Monthly Archives:

January 2016

Andy on the Radio

If you’re looking for something to listen to tonight, and you happen to be as obsessed with cars and automobiles as Andy is, tune in to WRPI tonight (you can listen online here) when Andy will be joining ‘Rockin’ Ray’s Retro Roadtrip’ for some serious auto talk. Dr. Ray is a dear friend of ours, and his wealth of knowledge touches on just about every topic you can imagine. His car expertise, however, knows no equal, with the possible exception of Andy.

When these two get going on discussing automobiles, it’s something to behold. Tonight, should you wish to accept this online invitation, you are welcome to eavesdrop on the fun. (And yes, that time frame is correct – it’s going until 2 AM.) Not sure how long Andy will go, but he’s up beyond that every night so I know he can do it, and since he can’t get this kind of talk at home, he will likely be in his element. Here’s the promo piece from their FaceBook page:

Attention all car lovers, enthusiasts, and anyone who has ever owned, driven, or ridden in a motor vehicle!! This Wednesday night, a landmark broadcast will be presented on WRPI 91.5 fm between 6:00 pm and 2:00 am Eastern Time.

Join Dr. Ray, Andy, Bill, Todd, Sean, and exciting callers from all around the world for this marathon radio special, featuring everything related to the automobile from muscle cars to the family station wagon, and everything in between!

Replete with rich anecdotes, pop culture, and every car song you ever sang along to with the top down, ROCKIN’ RAY’S RETRO ROADTRIP will make your engine roar!!!

Listen live on WRPI 91.5 fm (in upstate New York), on our live worldwide webstream at www.wrpi.org/listen, or via whichever music/ radio app you use on your smartphone.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #119 – ‘Wash All Over Me’ – Winter/Spring 2015

{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’s a sea anemone exhibit at the New England Aquarium in which the sea anemones are delicately lit, their tentacles waving gently in the current, while tiny bubbles float daintily to the surface. It’s tucked into a dim corner and the surroundings and the anemones themselves are so tranquil they are like sweetly-singing sirens, beckoning the unwary into their peaceable kingdom.

Yet if you watch long enough, lulled into a sense of stillness and calm, you will be harshly shocked by a sudden splash of a wave that bursts into the tank in a deluge of bubbles and tumultuous churning. It’s a rather effective mimicking of the ocean shoreline. The first time it happened I jumped back. Just a little kid, I had been peering intently at the magnificently-arrayed tentacles, my vision narrowly focused on this anemone world, so when that wave crashed into the tank, it was an unexpected explosion. Yet after my surprise, after the jolt of displaced water and air, things settled down again. The anemones remained in their places – only their pretty tentacles had waved wildly in the current. Anemones know how to anchor themselves, attaching to rocks and holding on with a tenacious grip that defies the most powerfully turbulent wave. I think of them when I hear this song.

IN A WORLD THAT’S CHANGING, I’M A STRANGER, IN A STRANGE LAND

THERE’S A CONTRADICTION AND I’M STUCK HERE IN-BETWEEN.

LIFE IS A LIKE A DESERT, AN OASIS TO CONFUSE ME

SO I WALK THIS RAZOR’S EDGE, WILL I STAND OR WILL I FALL? 

TURN A BLIND EYE, TRY TO PRETEND THAT NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS

TORN BETWEEN THE IMPULSE TO STAY OR RUNNING AWAY FROM ALL THIS MADNESS

This Rebel Heart cut – the final song on some versions of the album – was originally conceived as a racing dance-stomper, but that demo was transfigured into this power ballad, complete with dirge-like marching drums, signaling the end of something.

Madonna has often hinted at the end, in all its myriad forms.  ‘Live to Tell‘, ‘Spanish Eyes’, ‘Something to Remember’, ‘Mer Girl’, ‘Lament’, ‘Gone’, ‘Falling Free‘  and perhaps most daringly in ‘Take A Bow‘ (at a critical period in her career – when the post-Sex/Erotica backlash had public opinion dwelling on whether or not her career was finally over) Madonna has never shied away from questioning her own mortality, or the notion of an ending in abstraction (including the oft-predicted and ever-wrong end of her career). She has attributed some of this obsession to the death of her mother, which left her with an ending, but no real notion of how to begin again. Instead, she filled that hole with a race to live the fullest and most daring life she could, not wasting a moment, as if the ticking of the clock and her own impending end were things she could outrun. Thus far, she’s succeeded, but that hasn’t stopped her from occasionally confronting it in her work.

