Apologies for the posting time of this one – it should only be read in the deep depths of night, when the house has gone quiet, when the family has gone to bed, and you sit alone, unable to sleep – maybe because it’s Saturday, maybe because there is something lodged in your mind, or maybe because you are simply too tired to sleep. That happens sometimes. You can push through the tired period when sleep would come easily if you just let it, but you don’t, thinking you might miss something, or pushing ahead to get one more thing done before the day ends. And then it’s too late – you’re up, you’re wired, and you cannot sleep no matter how tired you are. Tricky thing, the arrival and all-too-quick departure of your sleep window. These days I try to catch it by inviting it, welcoming it, and making the conditions hospitable to it. Such as with a song like this – a song that should only be heard late at night. Come revisit this post then.
Where was this nonsense in January when we needed/wanted it?
This helps nothing.
All it does is delay outside work, wreak havoc with outdoor bulbs just coming into bloom, and fuck up drives and travel. I am so sick of it, especially after our last ordeal with an ice/snowstorm.
Andy was set to start pumping out the winter pool water and setting the stage for an early pool reveal. We have guests coming in a couple of weeks and wanted to start spring with their visit. This may delay the outside glory, and that does indeed suck. Memories of summer pool days go only so far when we are so close.
Matthew Rettenmund has been featured here before, but it’s good to give people a reminder of those websites that continue to produce impeccable and substantial content, because I know how difficult that can be. Rettenmund has been sharing his witty take on the world since 2005, and continues to be an entertaining bright spot amid this online world of awfulness. Check out ‘Boy Culture’ here.
Boy Culture was born on November 6, 2005, out of a desire to say something mean about a pushy journalist its founder, editor and author Matthew Rettenmund, had encountered at a Blondie concert. Since then, Boy Culture has grown to become an influential blog covering celebrity, gay issues, music, film, theater, beautiful men, humor and politics.
Our Broadway run continues as this Dazzler of the Day just opened as the title character in the long-awaited revival of ‘The Who’s Tommy’. Having missed it on its first go-round in the mid-90’s, I’ll be seeing it next month on our return to Broadway trip. Ali Louis Bourzgui has been winning raves as Tommy, and comes with a resume chock-full of notable performances – see the exquisite excerpt from his website below for a better introduction:
I’m a SWANA (Moroccan American) actor, singer, musician and creator based in NYC. You can catch me as Tommy in Des McAnuff and Pete Townshend’s revival of The Who’s Tommy on Broadway (Jeff Award for Performer in a Leading Role for the Goodman Theatre run.) Recent work includes Paul in the Company 1st National Tour, Haled on The Band’s Visit National Tour and playing Young Mazin/Yousif in The Goodman’s World Premiere play, Layalina. You can also hear my voice on the Monkeypaw/Gimlet horror podcast Quiet Part Loud produced by Jordan Peele. Originally from Pittsfield, MA, I’ve always loved nature and every branch of art. When not performing you can usually find me hiking, gardening, geeking out over jazz, playing guitar and writing music. I graduated from the Ithaca College B.F.A. Musical Theatreprogram and have worked regionally at venues such as The Goodman Theatre, Barrington Stage Co., Theaterworks Hartford, Hope Summer Repertory Theatre, Berkshire Theatre Group, The Theater Barn, & Ghostlit Rep Theatre Co. I’m also a proud ISF scholar, working actively to increase Arab American/Muslim representation in media in order to improve public opinion and policy. The only thing I love more than what I do is peanut butter…I really love peanut butter.
Wary and suspect, I’m still unaccustomed to celebrating a full moon and attempting to harness its powers rather than cower from it and hide away until it’s passed. The most recent full moon – the Worm Moon, also known as the Lenten Moon – appeared last week, and came with its usual bit of tumult. Is there really an uptick in crazy-ass behavior during a full moon? In my experience, decidedly yes. But I can’t tell if the full moon came first, or whether in my mind I simply have it programmed that such events will occur when the moon is full, and therefore subconsciously manifest the madness into happening.
Regardless of which it is, during a full moon I tend to be a little more careful, a little more mindful, and a little more accepting of the pratfalls that often accompany the lunar phenomenon. It’s an opportunity to practice one’s acceptance of imperfection, embracing the shit that a wayward day will throw in our way.
Joining her co-star in ‘The Great Gatsby’ on Broadway, Eva Noblezada earns her first Dazzler of the Day thanks to her latest turn in the new musical. As Daisy Buchanan, Noblezada has the formidable task of channeling the fractured facets of this inward-centered jewel, which has sometimes been one of the more dangerous and difficult traps of the Gatsby story. Daisy can be seen in so many ways, on so many levels, and the greatest portrayals leave room for interpretation, leaving the viewer wondering what her main motivation might be. After her lauded performances in ‘Hadestown’, ‘Miss Saigon’, and ‘Les Miserables’, along with a pair of Tony nominations, Noblezada is getting praise for her take on the complex character around which all of Gatsby revolves. I cannot wait to see her next month.
I’ve never actually had a cake pop (to my recollection) but my pal Betsy brought this one in to work for me and I had it for breakfast last week. That was on a Tuesday too.
