Perfectly anointed as the ‘Sunset’ calla, this beautiful calla lily called out for me to take its picture as I passed it in the garden center the other day. A fitting name for such a pretty flower. ‘Summer’ would have worked well too, but this is slightly more specific to its exquisite shading. As Gloria Estefan would say, ‘the words get in the way’…
It feels almost redundant to name Ben Cohen as the Dazzler of the Day, as he has been celebrated and honored here so many times before, but even those who seem to be given the world deserve the acknowledgment, and some of our most celebrated humans have gone without love or recognition because everyone else just assumes they get it all the time. To forego that travesty, this post crowns Cohen as Dazzler of the Day, something he can add to the Hunk of the Day honor he got here so many moons ago. He remains a stellar force in the world, continuing to fight against bullying with his StandUp Foundation, and a guy who does the right thing will always be a hot guy in these parts – not to mention a Dazzler.
{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.}
Peeking out of the turret in Usen Castle, I envision whirling dervishes spinning in the sky, all crushed purple velvet and tiny darkened spectacles – wisdom in motion, divinity enthralled. They spin and spin, leaping from crescent moon to star in some astrological dance intent on rearranging the firmament as we know it. Like cardboard scenery, the sky shifts, impossibly painted on paper in the most outrageous shades of blue and indigo, ocean and air and the bottomless and topless abyss called space. Future and past clash in fantastical surreality, and the dream of the latest Madonna song, ‘Bedtime Story’, plays out as if this was all actually happening, as if it were all actually real. Looking back at that March pocket of 1995, I’m no longer what did or didn’t happen. All that feels true is simply that – a feeling, a notion, the causing of a commotion.
Inspired by Madonna’s touring persona, I ambled around upstate New York and called it a Friendship Tour, stopping to see friends at Potsdam, Rochester and Ithaca – just as March proved to be mostly winter instead of spring. Bandages around my wrists, and adorned with golden charm bracelets, accentuated the silk pajamas I wore to bed: the madness of Norma Desmond coupled with her frail sadness, and an indefatigable battalion of earnest if misguided hubris. What kingdom was this? On what throne did I pose while Ann took my picture and her mother laughed at my nonsense? It was wooden and high-backed, and I feel it solid and real in my hands, immovable beneath my body. An actual throne, to kick off anything but an actual tour, and in my head the two blurred, and I began to believe the myth I had made for myself.
Ann and I drive north, into the snowy land of Potsdam, winding through the backroads and braving the snow and ice and brutal sun. It’s the tail end of my sophomore year at Brandeis and I’m already spent. Reading Rabelais has put me in a foul and mischievous mood, at odds with many of my friends and family, and so I rely on Ann, who loves me no matter what comes out of my mouth (or goes into it). We laugh and sing along to Aretha Franklin’s ‘Freeway of Love’ and Belinda Carlisle’s ‘I Feel the Magic’ while the snowy banks rush by in a blur. When we arrive at our friend Missy’s dorm, she is nowhere to be found, and this being in the time before cel phones, we simply hunker down in the hallway and wait. I spin in a circle for a few more pictures, my ridiculously shredded red sweater flailing about in tattered strips – some vague homage to Salome via Norma Desmond – and all the while Ann lifts my sunken spirits, heals my wounded wrists, and brings me back to life.
Madonna does her part too, though I’m not sure if her new song is a help or a hindrance on my emotional state of mind. ‘Bedtime Story’ is the title track from her latest album, ‘Bedtime Stories’ – a trippy little nugget of music penned by Bjork and eons away from anything Madonna had ever done. It was a cosmic left-fielder on the R&B/New Jill Swing sound of the rest of the album, and a thrillingly new sonic adventure from a woman whom some had already written off in the aftermath of ‘Erotica’ and ‘Sex’. Here she was, bravely and defiantly moving forward, holding onto her pop crown, and not for nearly the last time, as she put out a spectacular video of instantly iconic poses and looks. If the song itself wasn’t a #1 smash like its predecessor ‘Take A Bow’, it held a special place in the hearts of her die-hard fans. It also informed this very tender time in my life, when I sought solace in the arms of friends, forgoing lovers as much as I might have liked one. When on the brink of self-obliteration, first-time lovers are not usually much help.
While Ann is staying with Missy in her dorm, I’ve secured a hotel room nearby. I’m still not quite ready to be around people, even those who love me most. Wrestling with personal demons, in the deep dark of night, is not a communal affair. Such battles must be fought alone, if they are to be won for good. I cannot explain it then; I cannot explain it now. Ann understands, and leaves me to the war in solitude.
Alone in the hotel room, after friends have departed, I lower the lights and confront the silence. The appalling silence. The silence that dares to try to comfort me after all its betrayals. And after banishing everyone from my space, I suddenly panic at the thought of not marking this time, and so begin the nagging attempt of immortalizing the moment on 35 mm film. Sinking down to the floor in a silk robe, I sit in the shallow pool of light that falls from the bathroom door, looking at the ground, pondering the position of a young man willing himself out of the world.
