Floral Sorbet

Reminiscent of sherbet or sorbet in shade only, this tree peony bloom actually smells of a spicy tea. Though the scale of the flower is unknown in these shots, it’s immense – the size of a small plate. So big is it that the stems don’t practically support its weight. I always end up clipping the blooms and bringing them inside, where the pungent perfume can be enjoyed up close.

The bloom is an ever-changing and evolving show of its own. Just when you think it’s achieved its full bomb size, it reaches a little higher and expands a little wider, revealing an inner shade of ruby red at the throat of each petal. I love a hidden heart.

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A Lazy Summer Post

When things get too busy for a wholly original post, I like to look back at all the work that’s gone on here before. Writing a blog that’s updated at least twice a day is no easy feat. This website usually only goes dark on one day a year, and has done so for ss long as the blog portion of it has been in existence (at least ten years). For today, a look back at what was going on here a year or two ago.

June 23, 2014 started with a ginger and a summer recap – the best of both worlds. It closed with a set Hunk of the Day in the form of one Kieron Richardson.

June 23, 2013 found me in the pool, one of my favorite places to be in the summer season. There was music in there air too, and it was as dramatic as a summer storm, bat-style. Last but not least, a cocktail ended the hotness of the day.

For more, check out the archives and search around a little. I love a good treasure hunt.

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All Shiny & New

This is the part of the annual growing season that I like best – everything is still fresh and new, and not quite grown out to its maximum splendor. Bits of earthenware pots can still be seen, glimpses of dark soil forming a perfect background to the brightest green that the season will achieve. There is promise in such chartreuse shades, and a vibrant expectancy that will only gradually erode from this point forward.

Now is the time to pinch things back a little to keep them bushy and full. The first few times I have to do this always gives me pause, but then I remember that gardening is a ruthless business, and being wimpy now will only result in problems and weakness later.

For the moment, though, a breather in the relentless pace of this sunny month. A couple of trims, a little watering, some feeding, and then a bit of admiration and reflection. Enjoy the day.

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The First Summer Recap

It’s only been here a day, but we’re already recapping a bit of summer. Oh well, such is the state of the calendar, and no one is complaining. I’ll drag my naked ass out of the pool to go over what happened in the last week, as much of it was light and fluffy, while more serious stuff was going down. That’s the way summer rolls. Hang onto a noodle and paddle.

Adam Lambert got us all a little bit high. 

After a lengthy absence, the Madonna timeline returned, in a quiet way. We went back to 1995, the year that she took one of many bows, and then she put out this fun summer video that pissed half of her camp off, and thrilled the rest of the world.

Zac Efron got shirtless, as he is wont to do, and nobody complained.

A new (old) summer fragrance from the house of Hermès.

Bradford Shane Shellhammer made his first appearance as Hunk of the Day. (And if I can score an interview with him, it may not be the last…)

Ginger Glory via Kinky Boots.

Suzie turned 40. Who will be next??? Oh, right, Chris…

The world’s baddest Noah, of ark-building fame.

The world’s fiercest fashion model.

Lunch by Cher.

Here’s why I was largely out of circulation for the past week or so – and on that note, Happy Father’s Day again!

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Greeting Summer in the Buff

It’s the first official day of summer, even if we’ve been celebrating it for quite some time. (The longer this sunny season goes, the happier we seem to be.) This will be a busy one, for various reasons, but before we get down to all that nitty and gritty, let’s just ease into things with a frolic in the pool and a couple of throwback skinny-dipping shots.

This year I haven’t been in the pool much – there just hasn’t been time – but with the warmer weather I’m looking to change that. There have been enough pool photo shoots that I don’t think another will be missed. (And if it is, go here, here, here, here, or here.) Link-a-rama! Like Chick-a-rama only with links. Ok, it’s summer and my mind is on vacation. Seek sense somewhere else. Happy Sun & Fun!

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Bitch, She’s Madonna

Vivid of color, silly of purpose, and chock-full-of-stars (pop-and-otherwise), Madonna’s new video for ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ is a vibrant and fun romp through a party pastiche. Reminiscent of her look from 1985’s ‘Dress You Up’ moment (with a stunning pink studded jacket by Discount Universe – thanks for the info Kyle Brincefield!) it’s a bit of a throwback to the 80’s and its black-lit neon brilliance, but re-packaged for a completely of-the-moment freshness.

