Category Archives: Madonna

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Dear ~~~~,

I should have known by the way it started how it would all end. It was fall – no romance of mine that started in the fall has ever lasted. Certainly not one that began at the very time Madonna was releasing ‘The Power of Good-bye’ from her yet-to-be-topped ‘Ray of Light’ album. I can look back with fondness and tenderness at what once hurt me so badly I had to put it from my mind.

We were both so young then. I don’t think we realized how young we were. We thought we knew it all. We had the whole world at our fingertips – and we had each other. That’s what really mattered to me. That’s the only thing that mattered to me.

Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go,
Creation comes when you learn to say no.

The wind was drifting through an open window, curtains moving slightly in the breeze, and the moon peeking through the blinds. We laid in the dim light, you sitting up slightly, my head on your chest as it rose and fell with your breath.

“This is… perfect,” you whispered.
“What is?” I asked.
“This… night.”

I wanted to see years ahead, but my head, or my heart, could not. Something blocked it. There would always be that fogginess that fall. It would obscure us from seeing one another, and we embraced it because I don’t think we were ready to see each other. I didn’t think I could let you see me, because surely if you saw – if you really and truly saw – you would not stay. So we let the fog linger, creeping into the bedroom in the night, and even in the crisp cool mornings. It was better than way.

You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something’s wrong
I pray to God that it won’t be long…

On my way to work I stop along the sidewalk to pick up some blood-red maple leaves that have fallen in the night. I will dry and preserve them in the pages of a heavy book, then frame them for your birthday in the winter. I already know this. I know, because I will want to remember this fall – our first together, our only beginning. Somehow, you know too, and in our embraces and our nights together, we cling tightly, desperately to each other, to the idea of us, forging a bond in the colder days to come.

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye…

There was happiness that fall, even as the plaintive notes of this song played in the background. Madonna cried for lost love, while we wept for finding it – two very different points on a very similar trajectory. Cozy nights in the condo, intimate dinners by candlelight, the occasional show, and lots of walking in the fallen leaves. An autumn in Boston is magical, and we wrapped our coats around us merrily, huddling against each other and tumbling along as one slightly awkward but giddy mass of first-love.

Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress…

Our relationship was based in the night. Days were usually spent at school or work, and even the afternoons were getting darker earlier. Your apartment was always cloaked in dim candlelight – a somewhat claustrophobic corner room, stultified by waxy smoke, buried in the ancient labyrinthine layout of Beacon Hill. I stayed there only once during the day, after you had gone off to class, and in that light I looked around and wondered at your life. In those days, simply being in the space that you occupied was precious to me. I rolled over in bed, curling into your pillow, but it would never be home to me.

I’d walk along Charles Street and imagine you doing the same thing, tucking this tiny corner of Boston into my pocket and keeping it there, next to you. When we would fight, when a gray rainy night threatened to tear us apart, I would return here, lost in the cobblestone of the centuries, eyes skyward and soaking up the tears of clouds, where they mingled with mine, where I crumbled. And then the acts of apology and forgiveness – which I never quite got right, neither giving nor receiving – acts I still find daunting and terrifying in their own way. Somehow the fall cushioned us, with its fallen leaves and gray hazy days. The very fog that kept us in soft-focus, the buffer between us, had also bound us in swirling ropes of safety and, yes, love. It kept us together because it was too dreary to be apart.

There’s nothing left to lose
There’s no more heart to bruise
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye…

It would not be enough to sustain, but we would not talk about it then.

Learn to say good-bye…
I yearn to say good-bye…

You had the power to do what I could not do. You had the power to end us. You alone had the power of good-bye. You wielded it kindly, and forcefully – and I will always be grateful for that. I did not have the strength to do it. I did not have it in me to finish us off. But somehow you knew, and somehow you did it.

Thank you for being the brave one. Thank you for setting us free. Thank you for letting us walk away before there was someone to blame.

If no one else understood, I knew that.

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no more places to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
There’s nothing left to lose
There’s no more heart to bruise
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye.

Song #54: ‘The Power of Goodbye’ ~ Fall 1998

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Some boys kiss me,
Some boys hug me,
I think they’re okay.
If they don’t give me proper credit,
I just walk away.

