Procured from the sea halfway across the world, they stand assembled and stuck in floral form. Both the flower and the seashell aspect feel far from such a cold almost-winter day, but they’re all we have as the wind and snow rages. Winter is the time for inhabiting the imagination.
In the whorls of these designs, I see swirling snow.
In the waves and ripples of this architecture, I see a spinning sea.
Do you see what I see?
I’m a Scrooge/Grinch about many things.
Inept holiday shoppers who have never navigated a mall before.
The Loudonville Price Chopper, where ten employees are lounging around the registers talking but only one register is open.
Those Salvation Army bell-ringers who are blithely unaware that the organization is still virulently-anti-gay, most recently uncovered as not wanting to hire gay people for their bell-ringing efforts. (As if!)
For my part, I can defend my abhorrence of all of the above pretty easily. What I cannot defend, and I apologize in advance, is my ill-will toward carolers. It’s an odd stance, as I don’t recall getting any carolers at our home in over a decade, but we have a troupe that goes around my work building, and I avoid them like the plague.
It’s just a strange thing to have a group of people, most of whom are strangers, standing in front of your door, singing their little hearts out and staring directly at you for the duration of a song or two. It is the epitome of awkwardness. (And I despise all awkwardness I didn’t have an active hand in creating.)
I also get weirdly emotional when a group of people sings to me, so in addition to feeling awkward and on-the-spot, I also feel uncomfortably moved, and I hate being so vulnerable in front of a group of onlookers. Especially when they’re smiling and singing like a bunch of idiots, spreading their Christmas cheer and bonhomie, making it all but impossible for me to critique them.
And then when they’re done, what do you do?
Do you tip them? Throw a bunch of coins at their feet?
Applaud? A lone pair of hands applauding sounds even sadder than silence.
More awkwardness ensues. If it’s frigid out, you have to invite them in for coffee or hot chocolate or something, right? I don’t want strangers in my house! Get the hell out of here!
That said, it could always be worse.
Like those beggar children at Halloween.
They swarm the spot where warmer water splashes into their little pond, huddling together as a December snow falls. Their moves minimal, they manage to expertly float in the tumultuous patch of water. Ice encroaches from the still corners where the water is colder. They are telling us, in their own way, that the world is about to slow down for the winter.
I feel sad to see them like that, even if they are unbothered by the change. Sad to see the winter so close, sad to see innocent animals at the mercy of the weather and the world. Sad at the simple beauty of a snowfall.
Over it all, the Buddha watches.
Stoic, calm, at peace.
The Buddha has seen it all before.
Kids.
Sometimes that’s all I can say.
And it’s more than enough.
Not sure where they learned to pose like this, but promise you it wasn’t from me.
My brother and I have been going to get the Ilagan family Christmas tree (off and on) for our entire lives. Some years we skip it, but eventually we get back around to driving over to Bob’s Tree Farm and picking out a tree for the family. For the past couple of years, we’ve brought the twins along with us, with dinner afterward, preferably at the cozy Cock & Bull. This year we set out for the same adventure.
Emi wore her sequined high-tops.
I was more than a little envious.
She also showed me an impromptu drawing she did. That’s me. (Why do I look so fat? Don’t answer.)
We made it to Bob’s Trees and found this reindeer, then quickly found an acceptable tree. What used to be the most fun part of the night had quickly become the most trying, as all I wanted was dinner at the Cock & Bull. I’d asked my brother to call and make sure they were open (last year they were closed for a holiday party so we ended up at another place that everyone complained about for an entire year).
Of course, he never called, and when we arrived the Cock & Bull was not open, so we ended up in the same place that he and the twins hated so much last year. I shrugged it off because, well, these things are not surprising.
We made the most of it and the twins were fine once they made their salad bar trip and shared some chicken tenders. The holidays are not always perfect, and when things don’t turn out as perfectly-planned as you like, the only thing to do is go with the flow.
Christmas has a way of softening the most righteously indignant among us.
