Any weight I may have lost in the past few months is creeping back on thanks to Easter candy and isolation – a bad combination , especially when one has lost the stairs of the office and the mobility that previously allowed for such occasional indulgences. Now it’s non-stop indulgence and a sedentary lifestyle.
That Easter Bunny has never been a friend of mine.
And that icebox is too near!
When an old friend from high school tags you out of the blue on FaceBook, it usually means something. That’s the universe nudging you to pay attention, to take heed, to listen. In this case Ian introduced me to this song by Slowdive, and it came at just the right moment.
Ian’s taste didn’t often dovetail with mine, but they always had an open mind when it came to music. I gave this one a listen and was entranced with its dreaminess, and resonant lyrics. You should give it a spin too.
What a world. What a predicament. How did we let it get this far gone? It’s felt icky for a while now, and we all have our reasons and theories for it. At this point, I almost feel as if the mess has been made, we just need to clean it up and dole out blame and come-uppance at a later date, or perhaps not ever at all. If I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that sometimes you have to simply let go. Holding onto any sense of justice or right is subjective anyway, and more a reflection of some false image of someone else or, worse yet, of ourselves. Perception versus reality, and in the end reality always wins. Why bother fighting it? I didn’t mean to get so deep – I only wanted to share this song. From the best of intentions…
As for Ian, I don’t remember much about our interactions beyond Latin class, and our seats were so far apart not even that rings with many specifics. That’s more of a failing on my part. We live such isolated lives, and in high school I never ventured beyond a few select silos. Maybe the current imposed isolation has me yearning for the days when it was a choice.
My meditation journey began in winter, just in the nick of time. It has prepared me for the nightmare in which we all find ourselves, or at least given me a place of grounding when the world is falling apart outside our home. The first few weeks, in small sessions of just a few minutes at a time, I saved it for the end of the evening, usually after my shower and before I went to bed. It was an ideal way of preparing for slumber: setting the scene for stilling the frantic pace of a day.
I grew into the habit, elongating the meditation into fifteen minutes – still a small window compared to, say, a freaking monk – but more than enough to lend a new calm to my routine. (My plan is to slowly expand to half an hour by the time summer ends and I need an extra dose of calm.)
Coming after dusk descended, the darkness was softened by candlelight and the glowing embers of a stick of mystical Palo Santo wood. I enjoyed these sessions in the dark, hidden away from the world cloaked in the night, swaddled by the warmth of rose quartz in my palm. I also recognized that my enjoyment was partly because it was becoming a ritual, and as a Virgo, I like ritual. Part of my journey of late, however, has been in allowing change to happen without freaking out or fighting against it. Such as in learning to work from home with the current state of the world. As much as I know it’s the best and safest thing to do, and I’m completely in support of it, I would much rather work in the office. It has taken some adjustment. That’s where moving my meditation came into play. After logging in and working a full day on my computer (which is literally burning up these days in another bout of perfect timing), I found myself feeling more stressed and nerved up than had I actually been in the office. It was an untenable but necessary circumstance, so on the second day of the new work-at-home schedule, I moved my daily meditation to right after the work day ended.
There was still light in the sky – lots of it – and the living room was bright and welcoming. I’d forgotten that while darkness could be soothing, light could be uplifting in a different and sometimes grander way. I close my eyes when breathing deeply and going through my meditation, so light or dark made no big difference. What was new was the line of demarcation between work and home life, even as they melded into their shared location. It was a distinctive period of decompression that brought me back to the peaceful atmosphere our home usually provides.
The magic of meditation – it’s a real thing. And a good thing.
With many of us working from home these days, I have a feeling that some have given in to the comfort and ease of not having to dress up or make themselves the least bit presentable, and I just want to send out this plea to the universe that you STOP IT IMMEDIATELY. We are better than this. We are so much better than this. Just because no one’s going to be seeing you is no reason to give in to laziness and destructive habits. Rail against the death knell of sweats and slippers!