My sleep, when it finally comes, is restless. It feels like it snows a bit as my eyes wander to the window, but I don’t know if I’m dreaming that. Pulling the curtains open and closed and open again, as the gray light of a dying winter seeps into the room, I’m no longer sure if I’m sleeping or awake, whether it’s night or morning, if I’m actually there or actually not.
The room should feel cold on such a night, and maybe it does. Physical sensations have always been secondary to emotions, and it’s already made a mess of my young life. If we only knew to survive first and feel things later, so much danger might have been avoided.
That next day, we rise early. The sky is overcast but bright – the lightest of grays that is a cover of clouds but doesn’t quite look like it. It is simply as if the sky has drained itself of color, leaking every bit of sacred blue into some hidden sea. Whatever I had hoped to find or discover on the previous night’s voyage of solitude proved annoyingly elusive. As my friends arrive, I have nothing to show for it. Still, I remember that night. To this day, I remember it, and remarkably better than so many other nights with so many other forgotten people. Maybe I made peace with at least one of my demons. Maybe I had too many then to even notice.
We climbed into the car, a rack of costumes hanging in the back seat. We were heading to Rochester for the next stop. A mosaic-patterned scarf in reds and purples flew like a flag from the car antenna – the closest we would get to any sort of recreation of the bus extravaganza from ‘The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert’. It took flight, and in its silly way lifted my spirits.
Rochester, future city and site of a multitude of sins and mistakes, was right then a refuge, and Ann’s dorm room at RIT felt like home. With her band of misfit friends, I settled in and simply allowed myself to exist. The show would go on, and I would start assembling a vision of myself that wasn’t quite there yet, one that wasn’t quite real, filled with dramatic pomp and manipulated circumstance, which would carry me through the next few difficult years, as on the wings of a dream. With Ann by my side, I took off, and all those grand delusions would prove more than ephemeral ghosts.
It’s just the very beginning of the Chinese dogwood’s blooming journey, and while I usually wait until these have turned a whiter shade of pale, we need the glimpse of cheer now. This is one of my favorite trees, providing all the beauty of the American dogwood, but only once all the leaves have emerged. It also extends the season for another few weeks, making it ideal for the entry of summer.
The actual flowers are still in tight bud – what we are seeing as the ‘petals’ are technically bracts. The real flowers are small and insignificant, but they’re the ones who will produce the raspberry-like fruit later in the season. (Sadly, they’re raspberry-like only in appearance, not taste or texture.) For now, the show has just begun…
Tomorrow the Madonna Timeline returns with one of the final songs to be featured from the ‘Bedtime Stories’ album – it’s a bit of a trip, but so is the song, so it works. ‘Bedtime Story’ was one of the more experimental releases for Madonna, and it didn’t achieve the massive success that other perhaps more calculated risks did in the past. In this case, the Bjork-penned track may have been too ahead of its time. It’s grown on me over the years, but it’s still not one of my favorites. That’s ok – everyone has their preferences and favorites when it comes to Madonna.
When we first move into our home, there was an enormous rhododendron that took up most of the front garden. It was over-sized and had grown unchecked for what must have a been a decade or two. It dwarfed the little plot in which it was then crammed, and blocked much of the light to the largest window of the house. It’s flowering was alternately magnificent and unimpressive, depending on the year, and as it was ruining the scale and proportions of our little home, eventually it had to go.
Replacing it with a wedding cake viburnum, I failed to realize the importance of the evergreen aspect of the rhododendron, and so the winters felt bare and sparse, even if the light was welcome. After a few years, that too outgrew its space, and I transplanted a small Japanese umbrella pine to the location – a good choice for its slow-growing nature and evergreen beauty.
Every once in a while, I’ll miss that original rhody, such as when I saw these beauties at my parents’ home. In full bloom, they are spectacular, and have filled in their front yard garden plot, brilliantly painting their hot pink glory against the white brick. We always seem to come back to the classics, and it may be time to put one of these into our side-yard, where they seem to enjoy the shade and the soil, and can stretch out beyond the confines of a formal garden. (I’ve softened the stance of this original post, much like the way I’ve softened other rigidities that were once seemingly cast in stone.)
Somewhat unfortunately named ‘Kiernan Way’, this little walkway lost an opportunity to be more fittingly christened ‘Linden Lane’ so that’s what I’m calling it in my fantastical head. One of my favorite trees, the Linden is one of the most silently emblematic of the start of summer thanks to its divine perfume issued forth from some of the most inconspicuous blooms to grace the earth.
For many years I would search the area whenever this tree bloomed, looking out for some extravagant profusion of hot pink blossoms or flaming yellow petals. And every year I would miss the trees that were all about me, their sweet perfume drifting down from their branches, all the while obscuring themselves in a cloak of unremarkable foliage and form. Hiding in plain sight, even while their scent announced the presence of something sweet and spectacular. A neat hat trick.
