The Catholics are kicking off Lent with their annual Ash Wednesday tradition this week, that dusty Dirty Sanchez to the forehead that starts the pre-Easter period of penance.
I’ll do my guilt-ridden part by trying not to eat meat on Fridays, but being that I love fish there’s no Elton John sacrifice. How long will it be before this entire blog slips into obscure song lyrics and inside jokes? IYKYK & WWJD & WWD.
From a couple who’s been doing this for twenty five years, buy your Valentine’s chocolate and flowers the day after Valentine’s Day.
Once upon a Valentine’s Day, I wrote valentine cards to all the girls I loved before.
I channeled Willie Nelson for this one.
Having never had a problem with socks staying up, or stockings for that matter, or anything now that I think about it, the only purpose for these little garter belts is purely aesthetic. A pose and a mood – not unlike today’s faux-holiday.
Rather than go all out on this Valentine’s Day post, I’m keeping it simple and obscure, in line with this Winter Obscura theme. The truth is most of us aren’t really sure about anything anymore, and who the hell am I to try to figure out anyone other than myself? There’s enough work and trauma in that.
If you’re on the hunt for something more, check out the previous decade of V-Day posts – when cheesy pop songs were enough to change the world. It was a more quaint time, a sillier time, a more innocent time…
We had a phone like this in our kitchen when I was growing up. It wasn’t red, it was white, well, off-white and dirty by the time my memory serves. Its cord was long and winding, often twisted around itself but still allowing my Mom to cook while talking all the way across the kitchen. Managing such a cord was a rite of passage for those of us raised in the 80’s; it kept us tethered to our kitchens, physically bound and grounded to our homes in a way that the current generation can never quite understand.
The world feels like it’s missing that sort of stability, and that people no longer have a stalwart foundation the way some of us had with a single home for the duration of our childhoods. Another example of gratitude and luck, and ideal for a Virgo like myself who sometimes finds change to be a challenge.
“If you don’t like my peaches, don’t shake my tree.”
I forget who said it, I just appreciate the sentiment. So many people are getting up in arms over issues that are either none of their business or drama that is entirely of their own creation. In the words of another wise soul, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!“
PS – The Juicy Peachy Lychee skincare collection from the Beekman Boys is ginger peachy indeedy.
PPS – Kiss my peach.
Once upon a time in the twenty-three-year history of this blog, a post could consist solely of pictures. Let’s bring that tradition back, for both our sakes.
Not gonna lie, I’m not really closely watching the Super Bowl this year (nor do I care who wins), but I’ll be casually paying attention until the Bad Bunny show begins. (There’s also reportedly a powerful commercial by some of the Epstein survivors, a plea to release all the documents that the current President is still trying to hide because they are obviously awful for him.)
But back to Mr. Bunny, who already has the ignorant masses up in arms because some of them think he’s not an American citizen (he is) and that Puerto Rico isn’t part of America (it is). This grand display is a giant fuck-off to that sort of racist and decidedly un-American lack-of-thought, so I’m celebrating all things Bad Bunny tonight, including the following hotter-than-hot Bad Bunny blog posts:
Bad Bunny as Dazzler of the Day.
Bad Bunny in a Santa’s hat and not much else.
Bad Bunny in nothing but his Calvins.
Bad Bunny naked but for a life-vest on a jet ski.
And that time Bad Bunny went full-frontal naked for this special day.
Holy shit – it’s February and I totally missed marking the actual anniversary of this website, which first went live in January 2003. Even then, in what was the relatively-recent aftermath of 9/11, it still felt like such a quaint time, a time of innocence, of reasonable political discussion/differences, of basic decency and, well, sanity.
This website was a lot more frivolous then, and the content was a lot less voluminous. Pumping out thousands of words a week at about three posts a day is an incredible amount of work, and it didn’t always used to be like this. It comes naturally now, but when you think about and dive into the archives (or just keep clicking ‘Older entries’ at the bottom of this page to see how far back things truly go) I contribute a substantial load of content.
As a labor of love (I really just like to write) it’s something I would be doing with or without an audience, and that hasn’t changed in the twenty-three years I’ve been doing this. Not that you aren’t appreciated and adored dear reader (yes, you) – I’ve simply never been beholden to anyone or anything. That’s important if you want to maintain a sense of self in a world that wants us all to conform and be like everybody else. In the beginning it was mostly the result of ego and self-obsession – over the years it’s evolved into something slightly less self-serving.
