Once upon a time I would have tracked down the real story behind the behind here, but I’m ok with letting the mystery hang in the air if it’s this hot. Here is Chris Hemsworth naked – or as naked as CGI effects allow for, as there has been talk that this is all digital magic. Regardless, enjoy the view such as in this post,
(Remember, don’t flick too hard!)
The formal peony beds at Suzie’s childhood home – a stately Victorian in black and white perched upon Locust Avenue – were usually my first brush with summer as we celebrated her birthday in early June every year. While the other party attendees focused on the games and silliness that kids are wont to love, I wandered off by myself to see the peonies, in full, resplendent bloom in the gardens away from the crowd.
They towered up to my height, their heads heavy with petals and peony perfume yet still somehow standing, and their effect was magical. It was a brush with the sublime, one that I’ve held onto through these middle-age years, and one that has kept me company on the cold nights and desolate mornings of winter. They embodied beauty and hope and happiness, bursting with their brilliance and refusing to bow down to subtlety or other expected decorum. Part of me wanted to be just like them, and part of me cowered at their power. In their buds they held all the promise of something spectacular, something moving, something that would change my life.
The simple but powerful teasers of Madonna’s new collaboration with Sam Smith feel almost too epic to deliver something that could possibly rise to the level of heated anticipation of a song called ‘Vulgar’ so I’m doing my best to tamp down my feverish expectations and hopes. A full-out banger of a dance duet would be simply divine, but I fear this may not be that. Regardless, the Madonna fan world is so hungry for something new musically that we will all likely line-up to celebrate whatever this is going to be. (Just please don’t tell me it’s a ‘Human Nature’ remix or mash-up with ‘Unholy’ – things have been derivative enough of late.)
The month of June is at hand, and so our posting schedule gets a little lighter and breezier as I spend more of the days outside and less in front of a lap-top. There won’t be a full summer break as I did a couple of summers previously, but there will be a shift away from volume and length, because, well, summer hair, don’t care. On with the weekly recap…
A summer season starts early because we need it now.
And summer deserves a second part.
The unforgettable christening of Jaxon Layne.
Triple trouble with the twins.
A rare shade of yellow in a peony.
Dazzlers of the Day included Cristiano Ronaldo, Kylie Minogue, and Aaron Henrikson.
Summer often opens portals to the past, leading us down corridors of memory where the scent of a peony or mockorange stuns us into our youth again. It’s a gloriously disconcerting thing when it happens, nostalgia mingled with yearning, mourning coupled with celebratory glee – all that once was now finished and over, and only the memories of certain events and feelings remain, growing ever-faded by each passing year.
Summer seems to hit differently that way, our memories somehow more succinct and holding more powerful sway over our present than anything we might recall from a cold stale winter. Maybe they mean more and last longer because we want summer to do the same. All that drama is neatly encapsulated in this simple pop song by Taylor Swift rather tritely entitled ‘Cruel Summer’.
Many a Swiftie considers the bridge in ‘Cruel Summer’ to be one of her best, and my niece confirmed this as she all but shouted out the lyrics when it hit. (Not sure how much experience a 13-year-old has had being drunk in the backseat of a car, but I’m getting ahead of myself.) The notion of summer being cruel has long been a delicious juxtaposition of the sunny season and anything that happens to go wrong during that time. (And there is more than one song that takes the ‘Cruel Summer’ title.) I too adore that kind of tension – it lends a gravitas to summer that its more celebrated lightness and frivolity tends to obscure.
Swift adds her own brand of melodrama to a season that often comes rife with enough drama of its own, heightening the effect with images of summer nights and misguided obsessions, sneaking through garden gates and blissfully diving into mistakes with heated abandon. Summer provides the necessary backdrop, and occasional impetus, for all of it to happen, and looking back at summers past we’ve all indulged in such folly and foolishness, such as squeezing into a blue Speedo and baking our skin in the midday sun. Those foibles are silly and minor when you contrast them with the deliberate ransacking of one’s heart, all in an effort to make one summer mean more than it might genuinely merit. Summers can be as much like knives as they are like people – variable, sharp, cutting – and embodying a diabolical beauty and sinister elegance. They can burn or hiss or soothe or wimper, crackling with dry heat or smoldering with fetid humidity. The heat does something to the passion that gets unleashed in the coming months. It messes with the mind. It clouds the judgment. It hazes the sight. Midsummer madness is much more than mere alliteration.
A single line of sweat, started by a single bead of liquid, spills down the body, tickling and invoking an involuntary arching of the back. A bumblebee buzzes by in lumbering flight, its fuzzy body dusted by pretty pollen. A wailing cicada ticks away the midpoint of the day. Heat emanates from everywhere, even the shaded spaces, and eventually there is nowhere that provides respite. This is the summer we need. This is the summer we want. This is cruel in the best possible way.