Four decades in any business is an impressive run – forty years in the news business is the stuff of rarefied talent and almost superhuman dedication. Benita Zahn is our Dazzler of the Day as she wraps up her first act as news reporter and heads into a new career that seems tailor-made for her unique aptitude. For all her pleasant on-air demeanor and local theatrical work (you haven’t lived until you’ve seen her belt out ‘You Gotta Have a Gimmick’ with all her assets alight from ‘Gypsy’, which I was fortunate enough to glimpse ) one of her passions through the years has been a genuine and deep-seeded desire to help people get healthier. Her new endeavor looks to continue that in an even more direct fashion, and she is poised for her next act with all the seasoned panache and pizzazz that only a true dazzler could conjure.
A dip in temperatures has stalled spring again, as the nights descend back into the 40’s. It’s quite disheartening, though I won’t waste any more time lamenting such a predicament. With the moon exerting its full pull, and Mercury in retrograde right around the corner, one does better by not getting bogged down in the things we can’t control. Like the weather. Or the slow walk of spring.
The road to summer isn’t always as pretty as what I managed to capture here, but it’s full of hope, even when it’s cold and rainy. Sometimes that works to make summer sweeter. Spring holds back and hesitates, with its moody moons and raucous retrograde, and we tread carefully, with mindfulness and meticulous motion.
When you need a jolt of inspiration, sometimes a strongly-hued flower will do. These colorful daisies – not sure of variety or scientific name – did that for me when the skies rolled gray and the light dimmed with the lateness of the day. They say more, and say it more eloquently, than these cumbersome words ever could.
Bringing the term ‘MILF’ to the masses may not be the most striking accomplishment of John Cho’s already-epic career, but it definitely earned him a pop-culture footnote for all-time. Better than that is his impressive body of work, with stellar appearances in such films as ‘Searching’, ‘Star Trek’, ‘Columbus’, ‘Yellow’, ‘Better Luck Tomorrow’, MILF-origin movie ‘American Pie’ and its sequels, as well as the ‘Harold & Kumar’ series. Today he earns his first Dazzler of the Day for his multi-talented entertainment pizzazz and acumen.
Something called the Super Flower Blood Moon rose early this morning, coming just in time to greet a new period of Mercury in Retrograde, so I need to simply hide away from the world until June 22. Slightly problematic for all that must be done in that time, but such is the pull of the universe. God help us one and all.
Today’s full moon – super and floral and bloody – will likely wreak havoc with plans and non-plans alike, throwing wrenches in the rigid thought-process of any proper Virgo. I hate this sort of thing but I’m much better at dealing with the snafus now than I was in previous times. We’ve had over a year of said snafus and I don’t see them ending any time soon. Besides, this is life. Full moons and Mercury in retrograde are just the chaotic portions of it. Sometimes they angle to imbue the moment with import, something exciting and inspiring. The question is how we channel that frantic energy and put it to use instead of allowing it to muck everything up. Make peace with the chaos. Embrace the unpredictable and varying nature of life. Things run much soother that way, even when they don’t.
I’m the first to admit to being a delicate fucking flower, and dainty as shit to boot, which is why the Korean lilac is one of my favorite shrubs. It’s in full bloom in the garden right now, and I’ve established three decent-sized specimens, scattered strategically to offer three separate sections a delicious pool of perfume. The blooms, despite all the macro-work here, are tinier and daintier than the native American lilac, and arrive after that better-known shrub finishes its bloom. The effect is a more summer-like plant, that will also throw out the occasional re-bloom if you’re lucky. The leaves are also of smaller stature than the common American counterpart, lending the whole plant a more delicate and elegant visage.
There is a little more red in the bloom color, lending it more a pink shade than true lilac, another way it separates itself from the more bombastic flower which most of us recall from childhood memories. I like the way it extends the lilac season, and the way it stays on the summer side of spring, nudging the season into the sunnier path of heat and warmth.
P!nk occupies a sparkling spot in the pop culture firmament, and she’s one of those artists who has a bottomless pile of hit songs that go so far back you forget how much goodness there is in such a body of work. She recently won this year’s Billboard Music Icon Award, which is why she’s back on everyone’s mind – but to so many she never left, and I admire that kind of resilience and power. She earns her first Dazzler of the Day just for being herself for an eternity in the pop music game.
After missing last year’s BroSox Adventure, both Skip and I are doing our best to temper our excitement and expectations for our Return to Boston next month. Lower expectations are the best and smartest route to take when emotionally prepping for a weekend away these days. We’ve had one too many events canceled over the last year plus, so I’ll be content with a simple weekend in my favorite city.
Truth be told, it’s never the big bombastic events and moments that make up the most resonant memories I keep of Boston – it’s the quiet in-between sections, the down-time that occupies the majority of a weekend away. A simple selection of croissants from Cafe Madeleine, or the early afternoon siesta that somehow seems to happen even when it’s never scheduled. The casual looseness of a little pied-à-terre tucked away on the second floor of a brownstone, looking out over a gurgling fountain… the simple minutes of stillness that border on mindfulness… the feeling of being completely removed from the world while in the center of the city… this is Boston when the summer slips into place.