A lot of people, including some Madonna fans, have complained that this is her worst song and video in years. I’ll admit, initially it was not one of my favorite tracks from the otherwise-epic ‘Rebel Heart’ album, but like the savviest of entertainers, the video sells it in unexpected ways, and I’ve come around to it.

If you want serious, deep, high-minded art, look at ‘Ghosttown‘ – if you want a fun, light-hearted summer ditty, this is your jam. It’s always nice seeing Madonna let her hair down, especially when it’s pink. (And I seriously need that jacket.)

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Father’s Day 2015

My Dad’s Father’s Day gift came a day early, as he was discharged from the hospital after over a week of care following some surgery complications. There’s really no greater gift, and I only hope he keeps recovering – drinking his fluids, eating his healthy food, and getting better. He’s had a difficult few months – first breaking his arm, then having his gall bladder removed – and this latest complication had me more worried than usual.

As I watched him sitting on his hospital bed, it struck me that he looked a little like my nephew Noah – wide-eyed and innocent, and in need of just a little help. Luckily my Mom was staying with him, and I realized once again what a blessing it was to have medical people in the family. The hospital is a scary place without some inside knowledge (and even that won’t get you through the ER admission process any faster.)

I’m wishing him an extra-special Father’s Day, and somehow I value him just a bit more this year. I love you, Dad.

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Lunch Inspired by Cher

For those of you unaware of classic gay culture, the lunch I made for Noah and Emi was directly inspired by Cher’s sandwich-making efforts in ‘Mermaids’. I didn’t have a star-shaped cookie-cutter, so these shapes were more basic in design and appearance, but I still think they were cute enough to merit more than a passing ‘Meh’ from Emi, who, it seems, does not like bologna. (Well I don’t either but I’m not five!) Next time I’ll do up the watercress and tapenade as originally planned.

Kids can be finicky, but in the strangest ways. Rather than bologna and mustard, Miss Emi Lu preferred a simple meal of bread and butter, with a side of pickle. I’m assuming she’s way too young to be pregnant, so I didn’t get overly concerned, merely buttered up some white bread and popped open a jar of McClure’s finest. Chased down with half a glass of milk and finished off with some chocolate cake and whipped cream, it was the most disgusting thing I’ve seen in a while. But if a kid can be made whole by bread and butter, I’m not about to complain. Pass the pickles.

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Playing Dress-Up With My Niece

When I was a little girl – ok, fine, a little boy – I used to fantasize about dusty treasure troves of costumes and jewelry and beaded lamps in the vein of Miss Havisham or Norma Desmond. I longed for a secret attic or hidden closet in which sumptuous silk curtains flowed from ceiling to floor, where chests of colorful scarves and feather-sprouting hats burst to overflowing, and a vanity with a cushioned seat provided the perfect perch on which to primp. It would smell faintly of dried roses and long-forgotten perfume, and every corner would be piled high with the glamorous trappings of what was once worn to wondrous parties and fancy evenings out.

While I never quite found such a paradise as a child, it seems I may have inadvertently created a similar world in my attic, which has become a repository for most of my clothes and party outfits. When confronted with a five-year-old niece who ran through my list of activities in a quick two hours, I gave in and brought her up to the secret space where my costumes, and their numerous accessories, are housed.

Feathers and furs, lace and leather, sequins and silk, hair-pieces and head-dresses – it was a dream for anyone who likes to dress-up. Emi squealed with excitement as we put her into various outfits. She even got her stuffed seal (Pinka) into the act. Uncle Al donned a few select costumes to accompany her down the stairs, but I’ve wisely omitted those photos from your critical eyes.

I’d like to think that in some small way this was the magical escape for Emi that I always wanted when I was a kid. Is that what captivates adults about children? The chance to do it over again, and to do it better? To give them what we never had but always wanted? There’s something depressing about that, but Emi was blithely unaware of it. She only wanted to make sure we had something that looked good with Pinka’s tricky fur tones.