WHO AM I TO DECIDE WHAT SHOULD BE DONE?

IF THIS IS THE END THEN LET IT COME,

LET IT COME, LET IT RAIN, RAIN ALL OVER ME

LIKE THE TIDE, LET IT FLOW, LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME, OVER ME…

For Madonna, things have always had to get a little crazy from time to time. She yearns for that tumultuous wave to come crashing down on her every so often, knowing that a jolt that shakes you to your core is the best way to rebuild. Like those beautiful and seemingly-delicate sea anemones, she relishes the rough and tumble push and pull of life’s current. Those anemones may look like exotic flowers blooming beneath the ocean’s surface, but they know how to hang on, and they carry a stinging poison in those pretty tentacles.

ALL OF MY ILLUSIONS COULD BE SHATTERED IN A SECOND

YOU COULD THREAD A NEEDLE WITH A TEARDROP FROM MY EYE

IT’S A CRUEL INJUSTICE TO BE WITNESS TO THE THINGS I SEE

LOOKING FOR THE ANSWER WHEN IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME

FROM THE TOWER OF BABYLON WHERE NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS

GONNA WATCH THE SUN GOING DOWN, I’M NOT GONNA RUN FROM ALL THIS SADNESS

Outside the New England Aquarium, the wind whips around Boston Harbor with a viciousness only the ocean can unleash. Standing at the water’s edge, the city behind me, I recall other times when standing here was all I could muster. In the aftermath of heartache, in the despondent longing and hopeless wish for a pair of arms around me, I would go to the harbor to feel the sting of salt water. Outside the aquarium there was no glass wall keeping the waves from reaching us. There was nothing to stop the wind from pricking any exposed skin with that mineral-spiked water.

WHO AM I TO DECIDE WHAT SHOULD BE DONE?

IF THIS IS THE END THEN LET IT COME,

LET IT COME, LET IT RAIN, RAIN ALL OVER ME

LIKE THE TIDE, LET IT FLOW, LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME, OVER ME…

On certain nights, after trying to be as pretty and tenacious and dangerous as those sea anemones, I’d stand there feeling nothing but weakness. I thought the cold and the water and the winter would knock me down. I thought I’d never move beyond that demarcation, where water and land and sky met, where the shame of the past mingled with the possibility of the future. Yet I didn’t fall down. I stumbled a bit, and I’d stumble again, but I somehow kept going. The wind and the water rushed over me, but I was still there. A little bedraggled, a little beaten down, but still alive.

LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME, OVER ME…

LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME.

SONG #119 – ‘Wash All Over Me’ – Winter/Spring 2015

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In the Midst of January, A Recap & A Mother’s Birthday

A muddled day, when the cherry tree, bare and brown, drips ice and snow and rain like it can’t make up its mind to freeze or thaw, to stiffen or melt, and the results are nothing but a dreary mess. A holiday at hand too, to celebrate a great man, a man who might not recognize his country today, in ways good and bad, but for this one moment I’m looking at the hopeful side of things. Today also marks my Mom’s birthday – we’ll be hosting a comfort food dinner in her honor tonight (I’m making a 16-hour beef stew) – so if you happen to see Laurie today wish her a happy one! On with the silliness that is this blog.

Nothing is sillier than our Hunk of the Day feature, and it started off the week featuring Anthony Forte, Kit Dale, and Jeremy McConnell.

Russell Tovey revealed his banging body, amid more stories of questionable quotes he’s recently made. Look it up, I’m too tired to throw shade right now, and without the sun in sight we don’t need it.

A Valentine’s Day wish and prayer.

A Christmas wrap-up gone the way of all that wrapping paper.

This Hunk was a holly Jolley named Liam.

Going back to Boston soon enough…

Getting it on like Marvin Gaye, via Charlie Puth.

Life is nothing but a choice.

Another version of Toto.

Hunk of the Day Alejandro Piantini.

The next installment of The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book was posted, and it was all about the Edies. The tour will roll on next weekend in Boston and Cape Cod. For now, the SteamPunk Birdcage bit wraps up here, and here.

