Nyle DiMarco has made a couple of splashes here before, and he’s here to do it again with two simple but scintillating shots. The best ones can do a lot with a little. Mr. DiMarco can also be seen in even less here.
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June
2017
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June
2017
27
June
2017
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June
2017
Sweetness of Summer
Sweet fragrance, wafting along on a summer breeze, this is the mockorange. With its exquisite perfume as its main draw, this is a favorite shrub – worth growing for its brief but magnificent bloom period. The foliage is unremarkable, but stays green and largely intact throughout the season. Its form is slightly sprawling and unrefined, but manageable with severe pruning every few years. (You will sacrifice some blooms, as it flowers most prolifically on older wood.)
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June
2017
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June
2017
Perch of a Peacock
We have just returned from a wonderful weekend in New York, so this will have to suffice for an evening post. It’s a peacock mural. That’s all.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Recap of Beauty
Summer is here, arriving in glorious fashion with the longest day of the year. Things have been a little quiet of late on the blog front, and that’s appropriate for the season of taking it easy. On with the last week’s events…
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June
2017
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June
2017
The Long-Awaited Return of the Hunks
The Hunk of the Day feature has been absent for a few days now, but it’s coming back in a major way tonight. Before that, however, here is a look at some former hunks who are making splashes in various stats of undress. It begins with these naked GIFs of Steve Grand doing his part for Broadway Bares. Mr. Grand has been here a number of times, thanks to hot shots like these and naked teases like those.
Richard Hadfield and his hairy chest made a splash in his Hunk of the Day crowning here.
Ricky Martin brings his heat to the new Versace murder story (which also brought us Darren Criss in a Speedo). Here, Martin takes his own spin in a Speedo, which he also did here.
The other side of the spectrum, for many reasons, brings us Cameron Dallas. He represents the teenybopper crowd, which is a scene to which I find myself rating less and less. (His Hunk of the Day feature is coming up in the near future.)
Derek Yates was a part of the elite two-time Hunk of the Day club, having been honored not once but twice.
Simon Dunn strikes his own Speedo pose, though many would prefer that he lose the shorts entirely as he did here and here and here.
Favored ginger Greg Rutherford matches Dunn in Olympic glory and shirtless wonder.
A trio of nude rears brings up the back-end of this post, starting with Rob ‘The Gronk’ Gronkowski, who was also naked here, and Chris Salvatore, who dropped his pants here.
Finally, feast your eyes upon Matthew Camp. Also seen sans clothing here. Come back tonight for the next Hunk of the Day crowning…
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June
2017
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June
2017
Today’s the Day!
MAY I SAY A FEW WORDS, MR. DEMILLE?
I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW WONDERFUL IT IS TO BE BACK IN THE STUDIO MAKING A PICTURE!
I PROMISE YOU, I’LL NEVER DESERT YOU AGAIN.
THIS IS MY LIFE, IT ALWAYS WILL BE… THERE’S NOTHING ELSE!
AND THE CAMERAS…
Today we are making our last visit to the mansion on Sunset Boulevard to witness Norma’s final descent down that legendary staircase. It was a last-minute splurge, but it also seems like this is the only way to honor the end of something that once, and still does, mean so much to me. It also marks Andy’s first time seeing this show done properly on a Broadway stage, which makes it all the more exciting (in addition to it being the final show of this run).
I’m not sure what I’ll feel at this last performance. To be honest, I never thought I’d see it back on Broadway, much less with its original luminous star, and it was a bonus bit that dovetailed perfectly with The Delusional Grandeur Tour. After all, Ms. Desmond was the original mistress of delusional grandeur; the rest of us merely followed in her staircase-bounding heel-prints. Anyone can die for what they want; it takes a different kind of soul to kill for it.
The great thing about Norma is that she has a tendency to haunt and linger long after one departs the boulevard. She has an indefatigable spirit in that regard, a powerful presence that lasts long after her shadow has left a room. The greatest stars have that effect on the world. A few charismatic people do too. They’re the ones everyone watches when they enter a space, and the ones who remain on the lips of the watchers after they’ve gone. They elicit a discernible shift in atmosphere with their absence, so larger-than-life do their characters loom.