As for the attic, the secret’s out, and now it’s just another room I need to watch when the kids are around. It seems children have the keenest sense of what not to touch and where not to go, and they are invariably drawn to whatever repeatedly elicits the word ‘NO’. I’m sure there’s a prickly spindle somewhere in that attic, and I am not going to be the one responsible for that scene, so once playtime was over, I closed the door and distracted them with other sparkly objects, like the pool.

Still, it’s nice to have a place like this in my back pocket, especially in the event of a rainy day. That’s when the real test begins. Until that difficult day, a last look at our dress-up fun.

Noah got into the act with a bear hat. Some boys are just cut differently than girls.

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A Pre-School Graduation. Now you think about that.

When faced with a choice between attending a child’s dance recital or a graduation ceremony, always choose the latter. Don’t make the common mistake of thinking a dance recital will be more exciting and bearable – it will just be longer – much much MUCH longer. Andy and I won’t be able to make this year’s dance recital (and I swear it’s not because we planned to attend ‘Kinky Boots’ that night, it just happily worked out that way.) We did, however, make it to the pre-school graduation ceremony. Noah and Emi played, wait for it, Noah (of big boat biblical fame) and… umm, Mrs. Noah. (Figures that women didn’t even get names back in the time of the Great Flood. Thank God the teacher said Emi would make a great Miss America so she knows there are other career choices out there.) Nobody ever said I’d make a great Miss America, and I do feel I’ve suffered because of it.

The twins couldn’t have cared less. They just wanted to get home and open their presents.

More importantly, they wanted to begin their first and last summer before Kindergarten. That’s certainly reason to smile.

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This is what you do when you turn 40

Actually, this is sort of what Suzie and I have been doing for years: a whole lotta nothing, and much of it foolish. Gone are the days of endless car rides to Renaissance Faires or Beaver Sanctuaries (you may think I’m joking about one of those, but both really happened). Instead, as we get older, our birthday celebrations have somehow turned into even sillier affairs.

Most times, this one included, we end up simply hanging out at someone’s house. It used to be the Victorian on Locust Ave., where Suzie grew up and I spent all my childhood holidays. For a few years we ended up gathering there for her birthday – as the summer was about to begin, when the daisies and mock orange were in bloom, and the fringe tree just starting to pepper the yard with its enchanting perfume.

They were simpler days, but sadder in a way too. Our cares may have been largely non-existent, but our hearts could still riot. I wish I’d known then to just calm the fuck down and relax, that somehow it would all turn out more or less all right. Instead, I think we worried more than we needed to, and pondered serious things that no one so young should ever ponder.

To get us through, we found nonsense and frivolity in most situations. A bat hanging in the kitchen window, for instance. I was able to laugh at that because I wasn’t sleeping there. (Suzie may have found it less funny, but if so she never let on.) A drastic pruning job on the wilderness of viburnum bordering the front porch (I told you they’d grow back fuller than before!) The haircuts we gave to each other, and the hair dyes we tried when we didn’t look ridiculous enough. Rites of passage gone through together.

For this time around it was hot dogs wrapped in soft pretzels. And yo-yos that lit up. We will do a formal 40th celebration in Boston come September, but for now the birthday girl has to cut her own bread.

Andy made a valiant effort at a peanut-butter, fluff and jelly cake at the request of Suzie’s son MoMo, but it exploded in its own over-the-top madness. It appears that fluff does not take kindly to being trapped between layers of peanut butter.

Thank God for the peonies.

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A Ginger Angel Named Ricky

Ginger hunk Ricky Schroeder is in town for the National Tour of ‘Kinky Boots’ – in addition to prepping for an appearance in this year’s Broadway Bares event. That means it’s a good time to revisit the previous posts when he was crowned Hunk of the Day, not just once, but twice. A third one is surely in the offing, because you don’t dance that kinky without having it pay off physically (and handsomely). A few photos from his FaceBook feed are proof of this. Also, be sure to check out his Broadway Bares donation page and throw some love his way. An admirable cause put on by some admirable people.