You always remember your first time, and your first Madonna song. ‘Material Girl’ was mine. We didn’t even have a stereo, or MTV, so how I got to hear the song is a miracle that seemed destined to be. We were at a neighbor’s house for a summer night gathering in their basement. Curtains draped beneath the staircase, hiding a makeshift DJ booth. A washer and dryer stood on the far-off corner, gently droning in the background. The kids were putting on their Friday night song and dance contest, whereby we would all dance and lip sync to a record of our choosing.

Most of the boys sang guy songs, and most of the girls sang girl songs, but we were just young enough that it didn’t matter. I chose ‘Material Girl’ ~ the 7″ single that my friend so casually had at her disposal. When you think of what Madonna has done in the three decades that followed, that record sleeve is a piece of history, and our failure to realize the import of that single is one of those comical hindsight moments of nonchalance. How could anyone know what was in store for her?

They can beg and they can plead
But they can’t see the light
That’s right!
Cause the boy with the cold hard cash
Is always Mister Right.

It was my turn to go. The record started spinning. I didn’t even know all the words ~ how could I? ~ but I knew the chorus, even if I had no idea what it all meant. It was catchy as all get out, had a hook that was instantly embedded in the brain, and a chorus that sounded part human, part robot, and paved the way for the 80’s ~ and while I didn’t make sense of the words at the time, I had fun singing them. The greatest of pop songs often have the silliest of lyrics, though in this case there was irony and tongue-in-cheek humor to go along with the greedy money-grubbing of the decade.

Cause we are living in a material world,
And I am a material girl.
You know that we are living in a material world
And I am a material girl.

I’m not going to even bother acting all humble: I was a good dancer. I even threw in some acrobatic moves gleaned from an all-too-short week of gymnastics at the local college. Yeah, I could have been a contender… but I digress.

Back to the contest,  if you could call it that. I had been losing them for weeks. Like my Student Council run in 9th grade, and my Best Dressed in High School nomination in 12th grade, and countless other times I was nominated or in the running, I failed to secure the top spot. I was never the chosen one.

I was the noticed one, the one everybody watched and knew about, but who never won out in the end. On this night, I danced my heart out, and I had Madonna on my side, but I had reached the point where it did not even matter. I gave up trying to win and gave in to the sheer joy of abandon, of doing something I loved simply for the sake of doing it. Don’t get me wrong, when it was done, when everyone had performed and we waited for the votes to be tallied up, my heart was beating quickly, and I really wanted it. But I couldn’t count on it.

Some boys romance
Some boys slow dance,
That’s all right with me
If they can’t raise my interest
Then I have to let them be.

Some boys try and some boys lie,
But I don’t let them play.
Only boys who save their pennies
Make my rainy day.

Cause we are living in a material world,
And I am a material girl.
You know that we are living in a material world
And I am a material girl.

The announcement was made. I won. I had never won before, but no one believed it. That’s the problem when you’re consistently good: everyone assumes you’ve already won everything so you don’t get the time of day. Self-aggrandizing jokes aside, they really didn’t believe that I had never won and were about to give the prize (which I no longer recollect) to someone else. I had them check the record book, where all the winners each week had been written down in kids’ block print, and lo and behold my name was nowhere to be found. They still didn’t believe it, claiming they were certain I had already won. Umm, no, not the case, and after all the effort convincing them I had never won, it seemed a hollow victory. Even back then, the masses didn’t want to give it up.

Dancing excellence and showmanship aside, I left my performance career in that basement, beside the dusty record player and washer and dryer. It was enough just having that song in my head.

Boys may come and boys may go
And that’s all right you see
Experience has made me rich
And now they’re after me…

Right then, Madonna became my muse, guide, and inspiration. Like countless gay boys before and after me, I found in her a kindred rebellious spirit, with the sass and style to turn heads, and the strength and determination to not care if we never won.

As for Ms. Ciccone, this was her breakthrough video, and the one that proved her talents were in reinventing herself. Morphing wildly into Marilyn Monroe for the very first time, and showing off a knack of inhabiting video characters, Madonna was flexing her chameleonic muscles. As one of her first incarnations, it would be the one that stuck. A self-professed bothersome moniker she holds to this day, ‘Material Girl’ remains the one nickname she has never been able to shake, try as she might.

