Closing in on these final months of my 50th year on earth, I find myself in consideration of all things temporal, such as this aptly-named daylily. Each blooms lasts only a day, but what joy can be found in a single day. As I get older and the days seem to slip by faster and faster, I feel the fleeting things to enjoy, the things that I know won’t always be in abundance – the ease of movement (though that’s already dwindling), the head of hair (though that’s gray), the relative health (though I need a bigger pill box for the statins and prils). It also makes me want to do all the things I’ve been putting off – traveling, spending more time in Boston, finally finishing my “new” project that’s been in the works since 2019. There’s an urgency to the days now, and I’m reminded of that in the face of this beautiful daylily.
Perhaps I need to get back to growing daylilies – for some reason I never quite got back into them after planting a collection from Wayside Gardens at my parents’ home several decades ago. I wonder if they’re still there – this is a tough plant that can last for decades, sometimes into a century if divided and cared for well enough. I’d put in six or seven plants to form a border between the well-kept and manicured lawn and the more wild forest behind the house. Each summer morning I’d go out and pull off the blooms that had expired in the night before and examine any new ones that had come into bloom that day.
While each bloom may only last a single day, each stem usually produced a number of buds that open over the course of a week, spacing themselves out to give a decent-enough showing. Some varieties have been bred into giving regular repeat blooms, with a second blooming season later on. The strap-like foliage remains fresh and vibrant the whole summer season, making this a lovely addition to any garden plan. I think I’ve about talked myself into finding room for one.
The world, and especially this wayward country, needs more heroes like Air Force Major Jason Watson, who earns his first Dazzler of the Day honor for standing up in uniform against the racist/rapist currently acting as President of our great nation. Of course, this administration arrested Watson for protesting in uniform, but it was the act and the message that mattered, and I wish more people in power, who had more actual sway than the rest of us, would show similar courage.
This is what our country has come to under the current Trump nightmare: a local business feels emboldened to post racist and hateful speech against Muslims in response to a family who just lost their seven-year-old son. (Yes, you read that correctly, even if it seems incomprehensible.) Welcome to the current GOP-led America, and to a bunch of hateful people in our area. Taste of Italy in Latham, NY posted the screenshot below in response to someone’s child dying.
So very Christian of them, I know. It’s not the first time this establishment has seemingly dabbled in hate speech – do a little online sleuthing and listen to this lady’s own words: “I think Trump is doing a wonderful job. I love his negotiation tactics. He goes right for their throat. Very efficient. Very scary. Very effective. I love it. I’ll kill your entire civilization if you don’t do what I say, period. (Background voice: ‘I’ll kill your lesbian mother.’)”
Now it seems they are facing some backlash because, well, awful people aren’t usually looked on favorably especially when they want business.
“I love America more than any other country in the world and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.” – James Baldwin
Based on an overwhelming lack of requests, here are some Freedom Speedo and Jockstrap pics for your viewing displeasure. (And for anyone coming at me with flag or patriotism critiques, see January 6th and go molest someone else.)
Why do people – usually the worst people – decide to try to fix all their work issues on Friday at 3 PM and expect everyone else to solve such self-induced dilemmas before 4 PM?
As can be seen, and correctly surmised from my upper-body attire, my affection lies more with London, England these days than Washington, DC. (Relax – it’s only because I hate fascism and dictators and rapists – and all those who enable such monsters to flourish.)
Madonna once proclaimed that you can never do the same thing twice, no matter how fierce. She was talking about making her ‘Erotica’ album in 1992, but after over four decades of making music and magic our queen of reinvention is recalling her past glories, while looking defiantly into the future. Her first album of new music in seven years (the absolute longest stretch of time without new Madonna music in her entire career) ‘Confessions II‘ is the companion piece to 2005’s ‘Confessions On A Dancefloor‘ but it probably should have come with its own title, as it stands alone as a work of individual art.
For all the naysayers that complain she’s still putting out photo shoots and new music while being less than nimble as she once was, the sexism and ageism is only showing their bitterness; Madonna is going to be Madonna, as she’s always been, and they’re still talking about her like it’s 1985 all over again.
While the original ‘Confessions’ was technically a seamlessly mixed group of songs, they were very much distinct and easily distinguished from each other, which made for a traditional album. This time around, the music feels more cohesive and closely linked, the sonic landscape a journey and an experience to be taken as a whole. It works like a DJ set at the clubs as Madonna used to run them, and opening salvo ‘I Feel So Free’ echoes her own ‘Future Lovers‘ which itself took its sound from Donna Summer‘s ‘I Feel Love’, setting the tone and the feel for the music to follow. Lyrically, and with frequent spoken bits, Madonna maintains the confessional mood throughout the album, notably sharing the spotlight and volleying with pop-star-of-the-moment Sabrina Carpenter, whom she asks “What are you doing it for? Is it for you? Is it them? I got something I wanna talk about.” A more glaring understatement Madonna has never made – she’s been talking for years about all that’s important to her, and sparking an international discussion on topics like sexism, homophobia, racism, and ageism.
Credit and respect must be paid to Stuart Price, who was responsible for the original ‘Confessions’ album, and whose DJ expertise has created the musical thread of hypnotic beats that runs through the heart of the proceedings; here he cements his status as one of her most important collaborators, on the level of Patrick Leonard, Stephen Bray, Shep Pettibone, William Orbit and Mirwais.
While the first few releases (‘I Feel So Free’, ‘Bring Your Love’ and ‘Love Sensation‘) were brilliantly rolled out to build momentum, it’s the next single, the banger ‘Danceteria’, that helms the record, nodding to the past and Madonna’s historical place in New York’s dance club scene. It gives lifelong fans the lifeblood that is a perfect Madonna dance song, one that name-checks her iconic crew from the 80’s, reminding us of a world long lost – a world of unabashed joy, where the only things that mattered were the dance floor, the music, and perhaps a cute boy who had the courage to dance with you.
