Up until last night, I wasn’t a Beyonce fan. I liked her, even if I only knew ‘Single Ladies’ and some of her Destiny’s Child work, but I was not a fan – certainly not a member of the Beyhive. Now, I’ve sipped the lemonade, and I’m a big damn buzzing bee. She debuted her visual album ‘Lemonade’ on HBO last night, and it was a marvel. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it surpassed much of Madonna’s most recent work, and will hopefully be a little reminder of the possibilities of what an artist can accomplish these days.
Visually stunning, it tells the loosely plotted story of a relationship fractured and then put back together. While the ending is a happy one, it doesn’t feel entirely complete, and the issues that Ms. B raises are not simply or easily solved. I have no idea what it means to be a black woman in this country, and I certainly have no idea what it means to be Beyonce, but this work juxtaposes the two, with chilling references to the past, and a few terrifyingly personal moments of the present.
Most impressively, the hour-long work was a masterpiece in that it kept the viewer guessing as to how much of this was Beyonce’s life, and how much of it was artistic license and expression. That’s the sort of thing that always moved me most about Madonna, and it’s something I’ve tried to create in my own way right here on this blog. We each inhabit characters, playing up different versions of ourselves, all in an attempt to get closer to the truth. When we get comfortable, we tend to stay put and live in that comfort. The best artists don’t do that. They refuse. And they come up with some wonderful stuff to prove it.
Beyonce did that last night, and after tasting this ‘Lemonade’ I’m a proud member of the Beyhive.
Perhaps the best tribute to Prince I’ve seen thus far – and delivered with a wish and prayer. Who knew Adam Levine could rock the guitar with such amazing skill and musical poetry? I think even Prince would blush with pride looking at this performance of ‘Purple Rain.’ This is just further proof that Adam Levine can do no wrong.
Attention has shifted to the gardens, which means this blog is going on autopilot for certain busy days. (I filled twelve large lawn bags  yesterday, dug the base out for a mini grill patio, and cleaned about a third of the yard – as of this writing my body is barely able to make these keystrokes.) No rest for the wicked, or for the strokers, so here you go: a Saturday collection of shirtless male celebrities.
Today is my dear friend JoAnn’s birthday, and when the world around us seems to crumble, she is a bright spot of hope and love. We have a grand history together. A friendship that has sustained itself for almost two decades is something rare and special, and I think we hold each other a little tighter as our journey twists and turns its way along its destined trajectory.
She was there for me when I had my first serious boyfriend.
She shared wild and crazy nights (and days) in Boston, when we were young and foolish and just trying to find love and happiness. (And in a different way, we did.)
Most importantly for me, she opened her world to a guy who wasn’t always sure of himself, widening his circle of friends and enriching his life. For that, I am forever indebted and grateful for her presence in my life.
She continues to bring a passion to everything she does. She loves – and she loves hard. I can respect that. It hurts a little more to be in the world when you love like that, but she wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would I.
My recent FaceBook debacle has resolved itself, but left a very sour taste in my mouth for that whole site. If my account can simply be deactivated because someone says they’re me, then what is the point? The person who was actually using my photos for his profile has been reported by numerous friends of mine, and his accounts are still active, so there is seemingly no justice on FaceBook, but I’ve known that for some time. And speaking of time, that’s exactly what FaceBook has been taking from me for all these years, and only after being deactivated did I realize how much time I was actually giving up – time that could have been used for a third post each day.
In the last couple of years I’ve gotten into a lazy two-post-a-day schedule (except on weekends, when I usually muster three). I’d like to try to return to the three-post-a-day timetable, which means a midday addition that will be light on content and substance, but still substantial enough to merit existence. These may largely be photo posts with little writing, or whimsical videos or silly GIFs that I find entertaining or enlightening. It might be a simple link to something of interest to me, or a quote that I find inspiring. Nothing too strenuous, nothing too deep – just a break for breaking the hump of the day. Like this entry here. Consider this day’s hump broken, and carry on. Cheers for three.
PS – This is, as everything on this site is, subject to change. My focus has been shifting to non-online interests, and I’ve been happier with inhabiting the real world lately. I’ll do my best.
