Currently treading the Broadway boards in ‘Merrily We Roll Along’, Daniel Radcliffe is no newcomer to the theatrical stage, as many of us recall his first splash in ‘Equus’ – and all its full-frontal male nudity. ‘Merrily’ comes from the brilliant canon of Stephen Sondheim, so Radcliffe completes that treacherous part of reaching theatrical royalty, but his lead turn in ‘How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’ put any doubts to rest years ago. He earns this Dazzler of the Day crowning for continuing to defy expectations of what the boy who played Harry Potter would one day become. It’s good to see him here.
The parade that my Dad took me to see when I was a little boy was a parade of ducks that made its way around a tiny pond near the place at which we used to have Sunday breakfast. Faded, faint, and vague, the memory of those Sunday mornings is shrouded in the mist of time – and well over forty years have passed since those days – yet remnants of it remain. Whether from my mother’s retelling of how much I loved to see the cleaning supplies in the back kitchen of what used to be the Windsor Restaurant, or my own indelible mental imprint of Dad bringing me to see the ducks, just the two of us – it remains a vital memory.
When I was a young boy My father took me into the city To see a marching band He said, “Son, when you grow up Would you be the savior of the broken The beaten and the damned?” He said, “Will you defeat them? Your demons, and all the non-believers The plans that they have made? Because one day, I’ll leave you a phantom To lead you in the summer To join the black parade”
Watching the ducks waddle from their wooden house to the water, I am entranced by their feathers, especially those on the ducklings, which look so much fluffier and softer. It must have been spring, lending the morning a haze that a summer sun had not quite started to burn away. Such a haze adds to the clouded aspect of the memory, cocooned in the gauze of weather and atmosphere and the love a boy felt for his father. To my side, Dad watched the parade of ducks, as gleefully enrapt as me. Catching the gleeful side of my Dad wasn’t always easy, but it was such a joy to behold that we all chased after it.
Sometimes I get the feelin’ She’s watchin’ over me And other times I feel like I should go And through it all, the rise and fall The bodies in the streets And when you’re gone, we want you all to know
We’ll carry on, we’ll carry on And though you’re dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on
We’ll carry on And in my heart, I can’t contain it The anthem won’t explain it
Tracing the line from that little boy to the man that types this today is not easy. It is not even particularly linear – there have been fits and stops and stalls along the way, restarts and rebirths and re-dos that make it impossible to easily track the journey of a life. Death seemed to be the ultimate halt to that journey, or so I used to think, but maybe life isn’t a line as much as it is a circle, or some infinite, undulating curve. My geometry skills were never stellar, especially when the graphing went off the page with an arrow. I needed some control to the chaos, some finite sense of completion, but that’s not how it works.
On my last visit home, those ducks were still there at that little pond. Well, different ducks, but ducks nonetheless, still marching in their little parade. There is even a duck crossing sign near the road that runs dangerously nearby. If I didn’t know better, I might believe that those ducks never left. And in some way, aren’t they still there? If I were to bring my godson Jaxon to see them, his memory of them would be the same one I had, and forty years from now he would look back with the same experience. Maybe the ducks never truly leave. Maybe death doesn’t halt life.
A world that sends you reelin’ From decimated dreams Your misery and hate will kill us all So paint it black and take it back Let’s shout it loud and clear Defiant to the end, we hear the call
To carry on, we’ll carry on And though you’re dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on
We’ll carry on And though you’re broken and defeated Your weary widow marches
On and on, we carry through the fears Disappointed faces of your peers Take a look at me, ’cause I could not care at all
Ducks are a far cry from my Dad. They may be imperceptibly reincarnated to the effect that I cannot tell they’re missing, but my Dad has physically departed from this world. The first three months are done, and the holidays are coming up, so this will likely be a tricky time. There are days when the struggle is barely perceptible, mostly because other things take over – the cadence of work, home maintenance, and friend obligations. I try to immerse myself in the daily meditation and exercises in mindfulness, the writing of this blog, the attempt at a new recipe, or the simple sustaining of any meal. The motions of making a cup of tea on a rainy day can, when done carefully and mindfully, be enough to see you through to the next moment.
Then there are days when I feel agitated and annoyed by everything, when the slightest inconvenience or ordeal takes on a magnified feeling of being absolutely unbearable. At those times I feel like one more setback or mishap will have me pick up and leave town without a trace, disappearing with nothing but cash and an untraceable burn phone. My social media accounts would dangle there untended, this blog would be stuck on its last programmed post, and my whole ridiculous online existence would slowly be buried by all the nonsense piling up on the internet. Part of me quite likes that idea of being buried that way by technology, slowly ticking down on some search engine ranking, gradually disappearing until all the links are broken, until the trail has gone completely cold. No one asks ‘whatever happened to…’ when they never knew you in the first place.