Cause everybody’s living in a material world,
And I am a material girl.
You know that we are living in a material world
And I am a material girl.

She was the ultimate pin-up girl of the 1980’s. She personified that decade, ruling the charts alongside Michael Jackson and Prince. It was a decade of greed, and people wanted to see the money keep rolling in as much as they wanted to keep Madonna in her Material Girl box. But she, and the world, would not have it.

A material, a material, a material, a material world…

As the echoes faded, and the music grew dated, she was already gone, already on to something else. I grew up in her wake, following and watching, inspired and in awe.

Song #53: ‘Material Girl’ ~ Summer 1985

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

There again I’ve more to do than simply get the message through – I haven’t started.
Let’s get this show on the road, let’s make it obvious,
Peron is off and rolling…

Seeing as how the iPod has shuffled over to ‘Rainbow High’ from Madonna’s turn in Evita, it seems a good time to dovetail the timeline with an explanation of a Tour. After all, the woman who inspired it all was then portraying Eva Peron on the big screen, and I was on my ‘Royal Rainbow World Tour’.

It was the very end of 1996. I had graduated early and was about to embark on a few whirlwind months of traveling “from upstate New York to Florida, from Albany to Puerto Rico, from Seattle to the Philippines, from Hong Kong to New Orleans, from Washington to London to Wales to Ireland…” it was truly a world tour. While I actually went to all those places, I didn’t really perform or put on a proper show like most people who tour. My tour was just a name for a bunch of trips to see friends and family, encapsulated in a “tour book” that everyone had to sign as a memory-keeper for my travels. But when you hype and promote the hell out of something – no matter how trivial or insignificant – it sometimes turns into something more.

Eyes,
hair,
mouth,
figure ~
Dress,
voice,
style,
movement…

In those days I was running, trying to get away from the boys who didn’t like me and the girls I could never like enough. At the time it didn’t dawn on me that when you run away from one thing you inexorably run toward something else. In this case it was an idea of the person I most wanted to be – the fascinating, charming, enthralling character I had so much trouble expressing but wanted so badly to believe was within. It always came out wrong.

Hands,

magic,
rings,
glamour ~
Face,
diamonds,
excitement,
image…

The idea of a tour was pure fantasy and make-believe. That my friends supported and believed in it as well is a testament to them. That they stuck by me through the histrionics and tantrums, when my only way of self-preservation and survival was a vicious form of vanity, has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.

It was all I could do to put on a brave face for the world. In my costumes and couture was the armor that would shield me from injury. I thought that the sparkle of a sequin and the quill of a feather could penetrate the most otherwise-apathetic heart. I was hell-bent on not being ignored, even if that meant being grotesque.

I came from the people, they need to adore me
So Christian Dior me from my head to my toes
I need to be dazzling, I want to be Rainbow High
They must have excitement, and so must I…

If the world wouldn’t give me the time of day freely, I would demand it – and I would be ruthless about it to the point of arrogance and haughty defiance. I wanted it to come across as confidence – and in all fairness much of the time it did. The ploy was working. No matter how inwardly wracked with insecurity I may have been, I knew I could put on a smart coat, down a dry martini, and carry myself with grandeur.

I’m their product, it’s vital you sell me
So Machiavell me, make an Argentine Rose
I need to be thrilling, I want to be Rainbow High
They need their escape, and so do I…

Yes, I needed an escape, whether real or imagined. I needed love and adoration, and if I couldn’t find it from one person I’d find it in another. And another. And another…

The excitement came in ways I didn’t always invite. In catering to those who weren’t the least bit interested, I inadvertently crafted a persona that gained notice and admirers almost as an afterthought. In trying to impress one person who couldn’t give two shits, I ended up attracting the attention of three onlookers. But all I ever felt was the absence of affection from the very people whose love I wanted most. I was still alone.