As a lifelong Madonna fan who loves almost everything the woman has done, it should come as no surprise that I was completely enthralled by this speech. Give it a listen, as she is doing something she has never done before. Just when you think she can no longer surprise or stage a rebellion, think again.
… is to be in the Carpool Karaoke car with James Corden.
Don’t deny it.
(PS – Kudos to Mr. Corden for the foresight needed to pull this amazing feat off.)
(PPS – And you know that Madonna just said no to all of it.)
Have you ever left a movie feeling like you want to cry and smile at the same time, and maybe die a little too? It’s not necessarily because you recognize yourself in any of the characters, but perhaps for the first time in your life you can admit to some regrets, and you no longer pretend you don’t have any. That’s how I felt when the stunning final scene of ‘Nocturnal Animals’ faded to black.
Directed by Tom Ford, this is not a film for everyone, even as I wish that everyone could experience it. Such beauty seems not long for this world, and though every frame is a work of art unto itself, the masses will never have the sense to embrace the multi-layered nuances and subtle styling of this mind-fuck of a film. That’s ok. Much like his Private Blends, Ford’s latest film is a potent dose of bittersweet beauty. It’s also a striking companion to his equally-riveting directorial debut, ‘A Single Man.’
‘Nocturnal Animals’ finds a successful art doyenne, Susan, looking back on her first marriage to Edward, as she receives a book written by him. The book plays out within the movie, featuring Jake Gyllenhaal as both Edward and Tony, the protagonist of the book. Amy Adams give deceptively soul-less life to the current-day Susan, instilling her tight-rope-tense character with just enough vulnerability to tease out a life of regret, while Gyllenhaal gives a raw, naked gut-wrenching performance in both of his roles.
The macabre tale-within-a-tale narrative is a brutal mirror of how Edward now views his relationship with Susan, and the violent acts within are barely tempered by the fact that this is a work of art and supposed fiction.
There is a bitter element of realizing that what we give up to get what we think we want is often something we may never get back. The relative notions of success are also imbued with ambivalence.
As much as some may covet Susan’s spectacular home and flawless wardrobe, it is clear there is little happiness in her life. While we never see the modern-day Edward, his presence is felt through Susan’s eyes. He is made thrillingly palpable, and all the more insidious, by the diabolically subtle way in which Ford reveals the almost sinister act of revenge by the betrayed.
It is the province and privilege of youth to display an absolutely-no-regrets mentality, a sense of owning everything you’ve done, and all the choices you’ve made. For most of my life, I’ve fallen into that trap. Ford’s film seems to give warning to that notion while also celebrating it, warping one woman’s regret into an emptiness that threatens to devour her.
Despite its somber tone and deliberate pace, and in the face of all of Ford’s gorgeous cinematic flair, this is a brutal film, one that examines our regrets, and the ways in which we deal with heartache and loss. By the time the devastating final scene plays out, the bleak totality of these characters, and the very modern carelessness we’ve come to embrace when it comes to love, washes over the cinematic landscape like a chilly desert morning. There is a stunning, barren, stark beauty here ~ the gorgeous and tragic realization that no matter how carefully we guard ourselves against the world, its pain is something no one escapes.
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
The conception was anything but immaculate…
The birth was bloody…
But in the end, peace reigned supreme.
Some holiday cards don’t require fanfare or hype because they stand alone and will garner their own messy splash. Such is the case this year, when the image will likely be misconstrued and misunderstood, with people bringing their own sensitivity and hang-ups into the equation. This has already been the most controversial card in many years: for the first time ever, a printer refused to print it, canceling my order of 200 cards (and then having the gall to continue sending catalogs to my house). I’ve also judiciously trimmed my recipient list (yes, there are usually way more than 200 cards sent out) so if anyone gets offended here it’s by their own free will for visiting. I never promised you a rose garden. Without further ado, here we go. Spread ’em:
This was my homage to the Virgin Mary, and a twist on her famous birth-giving. Originally, I thought I might swaddle myself in some rags and construct a make-shift manger, throw some hay around, find a trio of wise-ass men and call it a day. But the logistics of constructing a manger that would support my size and weight, as well as the impossibility of renting farm animals for a couple of hours, proved too unwieldy. So I settled for this Walmart baby, some fake blood, and a hospital gown. Hey – I wanted ‘Mary Christmas!!!’