Do or die, you’ll never make me, because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you’ll never break me, We want it all, we wanna play this part
I won’t explain or say I’m sorry, I’m unashamed, I’m gonna show my scars Give a cheer for all the broken, Listen here, because it’s who we are
Just a man, I’m not a hero Just a boy, who had to sing this song Just a man, I’m not a hero I don’t care
We’ll carry on, we’ll carry on And though you’re dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on
You’ll carry on And though you’re broken and defeated Your weary widow marches…
When the struggle bears down, and the world turns dark and cold – as it’s doing with the onslaught of proper fall – I seek out more than the making of a cup of tea to get me through it – and I cannot say that I’ve been very successful thus far. Some part of me knows that the mere questioning of this – the very acknowledgement of not knowing what to do or where to go or how to make sense of it – is the main key that will unlock wherever I’m supposed to be going. A larger part wants the answers yesterday, and finds frustration so great it brings me to tears. The smallest part, one that I hear in the quietest whispering voice, believes it is enough to simply carry on.
Do or die, you’ll never make me Because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you’ll never break me We want it all, we wanna play this part (we’ll carry on) Do or die, you’ll never make me (we’ll carry on) Because the world will never take my heart (we’ll carry on) Go and try, you’ll never break me (we’ll carry on) We want it all, we wanna play this part (we’ll carry on!)
And neither need refer to the macabre or sinister side of life.
Not all ghosts are scary.
To that end, on this Halloween evening, let us revisit a few ‘haunted’ posts from the past. Each is a mystery in its own way, sometimes just through the simple inclusion of it on this list. See which ones haunt you.
It was 1997 when I first fell under the theatrical spell Kristin Chenoweth casts whenever she takes the stage. Back then, she was featuring in the Kander and Ebb musical ‘Steel Pier’ and her role as Precious was a highlight of that under-rated show. Ever since then, I’ve been a die-hard Chenoweth fan, a status confirmed and solidified further when we got to see her bubbling away as Galinda in the original Broadway cast of ‘Wicked’. She recently released a new book ‘ I’m No Philosopher But I Got Thoughts’ – a reference to her scene-stealing turn in ‘You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown’. Check that out, as well as upcoming tour dates, on her website here. This marks a very overdue debut as Dazzler of the Day.
Dear Reader – Despite the chilling date, and the supposed proximity of the spirit world on this very date, I cannot reveal the specific background that brought me to the spooky image you may be analyzing here. As part of my holiday card, the origin and reason for Suzie and I having stumbled upon this frightening visage must be kept under wraps until the holiday season. As such, it shall remain shrouded in mystery and intrigue, and perhaps that’s more fitting on this particular day. Not all mysteries are meant to be solved.
I will say that the image captured here was an accident, an unintentional catch that was more of a lark and something to do while Suzie was setting up the shot, and we didn’t really make much of it until later on, when we were inspecting the shots. It was then that the clearer version below came into view.
The musical ‘Wicked’ celebrates its 20th year on Broadway today, and it’s hard to believe that twenty years have passed since Andy and I first got to see Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth soar through the Minskoff Theater. Back then, my critic knife was out, and while I was totally wrong about ‘Wicked’ weathering the years, I stand by my original (minor) critiques of the show. They certainly didn’t keep us from seeing it multiple times over the years, and sometimes you have to give in to what’s ‘Popular’ and simply enjoy the moment for what it is.
Next fall will see the long-awaited movie version of the show, and instead of dreading or doubting, I’m going in with an open mind and hopeful embracing of what it might be.
Broadway’s original Elphaba, as well as Disney’s original belter for their iconic ‘Let It Go’ from ‘Frozen’, Idina Menzel has imprinted her stamp on the pop culture legacy with those two distinct musical performances. That alone would more than earn her this Dazzler of the Day honor, but Menzel has created much more in her storied career, including her role as Maureen in the original cast of ‘Rent’ – the musical that put her on the map and into the hearts of many of us musical lovers. She recently released a dynamic album, ‘Drama Queen’, that perfectly encapsulates where she is now, and where she’s been for much of her amazing journey. Check it out through her website here.
All this time I’ve been trying to find a parking space in downtown Albany I could have just sidled onto the sidewalk with my Mini-Cooper and solved the whole issue. Good to know!
Broadway aficionado, and theatrical showstopper in his own right, Seth Rudetsky has been dazzling audiences throughout his storied career. Not only has he performed in myriad Broadway shows, he’s written a number of books on the subject, and his passion for performance – and performers – is unparalleled. He handily earns this Dazzler of the Day feature for continuing to impress and astound – check out his website here for further evidence of his brilliance.
Entering the fall of one’s life is not something that usually happens without incident or reflection, and finding myself not-so-suddenly at the age of 48, I realize that there are probably more days behind me than are ahead of me. Cresting over this hump of middle age is, somewhat strangely, not something that has caused much consternation or worry. In a number of distinct ways, the overriding feeling is one of gratitude. Honestly, I never thought I’d make it past thirty – there were so many moments fraught with willful self-annihilation, so many times when I gave up on myself, when I actually set out to destroy the young man I couldn’t quite stop myself from becoming.