While the purpose may still be one of self-exploration in the pursuit of self-improvement, my beloved cast of characters asserted themselves as proof that I do not exist in a vacuum of solitude. Comfort and concern are both present there, and I can’t do much without my friends and family. They’ve become integral characters to the narrative and plot that so evenly unfolds in these parts, and it’s been one of the happier realizations of these decades that they drive so much of what I do.
And so we slide officially into our twenty-third year of this messy, moody, magnificent morass where I’ve exposed bits and bobs of vulnerability, haughtiness, hubris, doubt, insecurity, joy, pleasure, sorrow, rage, reckoning and beautiful ruin – and I’ll keep doing this for as long as I can stand it. Happy 23rd!!
Ann and I were texting memories of the Saturday night card games of our youth, and both of us realized that we wouldn’t change a thing about those days. It got me thinking how absolutely lucky we were to have grown up in the 80’s, in a world before the internet, before cel phones, before the wretched madness that has gripped this country.
We roamed the streets and neighborhoods freely from dawn to dusk, returning home only for dinner and darkness. In so many ways and respects, we were so much more free and untethered to surveillance and hovering parents – and so much better for it. We were organically learning lessons on how to survive on our own – and the first part was being ok on your own, unattached to the security blanket of a phone. It taught us real independence, and the ability to find our way without help or instruction or support.
When we weren’t playing cards with the ladies, Ann and I would traverse the little city we called home with our friends, reveling in our freedom and reveling in our friendship.
Whenever I find myself getting upset at another driver on the road, I try to channel Ferris Bueller’s father. At the end of that movie, he is driving behind an ancient woman who is going well below the speed limit, swerving wildly, and acting all kinds of a menace. As he finally manages to pass her he gives a wave and a smile dripping with just the slightest bit of snark. He gets a bit muffed and annoyed, throwing his hands up in exasperation at one point, but mostly he just goes about his way, nonchalantly unbothered and unaffected.
In almost all road rage situations, there is only one party truly getting upset and angry, and it’s rarely the clueless perpetrator of poor driving. It’s best to just decide not to turn to rage, like the father of Ferris Bueller. All the best life lessons can be found in the movies of the 80’s. What a privilege to grow up in the hot bed of such knowledge.
“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
It appeared at a distance, then quickly advanced. In the sky, it looked like a hawk at first, but everything looked redder in the late day’s last bit of sun. The wingspan seemed larger than a hawk’s and as it neared I could see it was a bald eagle.
Might and majesty cresting overhead against a brilliant blue sky. This was the second one I’d seen in about as many months, and in the same area as well – they must reside in the nearby vicinity. A comforting thought unless you’re a fish or squirrel. Although if you’re a fish or a squirrel I suppose that’s just a small portion of the daily worries, especially in the winter.
When you boil things down to survival, so little else feels important.
Grasping for light and warmth in the basket of Andy’s car, I sit in contented silence as we drive back to the inn on a snowy Maine night. It is a moment of reflection for me, as Andy and my Mom hold their own conversation up front. I can only half-hear muffled words and occasional laughter. Sounds of solace on a freezing night. I’ve always enjoyed these moments – the cozy interior of a war car, a lavish coat around my shoulders, and a frigid world just outside the window.
The juxtaposition of comfort against an inhospitable atmosphere is a wickedly wonderful thrill – the way a cool bedroom makes the covers so much cozier.
On this evening, we are headed back for further thrilling contrasts – one of the unheralded and under-appreciated joys of winter. Still, I long for the months where the outside temperature isn’t this much of a drastic shift. The tease of March is right around the corner. In the meantime, I reach for the light…
The Swedes do this, or so I’ve read – these little snow forts hold candles and throw a warm light on a frigid winter night. What a charming notion – Scandinavia knows how to make winter into something magical. Perhaps the secret to happiness is somewhere on the path of finding light in darkness: happiness and purpose in the quest ~ the age-old idea of journey as destination.
There is nothing new in the notion, it’s the genuine realization that does feel like something different, maybe even growth. Another step toward the calm. Another stop toward the light.
Three bluejays were triangulating their coordinates around a birdseed bell that Andy had hung in the backyard. We’d been expecting the squirrels to commandeer it like they did in a matter of hours when we last hung a seed bell there, but the excessive snow may be acting as a deterrent. Better than greasing the string I suppose. The blue jays make for a prettier scene anyway, their plumage matching the sky and bringing some badly-needed color to the surroundings.
On a day when that pesky and infuriating groundhog saw his shadow – six more weeks of winter supposedly – these bluejays flitted around the backyard, giving me hope that spring is indeed on the way.
