Category Archives: General

A coupe of years ago, while I was working on the Bardo: A Dream Surreal project, I spent the night at my childhood home. My parents were away for the weekend – this was before the twins arrived and they still got away for weekends. The day was cold, and I stopped by my brother’s house to say hello and get sundaes from Fariello’s. When I returned to the house, it was already dark. I shot a few photos for the project – a candelabra was involved, throwing flickering shadows down the hallway and up the stairs. Had I not grown up in the house, I would have been rather frightened by being there alone. As it was, I knew it well, but there is still something scary about being in a house all alone on a cold night in January.

I turned on the television. ‘The Way We Were’ was just starting. Now, gay men of a certain age please turn away, I’ve never been a big Barbra Streisand fan. I’m just not. Yes, she can sing, yes, she can act, yes, she can direct. I’m simply not impressed by much of it. That said, many people have told me that I just need to sit through one of her movies to witness the magic. While I could admit a certain fondness for ‘Funny Girl’ (mostly because of the costumes and that train case), that’s where my time with Ms. Streisand ended.

Yet on this lonely night, when the cold threatened to drive me under the covers and into the darkness, I threw myself onto my parents’ bed and watched the story starring Ms. Streisand and a very youthful Robert Redford unfold. Circumstances and surroundings conspired to put me in the perfect mood for this movie, and I must confess to being moved by it, and some of the music. It took me out of the darkness and into another world, the way only the best movies manage to do. I forgot about any fear in my heart, or anything lurking in the rest of the dark house, and I followed these two characters as they made their way to California and back.

I went to bed comforted, and content. Snow fell during the night, muffling the house from any outside noise. I awoke and shoveled the driveway quickly, then went back to my own home.

Do I care that Beyonce lip-synced the National Anthem at the Presidential Inauguration? Not really. I do somewhat mind that I was duped, as I proclaimed my love prematurely on Twitter, saying that I was a new fan based on that performance – but in the end I’m relieved because now I can go back to not being a fan, which is always where I’ve stood regarding Ms. Knowles. (Or is it Ms. Z?) Anyway, I can’t pass too much judgment, as I recall some killer performances being lip-synced in service of production – but that didn’t seem to be the case here where understatement and honesty were the marks of the scene. We’ll see what Beyonce does for her own Super Bowl performance. She’s got a tough act to follow, and I don’t envy anyone having to fill those heels.

One of the traits that has brought me closest to sanity is my ability to rarely indulge in looking back and re-examining things that have happened in the past. This year, however, after a decade of this website, I’ve allowed a little more of it. It turns out that looking back a year ago is much more interesting than looking back at last week. You can do the same (even if I haven’t quite updated all the past posts just yet – there are simply too many) by scrolling down to the bottom of this page and looking under the ‘Archives’ button, which will drop down and allow you to select one lucky month from the past… For this post, I’m digging back exactly one year ago – to January 2012:

• Back then I wanted one thing, and I still want it, so if you need a Valentine’s Day gift for me (ahem) this robe (monogrammed and in Size Medium) will do nicely.
• Gearing up for a trip to NYC, a musing on my love of hotels was followed up by posts that celebrated and reviewed that ‘Follies’ fueled weekend.
• The discovery of the perfection of the pomegranate.
• A wintry Madonna Timeline, all the way back to 1987, when she first taught me to open my heart.
• And the memory of a favorite Uncle, surfacing in the painting of a bedroom.

When kids are different, you just know. You can tell ~ adults can tell. And the quiet kids were never, well, you know, they just don’t fit in. And if you don’t fit in at the beginning, you never really fit in, ever, do you? ~ The Circus Project

As we continue to bask in the glory of a decade of this website (a.k.a. contemplate how wretchedly old we’ve become), today’s Project spotlight shines on the work that was released in April of 2008 ~ The Circus Project. Like any parent, I’m not supposed to have favorites, but if I did The Circus Project would be one of them. It weaves a loose narrative of a lost young man taking up with a traveling circus for a season among photographs that hint at what a life like that might be. More important was the underlying theme of what it means to be an outsider, and what it feels like to never belong.

He grew up quietly, secretly… smartly. Never betraying his hand, never indicating a weakness ~ he had to, he had no choice. What does that do to a person? What does that do to a boy? It’s never cut and dry, never black and white. His shading was… not gray, not dim so much… I hesitate to say darker… his was… quicksilver. It couldn’t be bound by color or description – it defied everything. Yes, that’s what it was – defiance. And he would bleed for it. I think we’ll all bleed for it.

He liked being a part of us, but he enjoyed being alone too. I’ve seen a few solitary circus types, and they’re… different, even for circus folk. You join the circus to be a part of something, when you don’t fit in anywhere else. Loners don’t last long here.

There was one way to escape from the circus. You had to become the ring-leader, the master-of-cermeonies, and you had to chart your own course and destiny. It was that or die.

There’s a cardinal rule, red as sin and diabolically inviolable: there can only be one ring leader.

And they always end up being resented for it…

~ The Circus Project ~

One of the few consolations for getting through an upstate New York winter (particularly if you don’t ski) is finding solace in the fact that fellow winter-weatherers are going through the same thing. My friend JoAnn usually makes it up to visit at some point in January or February – and her visit acts as a bit of an oasis in the frigid expanse of this most dismal season. We don’t go out much – just a trip to Faddegon’s for the greenhouse, and maybe the Fresh Market for dinner supplies – and the rest of the time we stay cozy and warm in the house, sipping cocktails in the candlelight or watching a movie snuggled in the heavy plush blankets in the cellar. Here are a few of my favorite winter movies to watch on such nights, when the winds whip around the house, and the ice and snow threaten the air:

Beautiful Girls - Set in the snowy winter and based on one man’s return to his hometown for a high school reunion, this ensemble piece makes the most of its winter setting, with some ice skating and ice fishing scenes, and an enchanting turn by a young Natalie Portman.