On my first day of working from home, I toned it down with a Tallia tracksuit, patterned with chrysanthemums and cranes, and a spritz of ‘Black Saffron’ by Byredo. It’s in the same cozy vein as Tom Ford’s ‘Tuscan Leather’ which was perfect for the snowy day on which it was applied. In addition to looking good, one should smell good too. Don’t give up, people. Don’t let me down. Let’s lift it. You’ll feel better, I promise.
Sometimes snow makes the world prettier than the sun ever could.
Finishing my first full day of working from home, I found a single note of solace in the way that the snowfall picked up as the afternoon wore on: it was not of any great concern to me – we had nowhere to go, and no rush to get there – and so I could embrace the moment, savoring the time – the hours, the minutes, the seconds – of the beauty before us. And so the snow fell, past the first day of spring, past the midday mark, showing no sign of letting up – and it was all good.
I opened the window to breathe in the scent of it. Our winter didn’t give us all that much this year, and surely it wouldn’t last. I worried for the early daffodils by the garage, but there was nothing to be done. It was too late to bring in the buds, so they would have to fend for themselves. Gardening remains a ruthless game, even and sometimes especially at this early stage of the season.
Rather than intone rage and madness at the too-late-for-winter timing (we always get snow in spring – this is upstate New York) I instead chose to celebrate the beauty. As the light was fading from the sky, I watched as the snow nestled into the radial whirls of the Japanese umbrella pine. Somewhere in the distance a few birds sang, unseen and lending an enchantment they don’t usually conjure in the middle of winter. On this afternoon, their song melds nicely with the Japanese flute music that’s playing in the background.
Inside the living room, a stick of cedar incense glows at one end, tendrils of smoke curling gracefully into the air before dissipating with nothing but the sweet scent of cedar ashes drifting through the room. A fern arches its fronds over the edge of its ceramic pot, while a Norfolk Island pine extends its reach beside the couch – portending the green yet to come outside the window.
On this night, the sky is white and gray, before coloring the blanket of snow a deep blue. We do not know what tomorrow will bring. We never do. Yet at this moment, as the snow still falls and the light fades, the beauty outside is seen and felt from within.
Why do some of the prettiest little tea cakes turn out to be the least delicious? It’s as if some cosmic force decrees that in order to be beautiful, we must sacrifice flavor and substance. At least that was the case with a bunch of tea cakes I managed to buy before all hell broke loose in the markets. This little cake looks delectable, like something out of a fairy tale at the precise moment the protagonist was about to faint from starvation.
But the taste? Not at all up to the appearance. It tasted like a lie. Sickly sweet, like store-bought frosting from a can – that gross, manufactured essence of falsity. It leaves one gasping for a hint of something natural and real – butter or vanilla or, Jesus, even Crisco. Anything but the plastic-like putrid fakeness of something masquerading as food.
All that glitters ain’t gold.
Over the years, a few kind and perhaps overly-generous people have told me that this blog offers them some reassurance and escape in what feels like an ever-darkening world. Others have said I occasionally give voice to something they’ve also felt but never knew quite how to express or release. Those are pretty powerful gifts – not what I do here, but what those wonderful friends have expressed. They are gifts to my soul and I will always be grateful for them.
As for the purpose of this blog, which I’ve sometimes pondered over its seventeen years of existence, if it serves as a place of reassurance, escape, calm, entertainment, frivolity, amusement, or fantasy, well, I’d consider that an honor and a privilege. And if it brings a few of my favorite people together, either in stories or simply in having them mention that they’ve read something here, then I’ve done some small part in contributing to our community. I don’t take that lightly, and I hope you don’t find too much hubris in my admission that my voice is one that seems to matter to certain people, especially in times of uncertainty and fear.
The world definitely feels darker than it did a few years or even months ago. I can sense that. As much as I try to keep such somber thoughts on the outskirts of this silly space, they can’t help but seep into the overall arc of our journey here. That’s ok. I like to sparkle; I don’t like to sugarcoat. But for my own sanity, and my own enjoyment, I’m going to do my best to keep things welcoming and light here, accented by bright moments of beauty, riotous bouts of silliness, skin-baring antics of derriere-derring-do, and occasional passages of spiritual intent.