‘Everything’ is a plea to live life outside, its racing, jittery, relentless pace driving the sort of urgent demand to meet the moment that only Madonna knows so well. In ‘Bizarre’, she paints a dramatically cinematic abstract about a relationship gone every which way but right, while on ‘School’ she seems desperate to be taught something new, something she doesn’t already know, which, when you’ve lived a life like Madonna, is a pretty tall order. Her hunger is palpable, working through artistic metaphors and seeking someone to teach her something novel about love.
‘Confessions II’ is on its surface celebratory and euphoric, yet it proves itself more resonant and rooted in deeper emotions and ruminations, particularly on the cuts where Madonna references family issues such as the loss of her brother Christopher (‘Fragile’) and her relationship with her daughter (‘The Test’) which features vocals by Madonna’s eldest Lourdes.
In the seven long years since her last original album, Madonna’s been through a lot – including a near-death experience. That sort of drama informs all that’s at work here, lending the soundscape an urgency and gravitas that transcends the boundaries of the dance floor, even if that’s where Madonna finds her salvation – it’s the place she has always found salvation, and this return feels especially poignant and powerful. After almost four and a half decades in the music business, the Queen retains her crown.
Petunias are a classic, if overly-used, annual that provides boffo floral bang for their bucks. I’ve come to appreciate such a powerhouse bloomer, though when I tried accenting our garden with a few of them lats year, they were devoured by a rabbit or groundhog before they ever got going. When they do manage to survive such attacks, they will sometimes manage to reseed themselves the next year, though never in a place nearby. Such mysteries are what makes gardening to fascinating to me. One never knows what’s going to pop up, or where or when. It’s good to have the unexpected to keep you on your toes.
As for this beautiful variety, I love the way the shades of the petals change, and all the intricate veining. Nature is wonderfully astounding when you take in her infinite variety – and I don’t mind if it’s the work of hybridizers. A little nudge never hurt anyone, unless they were standing on the edge of a cliff or something, and these petunias were nowhere near cliffside. This has been a remarkably dumb post, and I’m attributing it to the heat. Summer makes fools of us all.
Reflected off the pool, the light of the day is blue, especially when shaded by a cherry tree in full summer leaf. In the high heat of the afternoon, where we’ve been maxing out in the mid-90’s, the end of my work day is marked by a plunge into the pool, but it’s so there is only momentary reprieve to be found. The moment you surface, the hot air is back in your lungs, choking you from the inside out. One can’t stay safely underwater for that long; the brain and the body require more oxygen than the coolness would provide. I’m not about to trade this inferno in early for the one I may be destined for later on.
It’s not a particularly favorite state of mind, as wildly familiar as it sometimes seems.
A melancholy summer seems a bit of an oxymoron, an unfair alignment with an emotion that seems the antithesis of what should be the sunny happy season. My infuriating pathology is such that it goes against the happy grain when sunny days are expected. I’m as much a dark cloud as a hoot and a half – it’s generally a pesky problem for all who try so hard to love me.
In the high heat of summer, after a night rain, the day begins in hazy focus or lack there-of. The eye moves in on water and light, while the grass rises to shake it off, slowly bending upward and letting any remaining raindrops fall into the ground. Summer awakens and rights the day.
I like the silence of early summer mornings when the birds aren’t even singing and the cicadas haven’t started their incessant moan. The pool is still, the air doesn’t move, and even the fountain grass that moves in the most slight of breezes stands frozen as if in sculpture. It puts me in mind of a favorite poem by Pablo Neruda, which features a favorite word.
As all things are filled with my soul you emerge from the things, filled with my soul. You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream, and you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away. It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove. And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you: Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring. You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations. Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent, distant and full of sorrow as though you had died. One word then, one smile is enough. And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.
Today it signifies my current state of mind, which I caught to put in check just in the nick of time.
An explanation of that sentence then, awkward and stilted and inelegant – all the things I try not to be: my mind was already racing toward fall, planning and plotting out a fall theme for this website, figuring out the fall wardrobe, and breaking in a special pair of fall boots. Summer is but a few days old, and I was already working on fall – and that was simply madness.
As I said, I caught it just in time to realize how stupid I was being to jump ahead and lose the present moment of the sunny season, especially this week when summer turns to high. And so I put the fall on rightful pause, and indulged in the pool and the garden and the summer at hand. Bringing myself back to the present moment and taking myself out of the phone and out of the future felt like a remarkable relief.
Way back in the 1980’s, when I was but a wee lad, I don’t recall the crop top craze for guys, but I was so young that fashion hadn’t yet crossed my brainwaves. I’m told, and grainy photos will attest, that men did indeed enjoy their crop top moment – and I wish I had done so when it was easier to maintain a svelte figure than it is at my current age. Regardless, some decent lighting and trick angles, along with sucking in the gut at precisely the right moment manage to convince the world that things are all still somewhat presentable for the masses.
This post kicks off our July, in which this wayward country celebrates its 250th anniversary – such a shame we have such a moron sitting in and defiling the Presidency. The patriotic posts you’re about to see are all tongue-in-cheek, as I can’t genuinely celebrate what we’ve become right now, and America has always been about keeping the right to criticize. At least, it was.
There’s a Fourth of July post coming up here, if I choose to post those jockstrap pics – it’s so hard to decide what best personifies the USA right now, but if it’s not a jockstrap I’m hard-pressed to find something more fitting. Come on back to see that show if I’m brave enough to do it (and I’m always brave enough to do it).