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The DG Tour: Steampunk Birdcage ~ Part 4

“A funny person is funny only for so long, but a wit can sit down and go on being spellbinding forever. One is not meant to laugh. One stays quiet and marvels.” – Diana Vreeland

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The DG Tour: Steampunk Birdcage ~ Part 3

“It’s very difficult to keep the line between the past and the present… Do you know what I mean…?” ~ Little Edie, ‘Grey Gardens’

“You know, people are very, very sensitive.  No one takes into account how sensitive a person really is. I don’t mean just a Scorpio or a Libra.  Everybody, they’re TERRIBLY sensitive.  And OTHER people just don’t understand how SENSITIVE a human being IS.  They don’t understand it. So they run ROUGHSHOD over everybody.”  ~ Little Edie, ‘The Beale of Grey Gardens’

“My costumes? That’s a protest against having worked as a model for the Establishment, believe it or not. A lot of models feel that way. Sometimes their lives are protests against having worked as models. Besides, I didn’t have time taking care of mother to get out and buy any clothes. So I used what was left of mine and mother’s in the attic.” ~ Little Edie

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The Edies: Big & Little

As my final escapade ever in such a touring capacity, The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book has several references that have informed my life for years. It’s not quite a retrospective of all that’s come before, but more of a quick nod to those pop culture touchstones that have inspired me. There was the ‘Sunset Boulevard’ portion, which captured Joe Gillis, Norma Desmond, and that infamous pool scene. There was the bunny motif that has been haunting me since childhood. There was, and will be, a bit of Madonna, who has been my main muse since I was ten years old. And now, with the next installment, comes a brief homage to ‘Grey Gardens.’

Big and Little Edie have held me, and countless others, transfixed and fascinated since they first stepped gleefully into the spotlight with the documentary by the Maysles. I first discovered them in the earliest days of the internet – somewhere in the late 90’s – in an online post about the campiest gay divas. There, atop such legendary ladies as Judy Garland, Cher, Liza Minelli, Barbra Streisand, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, were Big and Little Edie – taking first place among the pantheon of better-known women. Having never heard of them, I sought out the elusive ‘Grey Gardens’ which was easier said than done. It took a year or two before I tracked down a Criterion VHS cassette of the documentary, at a time when no one was talking about them. Like a carefully-shrouded secret, I kept it close to my heart, sharing it with only a few special people in my life – first and foremost among them was Suzie, who introduced me to many an iconic film (‘Harold & Maude’ and ‘Auntie Mame’ for instance).

Aside from exhibiting the fashion and eccentricities of its leading ladies, it was a documentary that examined the tenuous relations between a mother and daughter. It hinted at horrors rather than reveling in or revealing them. It showed the co-dependency of their relationship while displaying their fierce independence. It was as much about the psycho-drama of two headstrong people as it was about their decaying mansion around them, and the echoes of American royalty than ran through the rotting walls. The resilience of the women moved me, and their staunch belief in themselves when the world turned away was touching. All they had was each other. And in some incredibly loving way, that’s all they needed.

They are housed in the ‘Steampunk Birdcage‘ section because in many ways they became like caged birds. Exotic creatures trapped by circumstance, time, and the ties of familial loyalty and obligation. They were bound by love as well, and that’s the golden thread running throughout their life together.

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Cristiano Ronaldo’s Brief-Clad Bulge

Whenever Cristiano Ronaldo slips into his underwear, it’s worth a bonus post. Especially when those underwear are as tiny as this. In this particular installment, Mr. Ronaldo is once again stripping down to his skivvies for a Men’s Health cover shoot, and what could be better on a dreary Saturday in January?

 

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Saturday Dose of Cool

Watch it. Just watch it. And listen.

I love what music can do for the soul.

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A Smile Or A Snarl

An unsurprising admission: I am easily annoyed. While I was waiting patiently in a crowded café the last time I was in Boston, groups of parents with their children milled confusedly about. This café, a favorite just a few blocks from my place, is sometimes crammed with well-off parents and their over-indulged children. This morning was no different. Parents and children alike acted like lost tourists, unable to work their way through the simplest of transactions, unable to pick out what to order after waiting in line for ten minutes. How difficult is it, really, to pick out your food, then buy it? We were on the verge of a melee, where the decision-making process had turned into some sort of historical summit. I maintain that if you stand in line for ten minutes and still don’t know what you want after staring at the choices all that time, you need to get out of the public space and go into hiding because you should not be around functioning people.