All my descamisados expect me to outshine the enemy

I won’t disappoint them!
I’m their savior, that’s what they call me
So Lauren Bacall me, anything goes
To make me fantastic, I have to be Rainbow High
In magical colors…

From the lofty air of hotel balconies to the trundle of a night train, I traversed the world. A rickety jeep boldly navigated the treacherous roads of the mountains in the Philippines, carrying me to the place where my father was born. A steep tram pulled me up to a high peak overlooking Hong Kong where I had my first taste of dragon-hair candy. An enormous ship sailed me from Wales to Ireland, where I dangled upside-down to kiss the Blarney Stone.

It was the tour of a lifetime. Never again would I have such freedom to travel so far, and I made the most of it with the pomp and circumstance befitting royalty.

You’re not decorating a girl for a night on the town
And I’m not a second-rate queen getting kicks with a crown!
Next stop will be Europe!
The Rainbow’s gonna tour, dressed up, somewhere to go
We’ll put on a show…

It was over-the-top, over-blown, and completely out of proportion with the reality of the situation. But that’s what got me through. At some point the fantasy of it all bled into reality, bolstering what little faith I actually had in myself and coalescing into the living character I was becoming.

It was the little engine that could all over again, and the power of words, of hype, of an image that floated so mightily above everything, was enough to carry the insecure shell of a wisp that only I knew was there.

A belief in oneself, however misguided, can work wonders for the soul – and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can keep the act going long enough to make it come true.

Look out, mighty Europe
Because you ought to know what you’re gonna get in me
Just a little touch of
Just a little touch of
Argentina’s brand of star quality.

On the screen, I watched Madonna as Eva Peron traversing the world on her own Rainbow Tour. Such a little lady, commanding such enormous power, yet so much of her life was lived alone. True, she had a husband, and the affection of an entire nation, but in the moments when it counted – when she laid her head down on her pillow at night – she was alone. Even when surrounded by mobs of people, jostled along in the busy day of a living icon, she was by herself.

Right then, my heart ached a little for Ms. Peron, a little for Madonna, and a little for myself.

Song #51: ‘Rainbow High’ – Late Fall 1996/Winter 1997

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

The summer of 2009 was the last summer before I got married. While I didn’t feel the need to sow any wild oats, it did not go unnoticed that technically this would be the last single summer of my life. My feet weren’t cold, but they were contemplative. Into this delicate time – and summer does have a way with swinging moods – Madonna released her third greatest hits package, ‘Celebration’, including a brand new title-track. The iPod has shifted to that club-ready song, and so we go back to two years ago…

I think you wanna come over,
Yeah I heard it through the grapevine,
Are you drunk or you sober?
Think about it, does it matter?
And if it makes you feel good then I say do it,
I don’t know what you’re waiting for…

My old friends from Cornell – the original College Ave. Crew – had planned a reunion in Ithaca, rented home and everything. As a sometimes-honorary guest (I was once told that my photo appeared on more end-of-the-year graduation slide-shows than some who had actually attended Cornell), I was invited to join in the fun, but I was hesitant. All but one had married and had kids (keep the faith, Chris) and a house with six kids ranging from two to five years of age was not my idea of an even tolerable time. But Suzie and Chris persisted, and I went against my better judgment and agreed. (Case #18465 in which I was right and should have listened to my instincts.) Andy didn’t want to go, so we had a bit of a fight about it, and I left – alone and in a foul mood – for Ithaca.

I arrived at the house first, and the family renting to us was trying to locate their cat that was missing. The first strike – a cat in the house. For someone deathly allergic to cats, this did not bode well. At long last they managed to find the thing, cage it up, and went on their merry way, leaving me alone in a large Victorian. The wood everywhere was dark, the recesses were dim, and even on the sunny day it seemed to suck a bit of cheer from the world. I love a Victorian home – especially around the holidays – but summers suffer there. Even Suzie’s childhood home – as much as I loved it – was a darker place in the summer.

When faced with the inevitable onslaught of kids and parents, and an atmosphere to which I was decidedly unaccustomed to say the least, I did what any adult would do to hang onto a shred of sanity: I fixed myself a very stiff drink. And then another. And then another. And possibly, though memory doesn’t serve, another.