Whenever I pause and think about the purpose of what I do here, it always comes back to creating a cozy little nook of the internet that doesn’t scream or shout with effects or noise or bother, but one that invites the visitor in, welcoming you with a reserved spot on the couch or a leopard-patterned chair, where you can indulge in a cup of tea or a smart cocktail, and we can chat or simply sit in silence reading a cherished book. A place where nothing is forced or difficult, a place where a sense of peace and tranquility calmly floats through all our gentle actions, a place where we can simply be, a place where that is enough.
Come, sit with me for a while…
Considered by many to be her second divorce album (‘Like A Prayer’ being the first), Madonna’s ‘MDNA’ album, released on this date in 2012, is also considered one of her weaker efforts. I don’t agree with those assessments – this is a pretty kick-ass collection of songs – I just think it suffered from a poor choice of lead-off single, and Madonna’s own movie-focused lack of a promotional push. She gave it a Super Bowl toast and then retreated into movie and tour promos. The track-list is worth a revisit, as is the album overall, which finds her raging against romance while simultaneously reaching out for it, resulting in the very best kind of creative contradiction.
For me the trio of highlights are the exhilarating opening track, the pure pop perfection of ‘Turn Up the Radio’, and closing ballad ‘Falling Free’ which was helmed by ‘Ray of Light’ guru William Orbit.
It was cooler than I realized, yet still spring arrived. The backyard was downtrodden with the weight of winter. The brown and dead leaves, matted down and trampled by wind, snow and squirrels, lay flat beneath my feet. The ground was still frozen in most parts.
Our Lenten rose, with us since the year we first moved in – 2002 – poked its mauve head out from a layer of tattered leaves, with veining the shade of rhubarb stems. The color of summer, strange and welcome at such an early date. I surveyed the area for places where a fountain bamboo might go. This is the year we go about replenishing the specimens we lost a while back in a magnificent if deadly wave of flowering.
In a sheltered microclimate beside the garage, a group of narcissus was already in bud. Earlier than any other year, they were a happy sight to behold, unexpectedly pleasant, as I always forget which bulbs I planted in the fall and where. For a while, I was usually too pooped and exhausted to do any sort of fall bulb planting. By that point I was already hunkering down and putting the garden to sleep, too far ahead in my winter mindset to be bothered. The past few years, however, I’ve had a late-season second-wind, and each spring I’m glad I did. I should probably mark where they are, but there’s something more enjoyable about having it be a surprise. So few things are spoiler-free these days – we must take the joy where we can find it.
Mostly the tasks to be done in this early stage of inclement weather consist of surveying and planning. When the sun warmed things a bit I managed to prune the front yard hydrangeas, and I’ve managed to remove the old soil and dead roots from the backyard pots. Baby steps for the infancy of the season, and with snow due it’s best not to get too far into anything.
This marks the first week I’ll be working from home, and I’m very afraid I won’t be very good at it. In many respects, I’m an old-fashioned guy, a Virgo addicted to structure and most at home within a rigid regiment of scheduling and organization. Plus I can’t imagine what everyone is going to be wearing. That’s a horror show I just don’t want to entertain. Anyway, on with the recap, as there will likely be more missives from the home-front now that we’re stuck here for the foreseeable future. That’s Life.
A parade of Hunks now seems like such a quaintly superficial exercise in prettiness, and in times such as this it’s imperative that we keep such nonsense going.
The world seemed to fall apart before our eyes. News changed by the minute, and drastically so, and suddenly it felt best to face everything head-on with the simple realization that we are most definitely fucked.
St. Patrick’s Day got lost in the shuffle, but we have this gingerific post of hot red-headed gents to remind you of the reason for the season.
How to fly under the radar while wearing hot pink Tom Ford boxer briefs.
Botanical fireworks were the only explosions I wanted to see or sniff.
The first day of spring came early this year, at odds with the hopeless sense of foreboding that was otherwise going around. Still, spring came despite everything else, and there’s a small seed of happiness in that.
For those parents or guardians stumped on how to fill a day with activities for the cherubs stuck at home, I give you Uncle Al’s Guide to Home-Schooling: Completely and Totally Untried Tips & Tricks for Kids and Shit.
A week like this required some breathing room, something to which we may have to become quickly accustomed.