May God grant mercy on my soul for this card… and add it to the list.
This is the time of the year when the calendar gets filled with parties and events, and the dinners and get-togethers that make the early descent of darkness a bearable thing until the days start to get longer again. There is a sense of excitement in the cold air, accented by the sparkle of holiday lights, the flickering of candles, the Christmas trees that illuminate the darker corners of our homes. And then there is the merry-making and cheerful greetings as friends and family gather to be together at this tail-end of the calendar year. Yet for all of that, I find my most peaceful and tranquil moments in the early morning, after a night out, when the sun is streaming into the living room. Everyone else in the house is asleep, and I pad quietly out to the kitchen to make a cup of green tea.
A recording of a flute and koto plays in the background, and a stick of Japanese incense burns by the window. A few spires of paperwhite narcissus rise from their glass bowls, their heady fragrance mingling with the incense in unlikely but fine fashion. It is a moment of peace.
I sit on a leopard-patterned chair that allows a full view of my favorite room. A Korean tansu rises to my right. A clown loach swims idly around the aquarium to my left. My eyes follow the rising stream of burning incense in the sunlight.
Soon, the house will wake. Guests will shake off the revelry of the previous evening. I’ll press a button and coffee will start brewing. The holiday season will pick up where it left off. Yet I’ll have had my moment, and I’ll want to join in the fun again.
Having learned a thing or two about sibling relationships, particularly among two brothers, I feel I need to head off any animosity or envy produced by this morning’s post on Nick Jonas with this brief sexy post of his brother Joe. I’m not saying Joe needs any help in standing his shirtless ground against Nick, as he did so memorably here, but fair is fair, and I don’t want to be the wedge in a Jonas fighting sandwich.
Every now and then you need to start the day with someone almost shirtless. Preferably every day, but since we like to balance things out here, that’s not always the case. Today I’m giving you what you want, in the very fit form of Nick Jonas and his blazing guns. I’m hoping there will be more of this Jonas in the next year, as his peeks of nudity have been tantalizingly brief, even if rather satisfying. One more half-naked photo shoot, and he may get his coveted second turn as Hunk of the Day. He’s come a long way since his brotherly beginnings, and most of that journey has clearly been in the gym. But in the words of Reading Rainbow, you don’t have to take my word for it.
Behold the Manhattan.
Though I prefer most of my cocktails on the less-sweet side of things, I do indulge in a Maker’s Mark Manhattan now and then. It’s not technically winter yet, but at 30 degrees it certainly feels like it, so I say let Manhattan season begin. This is my favorite warming drink. As cold as it is, the whiskey just warms the soul from the inside out.
It was a quiet Thanksgiving, but sometimes those are the best. And quite frankly, we probably won’t see a really quiet Thanksgiving until the twins gain about ten years. In the meantime, there is joyful noise and running around, and somewhere in the middle of it all a moment to sit down, give thanks, and enjoy a home-cooked meal.
PS – Keep your eyes peeled for a Special Guest Appearance by the OG Ko Jello Salad!
It’s the stuff of cartoons and claymation, daydreams and childhood fantasies. As a kid, we had various toys of stuffed or wooden animals, and a few pieces of forest items to provide cover for them. A cloth log, rough and plain on the outside, opened up to reveal a hidden world of retreat for a family of chipmunks. A roaring fire was in the center of it all, and there was even a table where the family would have its dinner. In my mind, all of this was plausible, all of it was rife with cozy possibility.
The imagination can make a hearth in the middle of a winter forest. I wanted to believe that they felt the same comfort and warmth that we did. I longed to think that a chipmunk family could come together at the end of the day, put on their little nightcaps, and snuggle into their sleeping compartments until the sun peeked in the next day. Kids can will such happenings into existence. That’s the magic of childhood. The magic of Christmas.