In spite of this, or more likely because of it, they have a harder time connecting to any one person. The only love they know how to manage is the larger collective love of the masses – they know nothing of how to be loved by a single person, and by the time they realize that it’s always too late. When you’ve been loved and adored by millions, it’s difficult to appreciate the love of one. To her tragic credit, Norma does the best she can, attempting and partly succeeding in a seduction of Joe Gillis to fit into her starry-eyed hopes of a romance and return to former glory.
AND NOW, MR. DEMILLE, I’M READY FOR MY CLOSE-UP.
Today, at the Palace Theatre, Norma Desmond will get her final close-up. She’s been with me through twenty-two years of heartache, heartbreak, and heart-bursting love. She’s seen me through break-ups and break-downs, and the brutality of several unrequited love affairs. In all that time she’s retained a hopeful nobility, a perpetual belief in the promise of a ‘Perfect Year’, forever twirling in a waltz no matter how many times she may have fallen down. I relied on her belief in herself when I couldn’t believe in mine. We soared on our glamour, we rode on our illusions, and we survived on a dream.
THIS TIME I’M STAYING,
I’M STAYING FOR GOOD.
I’LL BE BACK WHERE I WAS BORN TO BE.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Purple Perpetrator
Here we have the classic clematis, which in this case climbed so high I never did get a proper full-on view of the pretty flower. There’s something enchanting about viewing it all from below, however, as these shots will attest. It leaves a little more to the imagination, and we fill in the missing parts with tales and notions that might be far more interesting than what could ever really be there.
The idea of a flower being out of reach lends temptation and desire to an otherwise common clematis. Too often we want what is just beyond our grasp.
Here’s to straining to see it.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Fuchsia Hurricane
A yellow ceramic hurricane vase forms the perfect backdrop to this bold fuchsia bloom. The colors depend on one another for maximum pop, complementing and cajoling each to loftier heights of greater glory. It is my humble opinion that one can never have enough color. Our bleak world demands it.
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June
2017
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June
2017
The Humble Hosta
When discussing possible landscape solutions with Suzie, she soon reached her exasperation limit and metaphorically threw her texting fingers up in defeat, saying something like “Why don’t we just plant hostas everywhere and call it a day?” At first I bristled at the intimation – then I realized it wasn’t such a bad idea. Despite its overuse in the mainstream garden, the hosta, when properly cared for and pampered, is one of the most handsome plants in existence, one whose beauty holds throughout the entire season. Most perennials have a month or two of glory, but very few can maintain their luster from spring all the way to fall. A hosta’s foliage doesn’t diminish at any point.
They send up bonus lavender stalks of lily-like fragrant blooms in the middle of summer, though these are mostly subtle afterthoughts – the main draw is their leaves.
Suzie’s cutting remark got me to thinking about my own hesitation in using them, and I realized it’s partly from her childhood home, where a large stand of hosta surrounded a sun-dial in the middle of a circular stone path. They grew cramped and unfertilized beneath the shade of an old elm, and despite their hardy return year after year, they never, to my knowledge, received any additional help. The leaves were variegated but on the small side – quantity giving preference of quality. It was the typical use of them – in difficult areas where they could easily survive but not thrive to their full potential.
I’d become accustomed to putting them in places that proved inhospitable to more delicate choices, but they always rewarded with displays that got larger and fuller and more beautiful with each passing year, particularly when I indulged them with ample manure in the spring, deadheading in the summer, and some simple foliage maintenance throughout the year (the leaves grow so big and broad, they become a catch-all for falling detritus).
This year, even after Suzie’s disparaging comment, I added four hosta plants to a tricky place beside our backyard patio. It’s partly shaded thanks to the canopy, and has, for some reason, proven reliably difficult to successfully curate. Shade loving annuals like coleus and caladium have failed to prosper, and it’s been ravaged by the pesky roots of a weeping cherry standard. We will see if the hosta can fill in and win the day. I’m confident they shall.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Of Pride & Playing Ball ~ Part 2
This was our first night game since we started making these trips a couple of years ago. I think I liked it better than the ones during the day. The sky and descending sun made for a beautiful beginning, and with a bit of time to spend before the game, we ducked into the Verb Hotel and its Asian-inspired bar area.