For further ginger madness (because most of us love a ginger), you are invited to click on the following links:

Red is the color of fire. (See Seth Fornea.)

Red is the color of sex. (See Greg Rutherford.)

Red is the color of passion. (See Sean Patrick Davey.)

Red is the color of love. (See Chris Nogiec.)

Red is the color of desire. (See Kevin Selby.)

Red is the color of lust. (See Niklas Edin.)

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The Gloriously-Scented Air of Hermes

Unlike Tom Ford’ hit-or-miss forays into the florals, Hermes – under the reign and guidance of sadly-soon-to-retire perfumer Jean Claude Ellena – knows how to cultivate a garden series in exquisite manner. Their Jardin line was recently capped by the final installment by Mssr. Ellena in the lilting ‘Sur Jardin Mr. Li’ – an elegant swan song that took its namesake and creation from an imagined garden in China. (I’m saving that for a little later in the summer.) While the line is decidedly sweet and feminine, it grounds itself with a green and woody base that runs through each individual offering, uniting but setting them distinctively apart. The first in the series, ‘Sur de Nil’, started things off on a delicious note, with the gardens of the Nile in Egypt used as the inspirational starting point. Green mangoes formed the slightly fruity base of it, and it’s the perfect spring scent as it ripens into summer – light enough to dissipate in the heat without overpowering, but deceptively lasting, throwing off unexpected notes hours into the day. It made the perfect anniversary gift earlier last month, and I’ll wear it until high summer, and likely beyond.

The creation of ‘Sur de Nil’ was immortalized in the exquisite book ‘The Perfect Scent’ and the journey to Egypt, the rides on the Nile, and the inspirational mangoes in the air all come to mind when I smell the fragrance now. I don’t always enjoy learning how a fragrance came to be – it can fall short of expectations and the impossibly-grand imagination, but on occasion a perfume opens up even more when you know the history behind it. That was the case here.

The Jardin line from Hermes has come to mean different things in my years of wearing it – I think of summer elegance, the sound of running water sparkling in filtered sunlight, and the languid repose required when the heat gets turned up to high. Somewhere, in the background, a tree blooms and invisibly disperses its sweetly-scented elixir.

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Some Shirtless Zac Efron

To help us get over the hump, here are some shirtless shots of Zac Efron when he went rope-swinging. I guess when you’re hot like that you go rope-swinging. Obviously, I’ve never been, and I’m good with that. (Though it must be noted that I was one of the few in our sixth grade class who could scale the big ropes in phys ed class and get all the way to the top of the gymnasium. Hint: it’s just as much in the legs as it is in the arms.) Speaking of arms, Mr. Efron’s guns are something to behold. Hanging on rope and swinging around like Tarzan certainly agrees with him. It also works wonders for building the back, and the chest, and apparently everything else.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #112 ~ ‘Take A Bow’ – Winter 1995

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.} 

Surrounded by a decorative circle of mosquito netting, I cradle the phone against the side of my head. In the dramatic tableau of my childhood bedroom, which has grown up along with me, I have created a world that is somewhere between Norma Desmond’s cocoon of a boudoir and the sumptuous candle-laden lair of the Phantom of the Opera. In the dim light of a fading winter’s night, I listen to a man’s voice but it doesn’t betray lust or love or even like, and I wonder if it’s all just a game. The January darkness has fallen quickly, and a thaw has left pools of fog across the hazy streetscape outside the window. At the tail-end of my winter break from Brandeis, I alternately dread and wish for the return to campus, and to Boston. My longing for connection supersedes any rational suspicion; my want for love overpowers any hesitation or concern. More than anything else, I’m in love with the idea of being in love, but I do not see that then. All I feel is longing, and so I stay on the line and listen and try to be funny and lovable and witty and enthralling. Nerves get the best of me, so there is mostly silence from my end.