Nobody’s Fool – Paul Newman stars in this upstate New York tale of an aging construction guy, whose lackluster life is mirrored by its wintry surroundings and cheerless snowy nights.

Boys on the Side – This road trip with Whoopi Goldberg, Drew Barrymore, and Mary-Louise Parker starts off in a Northeast winter, when the girls begin their journey wrapped in coats and dowdy winter hats, but finishes in the sun and warmth of the Southwest. That’s the kind of road trip that inhabits my winter dreams.

Why Did I Get Married – While one of the weaker movies here, the snowy backdrop of a winter weekend get-away lends it a cozy feel, and watching Tyler Perry act all butch is always an awkward exercise in pained entertainment. Janet Jackson is here, and she doesn’t embarrass herself too badly, but it’s Tasha Smith as Angela who steals the show.

It sat in the midst of all that chaos – a single ancient key, probably not even fitted to any of the doors currently in place, but retained, as so much of our useless baggage is, “just in case.” A sad-looking thing – items that have lost their purpose or become obsolete are always sad to me – it still holds onto its form, an obstinate refusal to change or morph into something else. Maybe it will be left for those next in line, or maybe it will be thrown out. Some things serve their purpose, and, having done so, depart with grace and no further ado. Maybe someone will hang onto it, carrying it with them as they move somewhere new. It is possible to imbue something with meaning where none really exists. We are, after all, living in a material world. But that’s another story, one that has already been written, and one that will be written all over again. One day, beyond the scope of what most of us can imagine, this key will cease to exist.

Every once in a while I’ll have these thoughts. I’ll question everything I thought I knew, like I did in one of the first courses I ever took at college – an Introduction to Astronomy – when the professor presented us with galaxy upon galaxy, endlessly advancing, and I’ll feel so small and insignificant I momentarily fail to see the point of one more minute. But the moment passes, as does the minute, and then another, and my pondering is replaced by the mundane, the habitual, the continued ebb and flow of life, and I can forget the big questions once again, lulled by a false, yet honest, sense of reality.

Do not ask me what it’s all about. Do not force me into a philosophical conversation about what it all means. Do not even reference this post. I’ll laugh it off. I’ll joke it away. I’ll distill it into the mad ramblings of a moon-fed lunatic. We are all fools. Stay on the inside of the joke.

As forecast and felt in the previous week, we have our first official thaw of the season. The air is thick with fog, water vapor rolls off the snow banks, and the tree limbs of the cherry dangle water droplets like Christmas lights – each orb taking in the muted light and dispersing it in more focused brightness. I don’t dare step into it, for fear of taking in a breath of Spring that is far too far away. Sometimes it’s best not to taste it, so unbearable would the return to our regular winter weather be.

Yesterday the birds were taking turns at the bird bath. A cardinal splashed around in it first, chased away by a pair of bullying bluejays. A woodpecker swayed on the tallest stalks of the sturdy fountain grass, and a squirrel slinked along the backyard fence. Even though it’s winter, the world is still alive, the pulse still beats beneath the melting snow.

A cardinal sits in the bare branches of a mock-orange bush outside our dining room window. It is unlikely that he is searching for peace – no, he is probably searching for seeds, or somewhere safe to sleep for the night. It is a different perspective, and a welcome one. The search for peace is a luxury when there are so many other vital components of survival that require seeking. Through the eyes of a cardinal, I am reminded of this. In the quick questioning tilt of his head before he flits away, I am faced with that challenge. All that seemed important suddenly vanishes in the crimson flash that is now gone.

The memory of his vivid plumage stays with me, like a smudge of red ink on my finger. It is a comfort in the barren expanse of Winter, a welcome stain of berry juice from a summer day culled from the past. I can hear the splashing of the pool, feel the beating of the sun – or is it the crashing of waves from the future, and the tickle of sand on my feet?

Outside, the night approaches. A January thaw has been predicted. The banks of snow will rise into the fog. Hold onto your hearts.

“A family must never be a topic of conversation.” ~ The Dowager Countess, ‘Downton Abbey’

A more fitting quote could not have been conjured as I sit here on a Sunday night watching the Season Premiere of ‘Downton Abbey’. Following a day – well, a month – of family issues, I was on the verge of purging all that’s been going on, and writing it all out here, but they aren’t my issues at stake, and not my place to speak of them. Sometimes it’s good to have a reminder from a Dowager. Sometimes I’m too blunt, too coarse, for my own good. For the good of others too… perhaps more-so.

And so I find relief and escape in the fading aristocracy of a family, and world, very much removed from my own. A soap opera with British manners, and Dame Maggie Smith – I’ve missed this. It’s so much nicer when the intrigue and the drama is made-up – even if what goes on there mirrors what is happening here. Properties come under peril, histories come under scrutiny – the language of a family is rife with particular dialects, subtle nuances, tricky traps, emotional minefields, and hidden pockets of hurt. You can change almost everything about your life today – your friends, your lovers, your husbands, your wives – but you cannot change your family. A lot may have shifted in the world since the time of ‘Downtown Abbey’, but that much remains the same.