A song then, on the piano, for the boy I used to be. (All those years of piano lessons, and still I could never play like this.) A song, too, for the man I’ve somehow become, in spite of my weaker efforts, and because of my strongest.
One doesn’t reach a place of gratitude from mindfulness or meditation alone, or from the luck of leading a very charmed and privileged life. One has to suffer a bit, go through a few things, build some character, and maybe approach oblivion couple of times. The debilitating struggle of not feeling like you belong, of not feeling wanted, of not being understood at the most basic level – those things chips away at the innocence and exuberance of childhood. If you’ve only ever felt you were at the margins of life when you were a kid, you never really quite feel like you belong anywhere – at least, you don’t until you can find yourself, and find your own worth. It’s that shaky and unsteady ground that many gay people feel themselves on at one point or another – that moment when coming out might cost you friendship or love or life.
Such a strange thing, that unsteadiness, and the dizzying lack of some feeling of belonging – and then of thinking you don’t belong anywhere unless you’re there at the center of it all, marching in some grand parade, embraced and hoisted on the shoulders not because different, but because you’re just like everyone else. You belong.
Everyone’s eyes are on the spectacle of it – the music and the pomp and the majesty of a march – and we lose ourselves in watching it go by, not looking around to see all the people next to us – eyes only on the chosen few, missing the real connections, the true threads of life running through our journey. I thought I wanted to be in that parade. I thought that would make me belong.
So I made myself into my own parade – a grotesque, ridiculous, carnival of outlandish proportion compared to my trifling lot in life. It was but one of the many demons I conjured in the name of survival. A celebration of me to mask the utter lack of believing I deserved one.
There came a time when all those demons became my friends, when they stopped fighting me and turned their formidable powers against the outer world. Suddenly I could charge ahead with a battalion behind me, a support system the likes of which I never knew or got when I was growing up.
Like all demons, however, they proved problematic, deceptive in their perceived power, and ultimately deserting me when I needed them the most. Empty shells and vaporous ghosts, the scariest forms of imagined life, they were all in my head, all made-up and false crutches to get me through. Sometimes they did, but in the end they couldn’t do what I needed them to do.
Taking life into a macro-level view always results in further mystery and intrigue, which aligns with the general cloak and veil aspect of the fall season. A circle of toadstools, a pair of acorns, or the umbrage of a mushroom rising seemingly overnight – these are but a few of the magical pulls of autumn. They lend an enchantment to the forest floor amid the business of preparing for the slumber of winter.
There is a frenzied increase in the activities of squirrels and chipmunks now. Their summer days spent playing and chasing one another have been supplanted by the rushed stocking of their winter pantries. Acorns and nuts are dug and collected, then hidden somewhere else – the machinations of a squirrel’s plan for winter are still mysterious to me, and still a wonder to watch.
The ground is filled with life at this time of the year, if you bother to bend down and look a little closer. There is dampness here, and with water comes life. Any dry and barren dirt has been given a more hospitable constitution, and life finds a way.
Jaxon celebrated his Uncle Andy’s birthday by presenting him with a plastic bus, a couple of books, and a little baseball. Our family had a belated birthday dinner for Andy – lasagna and cheesecake courtesy of Mom – and it was a lovely gathering on a cozy Sunday afternoon. As the daylight grows shorter and the wind grows colder, and we find our way in this new section of life, such dinners are important. They provide comfort and a time to connect with family.
In the featured photo, astute and detail-oriented viewers will quickly find the photo-bomb by Taylor Swift of all people. Meanwhile, the second pic is in the aftermath of Andy prematurely blowing out his candles before we had barely begun singing Happy Birthday in an effort to stop the song from happening. Noah can be seen stifling a laugh, and the song went ahead anyway. You can’t stop a birthday, anymore than you can still time.
In honor of Taylor Swift’s release of ‘1989 (Taylor’s Version), I’m posting my favorite track from the album (‘Blank Space‘ is a very close second, and on days when I’m feeling especially crazy it might be number one). But I digress, and must remind myself that comparison is the thief of joy. ‘Out of the Woods’ has what I consider to be the greatest bridge of any Swift song, which is saying a lot when you consider the likes of ‘Cruel Summer’. Still, I give the edge to ‘Woods’. And there I go comparing again…
Looking at it now It all seems so simple We were lying on your couch I remember
You took a Polaroid of us Then discovered (Then discovered) The rest of the world was black and white But we were in screaming color And I remember thinking…
In celebration of the woods, we are revisiting the forest, where fall comes into its own with the following links.
Remember when we couldn’t take the heat? I walked out, I said “I’m setting you free” But the monsters turned out to be just trees When the sun came up you were looking at me…