Being alone takes practice. I’ve had years, but no one could prepare for the world as it currently is. I wish us both luck.
A few friends have indicated they’ve had trouble sleeping of late. To combat that, I compiled a post of 231 links for anyone who needs to be knocked out by the mediocre and mundane miscellany I’ve posted here for the past seventeen years.
Things got somber and serious for a moment, and as our stores and offices and places of worship and gathering go dark, I offer this as a wish that we may find each other here and on other social media platforms. Isolated but not alone.
Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ album celebrated the anniversary of its release in 1989. Times were simpler then. I wanna take you there…
And speaking of the 80’s, here is my underwear-clad homage to ‘Weird Science’ and all its crop-topped glory. Who knows what my closets might cough up this week?
Hunks of the Day included Dominic Albano, Matthew Dempsey, Telly Leung, Russell Todd, Tom Goss and Sam Morrison.
“If we’re going to have any fun together, you guys had better learn to loosen up.” ~ Lisa
She appeared in a back-lit doorway framed by the magical workings of a fog machine. In a white crop-top, blue jockeys, and the epitome of 80’s permed hair (don’t hate her because she’s beautiful ~ that’s her hair in the morning!) she stole my heart. Not for her physical attributes, charming accent, or somewhat-awkward delivery, but for the way she held dominion and sway over all the men in her path. A creation of two teenage guys, who poured their fantasies and dreams into the precise form of woman that they so badly wanted to conjure, and thanks to some fine 80’s effects ~ Lightning! Smoke! Barbie! ~ lo and behold, Lisa was born. In the form of one Kelly LeBrock, she was a beautiful monster, as exquisite as anything that Dr. Frankenstein might have conjured. This was the world of ‘Weird Science’ ~ a John Hughes movie that came at what many consider to be the zenith of his cinematic contributions. (He would also go on to do ‘Home Alone’ and its ancillary projects.)
Following the Frankenstein metaphor, in some respects Hughes was our generation’s Percy Shelley, populating the 80’s with indelible creations that stomped on the pop culture landscape, such as ‘The Breakfast Club’, ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’, and ‘Pretty in Pink.’ With ‘Weird Science’ he didn’t quite create a masterpiece, but that movie has become a cult classic. It might be one of those movies that you had to grow up with to truly appreciate, but think of ‘The Wizard of Oz’ and it’s in good company. (I’m told ‘The Goonies‘ and ‘Adventures in Babysitting‘ suffer similar fates, but I love them too much to care for their cinematic merits. For the crux of childhood and critical appeal, there’s always ‘Stand By Me.’)
“If you want to be a party animal, you have to learn to live in the jungle.”
I think we saw ‘Weird Science’ in the theater when it first came out, because we were allowed to see any movie rated PG or PG-13. Back in those pre-internet days it was much easier to snow parents when it came to things like movies. We could take a title like ‘Weird Science’ and paint it as an educational film along the lines of Mr. Wizard on Nickelodeon, only for the big screen. To be honest, I don’t recall having to even go that far.
Being a rather serious child, I wasn’t all that into the slapstick humor and gross jokes that went into the movie. Being a young gay guy, I also wasn’t all that impressed with Ms. LeBrock’s skimpy wardrobe or sexual innuendo either. I don’t even think I was moved by the men’s underwear scenes. Only in retrospect do I appreciate the wonder of youth, the beauty of LeBrock’s image, and the cheesy 80’s Jockey shorts and crop tops on full wanton display. (I maintain and offer evidence that no one looks good with a bra on their head, as you can see.)
“If you ever get the chance, shower with them. I did. Mmm, it’s a mindscrambler. Hurts so good.”
Revisiting bits of the movie now, I see a certain sweetness and innocence that I maybe missed the first few times around. (This would often show up on television after it came out, and whatever my brother and I were doing would be put on hold as we watched the shenanigans unfold again.) Maybe I’m missing that sense of innocence because of how dark the world has grown. As horrid as our hair and fashion choices may have been, as greedy as the decade may have outwardly seemed, there was still a sense of comfort in the air. Some would argue that there were other horrors ~ and most gay men of a certain age, myself included, feel a vague echo of the AIDS crisis that was just starting to happen then in what is happening today. I’m not diminishing that, but overall it felt like a more innocent world, and perhaps even a duller one. Yet in the very ennui that so many derided, and that ran throughout the 90’s, there was a safety and comfort that would dissipate the instant the twin towers fell. Nothing has been the same since.
