At last he realized that his entire life could be summed up as the quest to normalize the word ‘no’ as a possibility, a sentence, and an answer to life’s most confoundingly annoying problems.
In the end – in our ending – it is, it will be, it was – the way before, the way after – a seed of a beginning.
This is the way you left me, I’m not pretending No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending This is the way that we love, like it’s forever Then live the rest of our life, but not together
Wake up in the mornin’, stumble on my life Can’t get no love without sacrifice If anything should happen, I’d guess I wish you well Mmh, a little bit of Heaven, but a little bit of Hell
This is the hardest story that I’ve ever told No hope, or love, or glory, happy ending’s gone forevermore
There’s a party going on in here It’s been happenin’ for many years You weren’t invited and don’t want to stay But keep partying anyway DJ’s playin’ my familiar tune Got them dancin’, shakin’ up the room They hear the beat, but they don’t know the words This is the saddest song I’ve ever heard
If you could look into the future, would ya? If you could see it, would you even want to? I’ve got a feeling that there’s bad news coming But I don’t want to find it out
If it’s the end of the world, let’s party Like it’s the end of the world, let’s party Wrap your arms around, everybody If we’re all gonna die, let’s party Let’s party, let’s party
Who can I blame with everythin’ I’ve done? Is this the price we pay for too much fun? Don’t be misled; it’s not a twist of fate It’s just what happens when you stay out late So raise your glasses, all my kings and queens Smash the chandelier to smithereens Who knew that mercury could rise so fast? Enjoy the party ’cause this is our last
If it’s the end of the world, let’s party Like it’s the end of the world, let’s party Wrap your arms around, everybody If we’re all gonna die, let’s party
If it’s the end of the world, let’s party Like it’s the end of the world, let’s party Wrap your arms around, everybody If we’re all gonna die, let’s party
There’s a party goin’ on in here It’s been happenin’ for many years And even if it all goes bad It was the best time we ever had
Who is she? Blonde goddess, lollipop-licking, candy perfumed, sunglass-shielding diva of divine status: who are you? Who are we? A million different people from one day to the next, and none of them very real, none of them very likable, none of them very authentic or genuine. A diva’s greatest lament is in not truly knowing who she is, because a diva should always know who she is.
That’s the essence of a diva: the certainty and belief in their own self. If that self is mutable and changeable, if that self can transform and transition, if change and transformation are the essence of this diva, does that make them any less?
One day the diva decides to take it off – the masks, the costumes, the make-up, and the sparkle – to see who might be underneath it all. The diva knows this is dangerous; there is always the risk of revealing too much, and by too much she knows this means there might be too little there to constitute anything of matter or meaning. What if it really was just a bunch of poses?
A hair-bumped reprieve at that moment when the guests have all gone, the candles have been blown out, and the saddest strings of smoke hang limply in the air.
We have reached the penultimate weekend of our posting schedule for The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale. Revisiting this project from 2005 has been a mostly-amusing, and occasionally-arduous exercise over the past summer season. It’s allowed me to re-examine choices (sartorially and emotionally), re-evaluate plans and hopes, and re-align the vision I had back then with whatever slight wisdom I may have gained in the past twenty years.
This mini-cliff-hanger before next weekend’s planned finale sets up the dark ending that was the only way this project was ever going to end. It shouldn’t come as any surprise, but even the most expected outcomes carry with them a sliver of hope that things might have gone a different direction. It’s the essence of being human: hoping against the inevitable and hanging onto a belief that anything could ever last. In some ways, this project was my way of reconciling myself to the end, because there is always an end, even if we don’t yet see one.
Lest anyone sound the alarms or call the po-po, this is a reminder that The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale was released twenty years ago. The ending at hand is purely metaphorical, and reveals more the destruction of this fairyland and the end of a mode of living that delved perhaps a bit too much into the realm of fantasy. It may strike with a greater resonance given the current world climate, and the desire to escape from a very real awfulness, but back then things weren’t nearly as serious.
And so, the end is near, and we are about to face the final curtain…
When all is stripped away,
when all is revealed,
when all else is gone,
All Is Vanity.
Married to darkness, bound to night, our diva is poised on the precipice of flight or falling.
Stilled at the right moment, who could tell the difference?
LAUGHING SCREAMING TUMBLING QUEEN LIKE THE MOST AMAZING LIGHT SHOW THAT YOU’VE EVER SEEN WHIRLING SWIRLING NEVER BLUE HOW COULD YOU GO AND DIE, WHAT A SELFISH THING TO DO
DID YOU EVER ASK THOSE STRANGERS WHAT THEY’RE SEARCHING FOR? DID THEY LAUGH AND TELL YOU THEY’RE NOT REALLY SURE? YOU WERE HURT BY LOVE BUT STILL YOU CAME RIGHT BACK FOR MORE IL ADORE, IL ADORE, IL ADORE…
Andy and I are always sad to see the summer go, especially when we haven’t had as much pool time as usual. The season began later, peaked with a few solid weeks of hot weather, then retreated into the cooler nights. In a large part, this summer was a wash for any number of reasons – maybe one day we’ll get into all the messiness of it – in the meantime I reserve the right to return to all that happened should things refuse to improve.
This weekend, Suzie and I are traveling to Boston for a belated birthday dinner – the last of my close-friend celebrations for fifty – and a launching pad for the fall about to arrive.
When we return, I hope that Andy and I get a few more days in the pool before the season comes to a close. That’s the only to-do-list we need to complete.