Gardening has taught me many vital things over the years, most often those things I never thought I needed to know. First and foremost is patience, and I fought against it every step of the way. From the eternal wait for seeds to germinate to the endless gestation of a flower bud, patience is a trait largely lacking in a growing boy, and I was no exception. In the realm of the garden, however, patience is a necessity, and it will be required no matter how much you find it infuriating.
I remember when I planted my first pair of Siberian iris in the backyard of my parents’ home. I’d purchased plants already in bud for the imminent explosion of indigo glory, and each day I anticipated the burst of violet-hued beauty. Each day I came from school, bounded into the backyard, and promptly felt the growing familiar feeling of disappointment as the buds stayed closed and silvery green, with nary a peek of purple lip. After what seemed an endless wait, the buds grew plump, and when I had almost given up on them a spot of color was revealed before a curtain of pines and evergreens. The wait was worth it, the color deeper and more rich than I imagined possible. Like some graceful exotic butterfly, it floated and waved in the slightest breeze. In many ways, I appreciated it all the more for the wait. It was an early lesson of the importance of anticipation. The reward of a drawn-out process.
Of course, that didn’t satisfy my desire for the instant gratification, but that’s not in ready supply in the garden. Rumor had it that there was even a certain bamboo you could actually see growing on prime sunny days. I couldn’t locate such a magical creature in the Northeast, but I’d heard similar quick-growth tales of papyrus, and when one was available at the local nursery, I snapped it up and immersed it in a bucket of water, with visions of a fountain of foliage. I didn’t take into account the heat and sun that such plants required to thrive, and the fact that our climate was a poor substitute. When it failed, I felt I had failed. The garden doesn’t sugarcoat its lessons.
Since that time, I had to learn that the process of gardening was one in which the satisfaction and allure is not based on immediate results. The best sort of garden takes years to plan and prepare, then years to maintain and edit, and then a few years of reshuffling and decline, until it all has to start over again. The main lesson of the garden has been that nothing is permanent. Even the oldest trees or shrubs need pruning at some point. The end will come in a storm or an animal or an accident. That’s all right. That’s ok. The garden will not be rushed or hurried. Everything unfolds as it was meant to unfold, like the petals of that Siberian iris.
On 4/20, some of you may be looking for some food ideas, so here’s a link-a-licious post pointing out some of the recipes that have brought my stomach satisfaction over the years. Most of these call for a decent amount of preparation and time to do well, but I’d still recommend any of these over that wretched Kraft Mac & Cheese anytime. Cheese was never meant to be powdered. [High-five.]
Let’s begin with this delicious Waldorf chicken salad, which carries the succulent bite of the spring and summer to come in each of its vibrant bites.
I’ve never been big on the weed. I stayed clear of it completely during my high school and college years, and by the time I felt safe and secure enough to try it, the appeal was largely lost. That said, every few years I’ll take a toke and laugh my way into oblivion (or become so entirely paranoid that I think everyone is trying to kill me – especially bartenders).
One of the first times I tried pot was in a cemetery. I had finished a shift at Structure with my friend Matt and he drove us to a secluded plot for the dead in the middle of a dark summer night. Any fear I had of the space and circumstances was erased in our laughter – and that was before either of us had taken a single drag.
We talked in the way that some guys talk after feeling comfortable with each other – nothing forced, nothing fake, and nothing too extended. We could get deep, but not on that night. That night was just staving off some summer loneliness and replacing it with some summer fun surrounded by some skunky smoke.
DESTINATION UNKNOWN AS WE PULL IN FOR SOME GAS
A FRESHLY-PASTED POSTER REVEALS A SMILE FROM THE PAST
ELEPHANTS AND ACROBATS, LIONS, SNAKES, MONKEY
PELE SPEAKS RIGHTEOUS, SISTER SEENA SAYS ‘FUNKY’
HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE
OOH BABY, IT’S MAKING ME CRAZY
EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND
EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND, IT’S IN MY FACE’
‘How Bizarre’ by OMC played on the soundtrack to the store that summer. A ridiculous song – even more-so now – but for that night, and for that summer, it all seemed to work. In my silly 20’s, when I was way too serious for my own good, only occasional glimmers of what should have been a carefree time in my life managed to surface. That night was one of them. I laughed a little, then I laughed a lot. My head felt light, and my mood was mellow. Matt was good in that way, and I always had fun around him. One of my first straight-male friends, he helped me get over my fear of heterosexual guys. For the ensuing days of that summer we forged a friendship built on the doldrums of the Rotterdam Mall Structure store, where six-button polos ruled the wardrobe, and the greatest concern was who was going to do all the mopping on a Sunday morning.