I’d also wanted to try a dinner here, and we’ll do one next time because it’s a great spot, but on this night it was just cocktails. On a screen near the back, ‘The Karate Kid’ was playing ~ a bit of 80’s nostalgia to open up the childhood memory bank. Back then, I think I was hungry for friendship. And adventure. Three decades later, I realized I had found a bit of both. Skip explained how his Mr. Miyagi healing moves always calmed his kids when they thought they were hurt, and he rubbed his hands together to illustrate. Silly and sweet at once.
Earlier that day, in an unguarded moment of fear and celebration of the future, I’d said to Skip, “I hope we still do this when we’re 80.”
As the sun began to go down, Fenway Park was resplendent in the golden hour. A brilliant sky, filled with non-threatening clouds, hung before us, and the Prudential Center rose in the distance. A home away from home away from home.
And once again, the unstoppable march of time, clicking away as the light in the sky dimmed and the lights in the park came up. It was surreal, and the beer added to the experience, as it tends to do. I’m not a big beer drinker, but when in Rome…
All that beer necessitates a bathroom run at some point, and I wound my way down the stairs and into the surprisingly efficient facilities. Back in the bright light of the park, I tried to find my way back to our seats, but overshot them by a few rows. Somehow I missed half of our row standing up for me when I got back. A number of them were laughing ~ most notably Skip and myself ~ and the nice woman to my right smiled as I brushed by her and found my seat. I had just taken a bug gulp of beer when I looked over and found her still smiling, which for some reason cracked me up. I immediately did the sort of spit-take that I’ve only ever seen in stupid movies and sitcoms, spewing beer all over the four people in the row in front of us. That didn’t do much to quell my laughter, but the two guys who got the brunt of it were NOT amused. I apologized as best as I could, but no one liked that sort of thing. (Having been on the receiving end of such bad behavior, I know.) The young lady in the sleeveless shirt to my lower right was a much better sport about it, saying that we now had a story to tell people. I was mortified, but couldn’t stop laughing. And she was right, because here it is for internet posterity.
(Don’t they look fun?)
The Red Sox worked wonders on the field, handily defeating the Tigers 11-3, so perhaps we’re a good luck charm for them. Something their manager might want to consider should they make it into the World Series. (I’d prefer to sit in one of those glass boxes at some point in my life.) As for the denouement of our game day, we walked back toward the condo, picked up a couple of pieces of pizza, and called it a night. It was just enough, and exactly what was needed at such a time. Thanks to Skip, and Sherri, for making it all happen.
Hot diggety dog.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Of Pride & Playing Ball ~ Part 1
My friend Skip and I made our third annual Boston Red Sox pilgrimage a couple of weekends ago, and before the memory fades let’s get some of it jotted down here. Time is funny in the way that it already feels so long ago, yet flashes of it ring as fresh as a pastry from Cafe Madeleine.
We made the wise decision to leave on a Friday, even if we hit a bit of weekend traffic. Last year we went wild on our first night, and it was a lesson learned. Skip was also a bit under the weather, so we kept things calm and quiet, with a return dinner to Boston Chops.
Yes, it’s rightly renowned for its steak, but the lobster isn’t bad either. Neither is the Negroni. It was enough to satiate our hunger and send us into dreamland. We had a big day of pride and baseball coming up…
The next morning dawned sunny and bright ~ we lucked out in the weather department ~ and after a quick stop at Cafe Madeleine for some croissants, we walked to Newbury Street for some shopping, then returned to the condo for some parade pre-gaming.
In the midst of one of my scintillating stories, Skip went silent. I thought he was simply enrapt with my words. More reverent silence. (I know how to tell a story.) I paused for some comment, some exhalation of ‘Wow’ or ‘Unrealâ’ ~ still nothing. I raced to the finish, but calmly – I didn’t want to give the guy a heart attack with the thrilling conclusion. I couldn’t see his face, since he was on the couch and I was in the front of the room, and as I waited for what would undoubtedly be a terrific reaction, I heard the slightest rumblings of a stunned response. Turns out he was just snoring. I walked over to the couch and this bitch was asleep.
Such is the deteriorating state of our wild Red Sox adventures. We’re getting older. Still, it was Pride weekend in Boston, and I woke Skip up to head out to his very first Pride Parade.