Last weekend we had Noah over for a jam-packed Saturday sleepover following his soccer game. (He’s still fundraising for his team, and only about halfway to his goal, so if you’re so inclined please check out the donation page here.) We had Suzie’s family over for a pizza dinner, and when that was done Noah and I headed out for a late showing of ‘Superman’ (and a 10:25 PM start time for a movie is just too late for my old ass, but I did it).
The next morning we woke early to avoid the rush of brunch at Cafe Madison, then hit the road for a spur-of-the-moment trip to Manchester, Vermont to get the Maple Creme that Suzie I discovered at The Maple Reserve. It was Noah’s first time trying one of these amazing treats, and he confirmed it was worth the drive.
Whenever I hang out with the twins, I learn something. Sometimes it’s a new way of looking at life, sometimes it’s a new app or setting to take a picture on my phone, and sometimes it’s a little deeper – like some treatise on time itself – how it moves, how it repeats, how it evolves and keeps us going.
Noah is almost a young man, and I feel how quickly time is rushing us along.
Perhaps it was their ubiquitous use in the floral arrangements of St. Mary’s church that made me rebel against the gladiolus from a young age, but whatever the case I’ve only warmed to this stunner in recent years. They’ve been showing up in the markets over the past few weeks, and I’ve been replenishing our prettiest vase with their various color schemes. This time it’s the warm hues of these fiery-throated beauties captured here.
Red-beards have their own fan club in certain circles, as does the gladiolus, whose colors and varieties are as varied as the daylily and iris world. The person checking me out of Trader Joe’s, where I picked these beauties up, shared with me a trick for getting them to bloom all the way to the end of their stalks: snip off the top inch or two of the tip – it can be done by carefully peeling back the outer green protective sheath so you barely notice that anything was cut. This variation on a circumcision supposedly stimulates the plant into blooming the entire length of its stalk, and based on these blooms it seems to be working.
Tomorrow would have marked my Dad’s 95th birthday, had he lived that long, but 92 was a good run, and we remember and celebrate him a little bit each day since he left. As tomorrow is 9/11, and this site has always gone dark on that day, I’m writing this little tribute a day early, and posting it just before the midnight hour.
An impromptu and unplanned visit to the cemetery revealed the beauty of a September afternoon. Dad was born on what has typically been a beautiful day – a day when summer’s warmth still lingers, but the comforting coolness of fall has seeped into the night to take the edge off. Like me, Dad was a true-blue Virgo – organized, punctual, perfectionist, exacting, critical, and grounded. It served him well, and I learned a great deal from such order, because I saw how easier things could be when executed properly and done well.
At the top of the hill where he rests, a cool breeze blows beneath the afternoon sun. Clouds roll dramatically across the sky and stalks of goldenrod nod in the distance. A patch of wilderness on the edge of the cemetery is littered with wildflowers still in bloom. While the roses have gone, leaving their hips and thorny warnings, purple and pink blooms have taken their place, gorgeously placed against foliage about to fade from chartreuse to yellow – a reverse return to spring’s original color scheme. Nature loves a full circle.
The wind has grown colder, and I don’t mind it. It feels fitting, like a gentle initiation into the fall to come. When I reach down to place my hand on Dad’s name, the dark stone is still quite warm from the sun. It surprises me – I expected it to be cool to the touch. The unlikely heat reminds me that there is still life here, and that Dad is still with me.
While it came out eight years ago, this song is the song that Noah has proclaimed the song of the summer, and since Emi chose the theme to begin the season, it seems fitting that Noah should choose the song as we near the end. The visuals from the video perfectly correspond to our Island Summer, even if it’s been somewhat of a dud. Lyrically, I don’t know about this one… scary what the kids are hearing these days, but maybe every fifty-year-old uncle says that when they’ve rounded the mid-section of life and there is more behind them than ahead.
All this jewelry ain’t no use when it’s this dark It’s my favorite part, we see the lights, they got so far It went too fast, we couldn’t reach it with our arms Wrist on a wrist, a link of charms, yeah Laying, we’re still a link apart It’s like we could die here all young Like we could dye hair all blonde If we could see in twenty twin Twice we could see it ’til the end
This summer definitely had a melancholy vibe to it – transitions, transformations, realizations, reconciliations, resignations – and there’s still a few more weeks of it. For one of the few times, I’m not sorry to see it go, and I’ve already been focused on fall because what’s ahead always has the possibility of being better.
Another possibility exists too, I’m aware. We shall see what we shall see.
Suzie recently remarked that I would be good at living a rich life (such as illustrated by this recent Raffles Boston experience) as I’d appreciate all the beauty and opulence of such an existence. I was like, well DUH. Until such time that Andy’s big lottery win comes in, however, I’ll have to find the willpower to live far outside the realm of that opulence. I’ve done it for fifty years, and I can do it for another fifty. Still, let’s manifest that windfall in the likely event that I simply tire out. Happens to the best of us. In the meantime, a fun Sabrina Carpenter bop to ponder:
I like a few of the cuts from Ms. Carpenter’s latest album, and this one reads on so many levels it approaches the brilliance of Madonna’s double-entendre-laced early days.
My man on his willpower is something I don’t understand He fell in love with self-restraint, and now it’s getting out of hand He used to be literally obsessed with me I’m suddenly the least sought-after girl in the land Oh, my man on his willpower is something I don’t under-, something I don’t understand
My man on his willpower is something I don’t understand He fell in love with self-restraint, and now it’s getting out of hand He used to be literally obsessed with me I’m suddenly the least sought-after girl in the land Oh, my man on his willpower is something I don’t under-, something I don’t understand