RINGMASTER STEPS UP, SAYS, ‘THE ELEPHANTS LEFT TOWN.’
PEOPLE JUMP AND JIVE AND THE CLOWNS THEN STUCK AROUND
TV NEWS AND CAMERAS, THERE’S CHOPPERS IN THE SKY
MARINES, POLICE, REPORTERS ASK WHERE, FOR, AND WHY
MAKE YOUR MOVES AND STARTING GROOVES BEFORE THEY KNEW WE WERE GONE
JUMPED INTO THE CHEVY, HEADED FOR BIG LIGHTS
WANNA KNOW THE REST? HEY, BUY THE RIGHTS.
Eventually our laughter subsided, and the car grew quiet. Insects sang in the spooky air and summer squeezed itself around our heads. If I’d only known then how wonderful those moments were, if I’d only known how happy I was and how my worries were so trifling… But I didn’t know. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe that’s what protected me and kept me safe. Maybe if I had a sense of security, I might have been too reckless, if that makes any sense.
We talked for a bit in our relaxed state, talk that was both silly and meaningful. It felt fraught with import, but for the life of me I can’t recall the details. I guess it doesn’t matter – the important part was that it bonded us in a way, strengthening our friendship and adding a chapter in our shared history. I didn’t know what it was like to have a straight guy friend, and Matt didn’t know what it was like to have a gay friend, so we found our footing together. Those tender steps mattered more to me than romance, even if I didn’t quite believe it then.
Every once in a while the sky does something that transforms what you think you know into something other-worldly and wonderful. Such was the afternoon captured here. The bulk of the day had been dreary and gray, with a steady fall of rain for much of the morning. Only in the afternoon did the sky clear slightly, and just enough for the falling sun to light things up in this glorious pink hue, while the former John Hancock Tower shone a brilliant blue against the rosy backdrop.
Even after viewing this vista for two decades, I’m still amazed by its capacity to surprise and impress. The most jaded among us have not seen anywhere near to everything, no matter how far we may or may not have traveled. There is always something new under the sun.
There’s something to be said for having a routine.
There’s also something to be said for throwing routine out the window.
This post will hopefully do a little of both.
You may have come to expect a Hunk of the Day in the spot, as this is usually the reserved time an place for that popular feature, but I don’t like such predictable plots, even if they afford some sense of surety in a world gone increasingly mad. The good news is that the Hunk of the Day is not going away anytime soon, it will just shift around a bit. It may also not be an everyday thing – I never claimed it was the Hunk of Each and Every Day.
For spring and possibly beyond, I’d like to switch things up and inject new life into this blog. It seems that it’s a common wish every few months, and that’s been keeping things fresh and engaging to me, but after thirteen years of this, I give in to ennui and autopilot. The only way to keep me on my feet is to do new things, try out new formats, embark on new projects. This is as much a diary as it is a repository for my work, equal parts of revelation and creativity. Hopefully it’s a wee bit entertaining as well (even if most of you like to see me fall flat on my face – it’s ok to admit it).
I’m starting to think of this like those islands that form personality in ‘Inside Out’ (please don’t watch that movie without tissues handy). The first time you see some of those islands fall – Friendship Island, Honesty Island – it’s heartbreaking, and hard to let go. Only after going through the hard stuff do you realize that other islands have formed in their wake. Better islands, more beautiful islands – the islands that will see us through this wild and crazy life together.
This is my afternoon post for a Monday. There is no shirtless Hunk. There is no Madonna. There is just us. That’s pretty exciting. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sometimes I feel Like I am drunk behind the wheel The wheel of possibility However it may roll Give it a spin See if you can somehow factor in You know there’s always more than one way To say exactly what you mean to say
Was I out of my head? Was I out of my mind? How could I have ever been so blind? I was waiting for an indication It was hard to find Don’t matter what I say only what I do I never mean to do bad things to you So quiet but I finally woke up If you’re sad then its time you spoke up too…