Feel my temperature rising,
There’s too much heat, I’m gonna lose control.
Do you want to go higher?
Get closer to the fire?
I don’t know what you’re waiting for…

By the time my friends arrived, kids in tow, I had managed to take a bit of the edge off, but it was too late. I was gone, and hadn’t eaten a thing. For an all-too-brief moment, we settled in and had a very good time, but then it was time to puke – all over the bottom bunk bed in my room. (Oh, did I not mention I was staying in a bunk bed?) Anyway, after I lost my liquid lunch there, Chris decided against the top bunk for the rest of the weekend, sleeping on the couch (poor thing) right in the line of early-to-rise children. I was too sick, and embarrassed, to do much else but sleep into the next day.

The crew headed into campus that morning, while I stayed behind to clean up the mess I made, find some new bedding, and vainly try to air out the stuffy, and now pukey, bedroom on the third floor. The day was hot, but brighter than before, and the sun drifted in through the open windows, lightening the house a bit in spite of all the dark wood. I relaxed a little in the quiet. The importance of time alone impressed itself upon my mind, and I was grateful for the solitude.
Soon they would return, and ask me to join them for lunch, but I wasn’t ready. A bit of shame was at work – both for my behavior, and the fact that I was there without my fiancé. I just wasn’t entirely comfortable, even if they were some of my closest friends, so I declined lunch, and walked down to Ithaca Commons on my own.

Come join the party – yeah!
Cause anybody just won’t do
Let’s get this started – yeah!
Cause everybody wants to party with you…

Suzie called a little while later, asking if everything was all right. I told her I needed some alone time, but would be back for an early dinner. I walked around the Commons a bit more, ducking into incense shops and hand-made jewelry stands, watching how other groups interacted with one another. I have often wondered whether this is my lot in life – to watch from a distance. It lessened the risk of humiliation. It was safer, if lonelier, and sometimes safety is better than risk, even when the risk pays off. Too many times I would have traded in the pay-off for the calm. The reward of the steady and true may not be as flashy or exciting, but it is often more profound.

I walked back up to the house, where some of the kids and their parents were playing and relaxing on the front porch. I remembered the day in 1995 when I sat on their porch on College Avenue, waiting as each of them came home from class. It was the Spring then – both of season, and of our lives. We were just beginning. Fourteen years later, it was Summer, and the sun slanted down on a perfectly lovely afternoon.

They were ordering a Korean feast and I was finally ready to eat. As everyone sat around the large kitchen table, laughing and remembering, amid the noise of kids rushing by, I felt slightly more at ease, but still out of my element. It was all in my head, perhaps, but the next morning I awoke early and was the first to leave.

Boy you got a reputation
But you’re gonna have to prove it.
I see a little hesitation
Am I gonna have to show you
That if it feels right, Get on your mark,
Step to the beat, boy, that’s what it’s for…

A short time later I went back to Boston for another weekend alone. The summer still held onto its warm spell, and I walked through the night unarmed – no coat, no bag, no sartorial armor – just a pair of shorts, some flip-flops, and a T-shirt. A night wind, not much cooler, blew in from the harbor. I found myself in the downtown business district, walking by empty office buildings and closed restaurants. There is no sadder area than a business district at night.

Put your arms around me
When it gets too hot we can go outside
But for now just come here,
Let me whisper in your ear
An invitation to the dance tonight…

I skirted Chinatown, flirted with the South End, and finally made my way back to the condo along Columbus. Back in the light of the living room, there was a certain safety from myself. No matter how much you might safeguard yourself against the outside world, it’s what’s inside that always gets you in the end.

Come join the party, it’s a celebration!
Anybody just won’t do
Let’s get this started
Cause everybody wants to party with you.

In the midst of those heady weeks of my last single summer – from Ithaca to Boston and Albany in-between – I needed to be reminded that this was all supposed to be a good time ~ a celebration ~ and there was only one woman in the world who could do that for me – and she sang it out. I needed to get out of my headspace, I needed to stop over-analyzing, I needed to join the party.

And so I did.

Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?
You look familiar…
You wanna dance?
Yeah…
I guess I just don’t recognize you with your clothes on…
What are you waiting for?

Song #50: ‘Celebration’ ~ Summer 2009