My usual MO for dealing with such things is to give the dirtiest, nastiest look to the offending parties in the hope that it shuts them down sheepishly. (Most of the time, however, if you’re dumb enough to not yet understand how a café works, you are too oblivious to notice any sort of withering glance.) At any rate, that was my frame of mind as I finally snatched up my coffee and a chocolate chip cookie. I was about to break free from the pack of idiots, but a mother and her two little kids blocked the door. (Apparently a door also poses a dilemma for certain people. What to do with a closed door?!)

They stood still, blocking the only way out, but for some reason I just didn’t have it in me to dole out dirty looks or mutter some dismissive ‘Excuse me.’ Instead, I moved back a little and waited while they kept standing there. The mother finally noticed me, and apologized, so rather than giving her a blameful look I simply smiled, looked down at her kids, smiled again and waited until they exited the store. It was a profound difference to choose a smile rather than a snarl, and it made a difference for the rest of my day.

Maybe she was at the end of her rope as well. Maybe she was dealing with things more sad and terrifying than I could ever imagine. Or maybe she was just an entitled jerk who didn’t feel the need to make way for, or notice, anyone other than her own children. It didn’t really matter. I took control over the only thing I could – myself – and I decided to be nice for a change.

It was a good change. I may try it again.

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Favorite Scenes, Delicious Things

I will return to Boston soon enough for a few winter weekends, though I know it won’t be as weather-welcoming as it was on my last visit, where they had yet to dip below freezing. Here are a few photos from that visit, and they say more than I feel like writing at the moment.

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File Under ‘Christmas Past’

The holidays came and went this year, and after a big weeks-long build-up, the arrival of the big day was met with a crest of enthusiasm and the ensuing aftermath of whatever follows. For different people that means different things, but disappointment and an anti-climactic let-down are two typical results. I no longer build Christmas up to be much more than a few days or weeks where we try to be better to each other, with the bonus of promised gifts to make it all worth it. Mostly, it’s all about the kids, but as I watched my niece and nephew tear through the gifts I’d selected for them, hastily discarding each one in the hope of something better, I realized that even the children seem to be missing the message of the season.

Of course, I’m sure that as a child I had the same disregard for loftier meaning, but I do recall thinking about things that were measured in more than material goods. I remember being warmed by the love of family, the comfort and thrill of having my Grandma or Uncle or other visiting family members staying overnight in the house. I remember making an earnest effort to be nicer to my brother, and to my friends, and discovering the joy in finding and making gifts for my parents.  I’m hopeful that the twins see those things, or grow to see them.

Surrounded by the excess of gifts and presents, the torn wrapping paper and trampled bows, I consider it all so much carnage and waste, and wonder how many other trinkets – large and small – will go unused, and unloved. Such is the stuff of childhood.

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V-Day Wishes For a French Lover

When the calendar year turns its last page and begins anew, I like to strip down and simplify things as much as possible. That means the sparkling over-the-top indulgences over the holidays are being replaced with something quieter, something with subtlety. Such as my favored fragrance. To that end, I’m making an early Valentine’s request (it’s just one month away…) for a bottle of the magnificently refined Bois d’Orage (50 ml is just the right amount). A more potent take on the exquisite Angeliques Sous la Pluie, this is the winter version of that gin-inspired summer tonic. Created by Pierre Bourdon for Frederic Malle, it exemplifies the elegance that Malle has made a hallmark (as in the equally-excellent ‘L’Eau d’Hiver’ as crafted by Jean-Claude Ellena).

“A serene manliness, both brutal through the overdose of single notes and subtle thanks to the sophistication of the raw materials, Bois d’Orage is the ultimate man’s scent. Pierre Bourdon has composed a perfume that is powerful, sensual and refined, aromatic and spicy. Its heart is built around angelica and its natural complements: cedar wood and vetiver. Shaped by an accord of Florentine iris, pimento and galbanum, it lies on a bed of patchouli, incense and musk. A perfume with an unusual vegetal animality.”

