, to achieve divinity, to be something better than we are today.
I’ve said that so many times before…
This dance of the swans sets the scene for any sort of magic that I attempted to conjure twenty years ago. It’s a hint of the dance to come – a dance I hope you will join. We need to dance these days. Dancing may be the only thing to keep us from going mad.
One day, in the spring, I found a pile of gray feathers in the backyard. It looked like a morning dove had exploded, but most likely it was the quick work of a hawk or some other larger bird of prey. I don’t think a land animal could have been as vicious or fast enough to do something so devastating. Creatures of the air are more terrifying that way. Like the swans.
Music without words, emotions without expression, the riotous heart, the soothing sea, and all the feels. Evocative of the beginning of most fairy tales, when the world still seems like it might not change, when the trajectory and irrevocable journey we find ourselves on could still be something of our dreams, we begin every tale with the confusing dust of a fairy beautifully clouding our view.
A siren song sets the scene in motion, and when it’s over the trick of time – cunning and relentless and brutal – does everything it can to take the song away.
Hold onto it in your head, hold onto it in your heart, hold onto it when it feels like there is no melody left to remember. Far too often, we don’t realize when things are beginning, only when they are already in motion and hurtling along at breakneck pace. Those trains don’t stop easily, and the world will completely derail your plans if you’re not careful.
David Beckham should have done an ad like this for his own line of underwear and it might still be in production. Instead, he’s delivering his finest assets for the current line of BOSS Bodywear in the commercial seen below. It’s been far too long since Beckham has been in his skivvies, and this happy renaissance marks a return to fine form. See all the links below for further evidence of his bodacious brilliance.
“Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young Prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the Prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.
But then, one winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the Prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.
The Prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous Beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there.
Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.
The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a Beast for all time.
As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope For who could ever learn to love a Beast?”
Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me, Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee; Sounds of the rude world heard in the day, Lull’d by the moonlight have all passed away!
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, List while I woo thee with soft melody; Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea, Mermaids are chanting the wild Lorelei; Over the stream let vapors are borne, Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