Take a bow, the night is over
This masquerade is getting older
Light are low, the curtains down
There’s no one here
(There’s no one here, there’s no one in the crowd)
Say your lines but do you feel them
Do you mean what you say when there’s no one around?
Watching you, watching me, one lonely star
(One lonely star you don’t know who you are)

A phantom vision, a gentleman rising from the fog, appearing in the light of a street lamp. Whispers, glances, furtive eyes and tentative touches – a wisp of an encounter, ephemeral and fleeting,

For someone who had such little actual experience in matters of love, who’d never had a love affair that went beyond a year or so, my heart felt battered and bruised. Mostly my love went unrequited, and there’s a different kind of heartbreak in that. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all… or was that not the case? What happens if there was nothing to lose because you never really had anything in the first place? Does that discount the hurt? I would not know enough to compare.

I’ve always been in love with you
I guess you’ve always known it’s true
You took my love for granted, why oh why
The show is over, say good-bye.
Say good-bye, say good-bye…

On the radio, Madonna was beginning her longest run at the #1 slot, as ‘Take A Bow’ shot to the top thanks in part to an American Music Awards appearance with Babyface, who co-wrote the song. It was sweet and beautiful, and went with the softer vibe of the ‘Bedtime Stories’ album. The song itself was saccharine but effective, and Babyface’s luscious melodies were candy for the ears. Still, it was imbued with enough sadness and regret to make it more than just a passing fancy. The best of her songs straddle that line.

The video for the single was a lavish piece of cinematic beauty and breadth, shot in Spain and documented for an MTV making-of special entitled, ‘No Bull!’ in which Kurt Loder interviewed the blonde diva, and the video would end up winning accolades and awards for its simple heartbreaking story of a woman’s love for a bullfighter. Something went wrong somewhere along the way, and she ended up alone, streaks of tear-stained mascara running down her face.

In the video, Madonna cradled a television, caressing it like a loved one ~ the notion of loneliness obvious and crushing. I sympathized with her lonely obsession, the tinges of want and desire, and the echoes of what once was coupled with the realization of what could never be.

We thrashed beneath the sheets, we cried out streams of anguish, and in the end we ended up right where we began – alone and unlucky and heartbroken.

Make them laugh, it comes so easy
When you get to the part
Where you’re breaking my heart
Hide behind your smile, all the world loves a clown
(Just make ’em smile the whole world loves a clown)
Wish you well, I cannot stay
You deserve an award for the role that you played (role that you played)
No more masquerade, you’re one lonely star
(One lonely star and you don’t know who you are)

After winter break, I returned to Boston by myself, the temporary thaw and fog-filled nights turned into memories, the veracity of which I could never be quite sure. I worked on creative projects that I’d send out to my friends – ‘Whimsy’ and ‘Preference’ – in a desperate attempt to stay close to people, to not give up. Yet increasingly I felt isolated and alone, trapped in a turret of Usen Castle, with Boston but a dim glow in the distance.

The sun filtered through the bare branches of an oak tree, falling in orange shafts and moving over walls of painted cinder blocks. I’d sit and stare at the digital red numbers of my alarm clock, before the light drained from the room. I thought of the first man I ever kissed. I thought of the last time I saw him, and of the cold winter that followed. I listened to Madonna and wondered how far my heartache was from hers.

All the world is a stage (the world is a stage)
And everyone has their part (has their part)
But how was I to know which way the story’d go
How was I to know you’d break
(You’d break, you’d break, you’d break)
You’d break my heart?

Her paramour took a bow, then took his leave. Is this what men did? The only guy I’d been with had left before the snow came. He’d done worse things to me before that, but whether I was blinded by love or too young to know any better, I hadn’t wanted him to leave. He’d left a wake of regret over something in which I had no say, no control. The terrifying and forlorn barren desert of the heart. A literal no-man’s land.

I’ve always been in love with you
(I’ve always been in love with you)
Guess you’ve always known
You took my love for granted, why oh why
The show is over, say good-bye

Yet after every winter came the thaw. Not the tricky, brief ones of January or February, but the lasting, sustaining and final thaw that obliterated winter once and for all. It happened that year, as it did every other. Maybe it was messier than usual, maybe it took a little longer, but soon enough spring had arrived. Winter took its bow, and said its farewell.

Say good-bye (bye bye), say good-bye
Say good-bye.

SONG #112 – ‘Take A Bow’ ~ Winter 1995

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