In Europe its christened name is “French Lover” – a rather cheesy moniker for a fragrance too refined for such cheap tricks. The powdery presence of angelica stays close to the heart, the way one keeps many things at this time of the year.

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Russell Tovey’s Bangin’ Bod

Russell Tovey helms this fine feature spot, as the English hunk currently treads the boards (and doffs his shirt) on Broadway. There’s a bit more bulging action here than on-stage, however, and I hope you won’t take offense at that. 

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A Rainy Sunday Recap in January

Yes, I realize it’s Monday, but as I write this it’s Sunday, and it’s raining, and things look dreary. Mercury remains in retrograde (as it will until January 25) so I am laying low and doing my best to fly under the proverbial radar until this planetary shift calms the fuck down. It’s almost as bad as a full moon. On with a quiet and unobtrusive recap…

Let’s begin with beauty, specifically the form of male model Layton Draper.

Next, let’s have some color – oodles and oodles of bold and ferocious color.

Far better than painting by numbers, this is painting by penis, courtesy of Brent Ray Fraser.

By ‘pussy’ I mean ‘pussycat.’ Don’t bring your own gender hang-ups into this sacred space.

The bulge of Juan Salazar.

Madonna was ‘Living For Love‘ at a lovely appearance with Sean Penn.

Jason Schwarzman took a bow in his first Hunk of the Day appearance.

Tyson Beckford exposed his naked ass for the briefest of moments, but we captured his posterior for posterity.

Something for the squealing teenage girl (and boy) in all of us: Cody Simpson.

The winter of ‘Evita’ and a memorable chapter in Madonna-lore.

Tim Donkin was a pretty Hunk of the Day.

Your Mint Majesty moment.

Tom Daley & Dustin Lance Black: Men in Love and in Pictures.

Russell Tovey’s shirtless magnificence.

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Snarky Golden Globes Commentary 2016

No apologies – Mercury is in retrograde, I’m feeling fat and in need of a haircut, so I’m taking it all out on the Golden Globes until a new episode of ‘Downton Abbey’ comes on to restore peace in the world. Until then, some rude comments on Hollywood celebrities. They can handle it, I’m sure.

We begin with the obnoxious crew at E! Online.

Giuliana Rancic channeling some sexy but strange Queen Amidala look.

Ick… emerald green all over the red carpet tonight. Personal preference, or the opposite-there-of.

Just when I was on the verge of coming around to navy, there’s Jamie Lee Curtis. And we’re done.

Sam Smith – further proof that money and fame can buy you a better body.

Natalie Dormer is disastrous on every level. The least she could have done is comb her hair.

I like all the ladies embracing the mini-muffin tops.

At this point Ryan Seacrest is just teflon. (And I still want to throw a bunch of eggs at him and make an omelet.)

Jennifer Lopez in a self-described ‘mustardy/marigoldy’ ensemble – love the color and architecture of this one.

Melissa McCarthy in a trash bag, staying true to her own tradition.

Oooh! David Oyelowo is looking chic in that non-traditional suit.

But Eddie Redmayne may be the best-dressed man tonight.

I am desperately trying to get a better view of Cate Blanchett. I saw fringe and pink and that’s always a promising beginning.

Jane Fonda – so ridiculous I have to love it.

Channing Tatum, that hair?

Lady Gaga is totally channeling 1987 Madonna and I’m loving it. Arm-candy Taylor Kinney looks fine too.

Ricky Gervais and that crass opening monologue? It would have been funnier if he’d stood there drinking that ridiculous beer and burping.

I want Viola Davis to be my fairy godmother.

Bryce Dallas Howard: from America’s favorite daughter to grandmother in one ill-advised dress.

Just because your dress has pockets doesn’t mean you should use them when presenting.

Where did Brad Pitt get his Dorian Gray portrait done?

I wonder if Tom Ford was just the tiniest bit stung by presenting with Lady Gaga wearing Versace.

When did Quentin Tarantino turn into my 8th grade social studies teacher?

The lesson gleaned once again from the Golden Globes: I hardly watch any television. Who are these people? What are these shows?

Chris Evans… let me go to bed with his dapper image in my head.

Jim Carrey, channeling Merlin Olsen. That’s how far my TV-watching experience goes back.

They really ARE actors – they’re laughing at Ricky Gervais!

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