But that’s way too serious of a note on which to end this post. I’m in women’s underwear for God’s sake ~ on both heads. And a crop top. And I found a male Barbie fashionista doll to put my own gay spin on things. In these crazy times, some of us reach out in an attempt to make the perfect creation ~ to pour our desires and wishes into an entity that might bring about connection or meaning or, dare I say it, love. How silly that an homage to ‘Weird Science’, shot and written on a spring whim when the world fell apart around me, should inspire such philosophical pondering.
As for how nonsensical this all must look, it serves a deeper purpose for my own journey too – it’s the ultimate fuck-off to a perfectionism I’ve been shirking for the past several months. In that sense this is a bit of a triumph. Rather than doing some suggested exercises like laying down in public to explode my perfectionist tendencies, I’m putting a bra on my gray-haired head, pulling underwear out of my ass, and following a somber post with all.of.this.
“You had to be big shots didn’t you? You had to show off. When are you gonna learn that people will like you for who you are, not for what you can give them?”
Every now and then I have a moment of learning that happens in real time, not in retrospect, and I am completely aware it is happening as it happens. Most recently it occurred at a coffeehouse across the street from my office building. It was on my last full day at the office before we began isolation. All I wanted on my lunch break was a coffee and a cookie, preferably served with a minimum of small talk and chatter.
The barista lit up when I walked in. A sign indicating that they were only doing take-out orders, and that people could no longer use mugs brought in from home, hung on the door. The times were changing at a rapid pace. Already downtown Albany was largely deserted. Most of the places that had been open since I started my first state job in 2001 were closed. There was an apocalyptic feel in the air, a strange sense of doom and foreboding. Spring had arrived, but it was cloaked in a strange sickness. I remained upbeat, closing the door behind me and ordering a coffee and a kitchen sink cookie. If this was the last time I would be in this coffeehouse, I’d be damned if I didn’t get a cookie.
I asked how long they were going to be open and he said as long as payroll can afford to keep people on, they’d be open. I was happy to hear it. I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t be downtown for a while, and all I cared about was the supply of coffee and cookies ~ something that suddenly seemed to be in danger. He continued talking, always a risk when you open up a line of seemingly-innocuous questioning, and often why I tend not to engage. My inner voice sighed and started its usual loop of ‘Please stop talking to me, please stop talking to me, please stop talking to me’ while my real voice said empty words of agreement, my head nodded up and down, and my eyes darted elsewhere.
Then he paused as he handed me the cup of coffee. “It’s not really about business or payroll, it’s about this, and he motioned to me and our interaction, “It’s about the social connection.” My inner voice was about to make a sarcastic quip, but stopped itself.
“You’re right,” I said out loud.
I turned to go out the door and looked back, wanting to say something more, but he was already back on his phone, head down and typing away. I guess our limited social exchange was enough for the moment.
The next day, most of our office was sent home. I thought I would be relieved at the news ~ and health-wise and social-distance wise I am. Yet as much as I know it’s for the best, I’m conflicted. As I looked at Marline and later at Skip doing his FaceBook live posts to reach out, I realized how difficult it would be for everyone else, especially those for whom social interaction is such a vital and important part of their make-up. My heart broke a little as I said a quick goodbye to Sherri and Jen, and I understood that I might not see my friends for a while. Lorie drove me home and I was grateful for one last bit of time with her. Later that day, Suzie dropped off a board game ~ Life, no less ~ that I had asked for in service of a photo shoot. I had assembled a bunch of ridiculous nonsense for her and her family in a large shopping bag, so we made a quick exchange. She stood a good ten feet away as I hovered in the doorway. Maybe I need people more than I realize. Maybe I’m a bit more social than I thought I was. Maybe this is loneliness.