Andy opened the pool early this year, and he kept it heated for the sporadic and occasional stretch of 80 degree days, which we’ve been blessed to have already had. Now that I’ve reached the age where my own back is giving out and unleashing its own pain, I find the pool immensely therapeutic. I wasn’t even trying to feel better when I jumped in a few weeks ago, but as I spent an afternoon swimming and gliding through the water, I felt the release of gravity pulling down on everything, and when I settled in for bed that night the difference was discernible. Whether it allowed for a full relaxation of any lingering back spasms, or provided just the right movement or stretch motion to relieve something, it felt wonderful. Since then I’ve tried to get in at least once a day, weather permitting, to find similar ease.
My how far we have fallen from the days of seeing whether we could drunkenly keep a burning citronella bucket lit while plummeting down a rickety water slide (for the record, I could, and I did, and there was wax in the water for the next week). I prefer these days to those.
Taking a swashbuckling turn through sensational sartorial splendor, Aaron Henrikson first caught my eye when he was working with Madonna on her make-up. Since then, he’s made a name for himself in his own right thanks to an unending arsenal of stunning ensembles, and a wardrobe that sets a new standard for what it means to make a stunning impression. Thanks to that, he earns this Dazzler of the Day crowning.
Another Itoh peony variety has entered its blooming period, slightly and blessedly behind this sibling to extend the season by a few days. My Mom saw this one in our yard and has wisely decided to put one in her new front garden; it’s a perfect choice for the splendid blooms and handsome foliage that stays fresh and mildew-free for the entire summer season. I’ll keep my eyes open – the Itoh peonies are usually available a little later in the season.
This yellow variety is a bit more fragrant than its predecessor, emitting a spicy tea-like perfume that is akin to this classic tree peony. The effect is exquisite, conjuring an experience that thrills on almost every sensory level. Though the blooming season may not last when compared to other perennials, they come at the most glorious time of the year, and provide such prettiness and perfume that they more than earn a spot of valuable garden real estate. Besides, the blooms are valued more when they are fleeting, and as they denote the freshest time of the seasonal year they will become part of the loveliest summer memories – that time when it was all just beginning, when all was hope and possibility and anticipation. The time before happiness is usually happiness itself.
{Fun fact: the text chat group name for me and Noah and Emi is ‘The Queen and Two Clowns.}
The Ilagan twins stayed with us for an overnight a day after Jaxon’s christening, and it was a lovely kick-off to our summer activities. Starting off in the pool (which Andy had heated to a jacuzzi-like 90 degrees) we exhausted ourselves with handstands and jumps and rating them all before heading inside for a batch of smores (via the microwave). It was the preamble to a viewing of that long-forgotten 80’s cheese-flick ‘Troop Beverly Hills’ featuring Shelley Long, which didn’t quite hold up the way I thought it did. Movies have changed since the 80’s, and kids today have a very different appreciation for pacing and storylines. The costumes were a hit, however, and that’s all that mattered. We had popcorn with Reese’s Pieces, we made ‘s’mores, and we had all the movie candy boxes we could have wanted (except for Sno-Caps).
The next day I took them out for boba tea (because why not tempt the caffeine fates when children are about?) and we went for another swim. On the stereo, this epic version of ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ played, and it swiftly became the anthem for all of our antics. As the three most fun people in the family (according to our own estimation) Emi said we know how to enjoy life while everyone else is too worried and careful about everything. Not sure what that says about my caretaking skills regarding children, but what the fuck ever. We had a grand time, and made plans for a summer Boston trip like the one we made last year. Not sure we can top that Boston Harbor boat ride, but we’ll try.
Any godchild of mine is preordained to cause a commotion at any given church ceremony, and as a former altar boy who was subjected to the rigors of a strict Catholic upbringing, I’m all for conjuring an unforgettable religious experience.
It was a beautiful day near the end of May on which our family had Jaxon baptized, with a strong show of sunshine, warm temperatures, and the promise of summer in the air. By all estimations he behaved remarkably well – didn’t cry at all when the water and oil went all over his head. The deacon’s behavior was another story altogether, but that’s a tale for another time, maybe when Jaxon gets confirmed, and it made for the unforgettable aspect of the day.
More than anything else, it felt like this day was a chance for Jaxon to be given his first choice at a spiritual path, offering the tenets of a Christian faith should he one day decide to keep to that road. It was a celebration of joy, and an opportunity for both sides of his family to come together. To that end, it was a resounding and happy success.
Andy expressed consternation at what I might choose to wear to the ceremony, even I understood that this was Jaxon’s day to shine, so I went with a basic linen ensemble for a summer baby, a traditional Barong Tagalog shirt worn at formal Filipino occasions, and a necklace that formed the only bit of ostentatious bling to remind Jaxon that I was still me under all the understated elegance. He’s already bringing out the best in all of us.
Late on an almost- summer night, this video played in the bedroom of our Boston condo. The air conditioner hummed in the window, the room was dark except for some light from the bathroom, and there may even have been a fan circulating providing additional air movement. The video evokes a childhood memory of summer camp, of two kids sneaking out past curfew to play in the lake, and the sweet melody and sentiment were primed for summer. On the bed, I kicked off the sheets and tried to stay cool.