Hedwig was part of the festivities, a fitting throwback to the show we had just seen with Skip and Sherri a couple weeks ago. That too felt far away now, and part of me wanted to slow things down, to halt the spinning of the planet. I went quiet and tried to make a memory. Maybe that’s what I’m doing right now. Maybe that’s been the entire point of this blog. Maybe I just want to cling to these happy times because I know I’ll seek them out when the winter comes back.
We made it through a couple hours of the parade, then went back for a brief siesta before the game. In my younger years, I didn’t require such breaks, but these days they are mandatory. Besides, it’s always the in-between moments that matter. That’s where the charm of life resides. The big events are fun, and the impetus for so much of what we do, but it’s everything that happens before and after that makes them what they are.
Our mid-day respite done, we rallied ourselves for the night game against the Detroit Tigers. In retrospective honor of our opponents, we dined at Tiger Mama, just a couple of blocks from Fenway Park. As the restaurant filled, the excitement grew, and the buzz about the ballgame became an electric wave we would ride until the end of the evening…
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June
2017
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June
2017
High in a Tower
Our recent stay at the Towers at Lotte New York Palace is worthy of another look. This may very well be the best view I ever get from a hotel in the city (though I do enjoy a look at the Empire State Building for nostalgia’s sake). This particular vista is what the 52nd floor allows you to behold on a sunny day (and clear night). It is even more striking in person, when those tiny dots representing people and cars are in motion, and the clouds scroll slowly across the sky.
Not pictured are the equally transfixing views when a storm has engulfed the city. We were unfortunate enough to have much of a day marred by rain and clouds, but it’s fascinating to see it unfold when you’re actually up in the clouds themselves. It’s like being close to gods fighting.
On the morning seen here, it was clear and bright – the view stretched all the way to the river. New York can be stunning when the light is right.
At night, the transformation is remarkable. A different kind of beauty is at hand then, and it carries the hand of God and the hand of humankind gloriously intertwined. The winking lights of a city that never sleeps keep company with the brave and restless souls who stay awake.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Halibut & Citrus
A simple sumer dinner on the grill can be had if you find a good piece of halibut and slice up some citrus. Here we have a grapefruit and orange salsa of sorts, with some cranberry-pear white balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and fresh basil. Slicing off the bitter peel and dividing membrane is what makes this extra sweet, balanced by the tart, savory edge of the vinegar.
As for the halibut, I’m told the trick is not to overcook it – four minutes on one side and three and a half on the other was ample, and the result was a delicate and juicy piece of fish. A simple quick marinade of grapefruit juice, olive oil, fresh basil and salt and pepper (too long and the citrus can wreak havoc with the halibut) was all that it took to make a perfect meal.
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June
2017
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June
2017
A Mother’s Namesake
This interesting bloom is the Mountain Laurel, which happens to be my mother’s name. I planted it a few years ago on a whim, plopping it into the space outside our fence, which means I tend to forget about it. This year it caught my eye just as it came into bloom, so I quickly snapped a few photos to remind me to take a little better of it.
Given its shady nook and such negligence, it hasn’t thrived, but still it blooms. That’s the kind of determination I admire and reward. I’ll pamper it with a top-dressing of cow manure, the greatest gift I can give to such a recipient.
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June
2017
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June
2017
Langham Love & One Last Time Around the Boulevard
It’s been a rough summer, and it’s only a day old, so to lift our spirits I ordered tickets for the final performance of ‘Sunset Boulevard’ for Andy and myself, and booked a weekend at the Langham Place New York. Happiness will always be a hotel room for me, and this is my first time trying a Langham. I’ve marveled at their Boston property for years, with its celebrated chocolate buffet and one very chandelierious (and richly appointed) bar lounge ~ Bond. This time I’ll actually get to sample their hospitality, and it’s something we need right now.
As for the show, my history with ‘Sunset Boulevard’ runs wide and deep. The first time I saw it was with Glenn Close in 1995, and ever since then I’ve wanted to attend it with Andy. We’ve seen a few lackluster productions in the last two decades, and no one comes close to Ms. Close, so when a couple of third-row tickets showed up for the very last show, I jumped at the chance. The only final performance of a Broadway show I’ve seen was the last one of ‘Bullets Over Broadway’ and it was fascinating to see performers going through their parts for one last time – emotional and moving and thrilling all at once. I have a feeling this last one by Glenn Close will electrify and astound, and I will bring an extra tissue or two just in case.