Any socially-anxious introvert will gladly tell you that being in isolation is not exactly a bad thing. To be honest, I was waiting for the opportunity to try it out, to see how enjoyable it would be for those of us who have to muster an enormous reserve of energy simply to get through an average day of interacting with people ~ strangers, friends and family alike. What I was not expecting was the wave of empathy and emotion that came from seeing how it affected others. People like my friends Chris and Marline and Skip are at their best when they are surrounded by friends and loved ones. They need that physical engagement and interaction, they need that connection. They need that hug. It’s what helps them thrive and survive in this crazy world.
The guy at the cafe reminded me of that, and as I headed home for who knew how long, my heart broke not for my loneliness, but for theirs.
Upon first appearance, this may seem like a relatively short post for my long–winded ass. That’s because it contains a multitude of secrets behind each and every word (even the ‘and’s and ‘but’s). Yes, you lucky readers and seekers and finders of endless nonsense, every single word in this post is a link to another blog entry. Normally, my links are long and luxurious, strung together by a collection of words for easy clicking and instant access to a relevant topic. Not so today. This will bring you to this and this will bring you to this and this, well, you don’t even want to know where that (this) will bring you. Think of the entire post as a Quasi–Choose–Your–Own–Adventure that will open doors you never even dreamed existed. Oh what times we’re going to have!
Suzie and I once half–heartedly almost started a fanzine – wait that wasn’t the term… damn, the memory is gone – anyway, a homemade magazine – and we were going to title it ‘Smorgasbord’ because we didn’t know any better. I still don’t, so click away and see what you find. Bookmark this page too, for whenever you need something to occupy your time, like late at night when your brain is too fried to sleep and too exhausted to chew on anything of substance. It’s better than a crossword puzzle. Promise.
Much has already been written about the profound and lasting impact Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ album has had on my life and on pop culture in general. Rather than give you some long-winded diatribe about how that album changed lives and forever altered the landscape of pop music, I’m going to let the music speak for itself. Here’s the full track-listing for the ‘Like A Prayer’ album on its anniversary. Most of the songs have been chronicled on the Madonna Timeline, so click on the title to read more about them.
Happy anniversary darling. And they said we wouldn’t last…
In this post I mentioned that the first part of getting through a time of social distancing was to be ok with being in your own company. I didn’t elaborate because that is a topic that could take years to fully unload and dissect, and it really is different for each individual. For me, social distancing comes rather easy. It is my natural state to turn toward solitude. Being alone has never been frightening or bothersome – I’ve welcomed it at every turn. Most humans are more sociable than that, however, so suddenly going without regular human interaction may be uncomfortable and scary. The only piece of advice I can offer is to move through it. Experience it. Feel it. Sit in silence, alone and without your phone or other distractions, and feel the fear. Lean into the discomfort. Face it and honor what you’re feeling. Take a deep breath slowly in and let it slowly out. Focus on that breath. Take another. See if you can slow down enough to take ten deep breaths, thinking only of that breath and counting each one off as you inhale and exhale.
I don’t pretend this will be easy. Even for someone who enjoys solitude, it took some getting used to. We’ve spent the last decade or so surrounding ourselves with noise and alerts and text whistles and a hurried pace of life that is clearly not sustainable if we are all to survive. We don’t know how to stop and sit still. We don’t know how to exist in silence. We don’t know how to survive without distraction. And so it will be difficult the first few times you find yourself alone with only your breathing. You will likely feel antsy, like you should be doing something else – anything else – but just sit with that for a while. Sit with yourself. At the most difficult times in life, at the easiest times in life, at the happiest and the most sorrowful, you’ve had one constant companion, even if you’ve always looked to or been surrounded by others. The one single person who’s been through it all, right by your side, and will be until the end – the sole person who will never desert you.
This realization can be upsetting and jarring for some people. We want so badly to think that life only matters when there is love, and love always seems to involve another person, but that’s not really the case. There’s self-love, which gets more of a bad rap these days than it deserves, and I’ll admit there are all sorts of self-love that aren’t genuine and aren’t what I’m talking about here. See, this branches off into so many other areas it’s impossible to make sense in a post or two, but it’s a start. And it’s worth the effort. Because if you can be happy with being alone with yourself, you will always have the best company no matter what happens.