There’s nothing foolish about this post, as Jeremy Jordan is one of the powerhouse Broadway performers on stage today, and here he earns his crowning as Dazzler of the Day thanks to a career of powerful performances. Many remember him from his star-making turn in ‘Newsies’; my first in-person wonder at his talent came when he originated the main role in ‘Finding Neverland’ at the musical’s Boston try-out (a show that would have possibly fared much better had they not put in a certain someone else for the Broadway shift, but I digress…) Jordan has also been on the big screen in ‘The Last Five Years’, and numerous other theatrical productions such as ‘Rock of Ages’, ‘West Side Story’ and ‘Bonnie & Clyde’. His live performances are the stuff of legend (seek out footage of his key change in Celine Dion’s ‘It’s All Coming Back to Me Now‘ at one gig and marvel at the rightful audacity he has to pull it off and then some). Currently he is starring in ‘The Great Gatsby’ with Eva Noblezada, which my Mom and I will see next month on our Broadway return. If anyone can capture the enigmatic allure of that fantastic fictional creation by setting it to soaring voice, it’s Jeremy Jordan. See more on his official website here.
Last week’s recap was all about being powerless, this week is all about pumping out at full power. It’s Full-Frontal Monday, as we recap the previous week in this April 1st post. While spring is officially here, it barely feels like it, and we’re set for more nasty weather in the next few days, so hunker down and revisit all that has come before…
Lamenting the advance of age, lately I’ve been ruminating on how music and songs and most forms of entertainment fail to elicit the same thrills they did in my younger years. Most of my friends in this same age bracket have voiced similar concerns and realizations, bogged down as we are by the typical traipsing through our middle-aged years with stultifying routine and unsurprising regularity. It does make Jack a dull, dull boy indeed.
Not self-deprecating I hold my head high most of the time Like the candle I lightest of breezes He changes the seasons Is it gettin’ hot in here?
Oh, he’s so attractive, could never be him I think he might break if my hand touched his skin I’ve never been so close to such pretty things And it hurts to be only of earth
Mr. Porcelain doll Mr. Instagram scroll Mr., flatter me enough just to keep me on my toes Does it ever get lonely up there on the wall? To be looked at, but never to hold Mr. Porcelain doll
I could never Oh, I could never Oh, I could never He wasn’t made to hold
I could never I could never I could never
Remembering one’s youth can be dangerously tricky, as it so often comes along with dreams and wishes of recapturing one’s youth, or revisiting spaces and scenarios in order to do them right. That is territory I don’t like to tread. When I see people I know and love wading into those treacherous waters and flailing about in despondent despair, as if held down by a spell, drowning in their own fears of growing old and desperately attempting to hang onto youth in whatever warped way they can, I’m reminded that maybe I should be in my own state of panic. For me, though, that panic takes the form of apathy, and the inability to muster the same passion I once did for songs and melodies and movies and theater. When I mourn the passing of youth, that is the loss I mourn most – more than any physical attributes and ease, more than fitting into a 29-inch pair of jeans, more than staying out all night and not looking any worse for wear the next morning.
He can’t be mine to hold on for a minute
Did he mean to say that? Mistook me for an ex that he meant to text back My heart’s beating out my chest I think he said
You’re so attractive, where do I begin? I think you might break if my hand touched your skin I’ve never been so close to such pretty things And it hurts that you’re so down to earth
Mr. Porcelain doll Mr. 20 years old Mr. Flatter-me-enough as if I didn’t know Does it ever get lonely, a rose on the wall? To be looked at but never to hold Mr. Porcelain doll
I could never Oh, I could never Oh, I could never He wasn’t made to hold
I could never I could never I could never He can’t be mine to hold
At such times, it’s also useful to note that one’s youth is filled with folly and foolishness, and I’m grateful to have always understood this, to be as bothered by all that I didn’t know and understand, which in turn led me to desire something deeper, something more than being young could ever deliver. From my very first memories as a child, all I ever wanted was to be older. Wishes, like beauty and youth, don’t always bring us what we really want.
He’s so beautifully perfect on everyone’s phone To be looked at knowing he’ll never call Mr. Porcelain doll
I could never I could never I could never He wasn’t made to hold
I could never I could never I could never (I could never)
When I pass by a porcelain doll today, all those pretty young things just starting out on their own journeys, making a mess, a muck, and a magnificence of their own youth, I don’t envy them. Envy was never a good look on anyone, least of all me, and happily I have largely been able to avoid it. Perhaps it would have been different if I hadn’t been fortunate enough to enjoy few porcelain years of my own. And perhaps I’d mourn them if I enjoyed them more.
Whenever I find myself thinking ill of someone, and it does happen as often as you may think, I imagine them at their most happy or joyous, and for some reason that resonant joy of being alive makes me feel more softly toward them, seeing them as a fellow human being and not an adversary. It usually works, even with the most heinous creatures who have done me wrong. This is a long-winded and overly-winding introduction to an old Easter decoration I loved as a child, which was one of those paper honeycomb creations that had a pale yellow Easter egg unfurl its three-dimensional tissue paper form surrounded by a playful bunny rabbit. That bunny’s expression was one of tenderness and joy, with slightly doleful eyes, and I fell instantly in love with the stupid thing, which soon became worn and ragged because I would bring it everywhere I went.
One day around Easter I must have left it somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be as my Mom threw it out. I found it in the kitchen garbage in a frantic search after I discovered it missing. After fishing it out I ran to her with tears streaming down my face asking her why she would throw it out. Her reaction was befuddled confusion, she hadn’t known how much I loved the silly paper decoration, and I had never shared how much I adored it with anyone either. Somehow I understood then, and at such a young age, that love would prove difficult and problematic for someone who didn’t show it.
Perhaps the only person living, dead, or resurrected who might come close to understanding my Easter time trauma is the Sweet Lord Jesus Himself. The rest of you simply take great pleasure and joy in revisiting the terrifying Easter Bunny photo shoot of me just about wetting my pants in fear of that woefully-underestimated sadist. I’ll include that favored photo below, but we open with a bit of comeuppance – a karmic twist that finds the bunny sitting on my lap now, and I’ve got no time for tulle.