That summer I spent a great deal of time in Boston, working at Structure and roaming the city streets when the sun went down and things turned slightly cooler. Not quite old enough to drink liquor, there were no bar scenes or cocktail corners to frequent, and so I spent much of the nights simply walking and peering into places that felt alive, spurred on by some unseen impetus to roam and find something – anything – to help me discover my place in life. This sweet song, a rather innocent ode to romance, did what it was supposed to do and made me feel like the perfect match was just around the corner, or somewhere in my past, just waiting to be reunited in some Hallmark kismet moment. Obviously, that wasn’t how things played out, and as I clicked off the television and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water, I didn’t feel any closer to finding someone. Looking out onto the street, I raised the window for a moment, feeling the wall of heat and listening to the trickling of the fountain outside.
Retail work provided daytime distractions and when I returned home at the end of each day, there were hours of daylight left with which to occupy and entertain myself. I’d taken up jogging around the South End, as much to get out and feel participatory as to stay in shape. I’d pass the neighbors on their brownstone steps, with their fancy plates and dinners and glasses of wine, enjoying the privilege of eating outside in an act that would have been unthinkable in the ice and snow of a mere three months prior. How drastically the New England world can change in just a short time, I thought.
Whizzing through the crowded sidewalks of Tremont Street on a pretty summer evening, I averted any gazes as much as I internally invited them. If I thought I could meet anyone while running quickly by them, it was a testament to my own self-fulfilling failure in finding someone. Clearly I was not ready for any such thing, despite the simplicity this song so deceptively dangled as a possibility.
I spent a few more weeks in Boston, before retreating to my parents’ home with central air and a swimming pool, and even fewer romantic prospects. The heat continued, along with the longing, and it was the latter that would refuse to diminish even with the arrival of fall. 
Summer is usually the time for a sun-drenched entrance of bombast and glee, a reflection of the sunny season at last at hand and a celebratory marker of a stretch of ease. That is still the case here, but I’m tempering this early/late beginning with a quieter start, leaving room for build-up and excess later on if we’re still up for it.
The summer season unofficially began last weekend when the Memorial Day holiday opened things up. We would normally have spent that weekend in Ogunquit, but our favored place was booked so we opted to wait a bit. We always missed the opening of the peonies that weekend anyway, so it was nice to be home for such a happy event. Now we can kick-off summer on the blog on this first day of June, extending the season beyond the summer solstice because we need it now. September comes too soon…
The song for this summer post is an old-school Mariah Carey tune, given an intentionally slowed-down twist to ease into things. (Come back for Part 2 and the classic version a bit later.) Some summers begin slowly, requiring room to grow and evolve. We all want sun and beach and sand and warmth instantly, without realizing the joys and charms of these early days. Cool mornings and nights will be the stuff of dreams once the first stretch of heat hits – no need to rush into all of that just yet. A proper summer employs a bit of laziness, some seductive hesitation and holding back. It pauses and waits, unfurling its splendor only when it’s absolutely ready to shine.
This summer will cast its spell both by our pool in upstate NY and in Boston where our BroSox Adventure and a possible Madonna concert (assuming she shows up) are scheduled to take place – between the two there are differing atmospheres, each striking in its own way. Summer in the suburbs is calm and tranquil and easy – lounging by the pool, languidly strolling through the yard, and watering the gardens are how that usually goes. Summer in the city is usually more dramatic and extreme – finding air-conditioned respite in retail, delicately walking through shady nooks and secret gardens in the South End, and drinking endless mocktails in shadowy, cool lounges.
Just when I thought we might not have an unofficial Pride Anthem this year, Kylie Minogue comes along to snatch the Queen of the Gays title back from whomever had it last with her new bop ‘Padam Padam’ from her upcoming album ‘Tension’. For that alone she would earn this Dazzler of the Day, but Minogue has a long history of gay anthems in her pocket to back it all up further. I’m old enough to remember her first storming of the US charts with a remake of ‘Locomotion’ back in the 1980’s and since then she’s been a favorite of my community. Check out the new song and video below.
This has been a good year for our peonies. A couple of years ago I revamped the decades-old clumps in front of our home, which was much more difficult than I realized. As impressed as I was by the size and depth of their roots, I also understand that would mean some difficult digging. It was a two-day affair, undertaken in late summer, to get them back in with newly amended soil and divided portions to gain some traction before that fall. It took a couple of years, and now they are back just as big and floriferous as before. In fact, they could probably stand another division in the near future, but that will not be my near future, as that is one task which would prove too much for this season. Besides, they are beautiful as they are, and this is a year of appreciation.
One of the greatest football (soccer) players in history, Cristiano Ronaldo has turned all that talent into a lucrative career of products and endorsements ranging from underwear to cologne (two of my favorite things), all of which can be seen on his website here. More powerful is the legacy of his athletic accomplishments, which is reason alone for this Dazzler of the Day.
Ronaldo has been featured in numerous posts here previously, perhaps best encapsulated in this linkalicious post.
