The DG Tour: Samsara Healing Water ~ Part 1

“You can hide so much behind theatrics, and I don’t need to do that anymore.”  – Alexander McQueen

The final bend of The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book is at hand, and it will hopefully be a breath of fresh air for those who got bogged down by all the darkness and bad bunny behavior of what came before. On this last leg of our journey, we head into a more spiritual, yet realistic realm. The notions of pain, hurt, retribution, fantasy, glamour and excess are beginning to be reconciled, and there will soon be a dismantling of a past lived almost entirely behind a stage curtain.

This is the start of the awakening.

An open door.

A portal to a world where the past peacefully cohabitates with the present, and the future lurks temptingly around corners.

Locked cabinets, hidden drawers, and the sheen of a thickly-lacquered veneer – so many shields, so many defenses, all coated in glossy shine.

This is the beginning of learning to let secrets slumber.

Certain silks are better left undisturbed.

Not all dust is bad.

In stone and wood, a certain wisdom resides.

The wisdom of nature, of an order pre-destined and established beyond our sense of time.

It is stalwart, steady and true.

There is clarity in leaving some things obscured.

If you can wrap your head around that and let the need for all-knowing absolute certainty go, you will find that clarity.

Then you will find serenity, and perhaps even a purpose.

We seek to defy chaos.

We wish to restore order.

We want it all to make sense.

There is a time to be like stone, a time to be sturdy like wood.

And then there is a time to be like water – fluid and flexible, able to freeze, able to flow, and able to evaporate.

In beauty there is peace.

In my palm, I hold a prayer.

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Purple Panache – Part 2

The purple pulchritude presses forward with this second part of Purple Panache. I’m running out of pretty ‘P’ words, so before things turn nasty let’s quickly proceed to the images. (But just out of curiosity, what were you thinking: penis or pussy? My mind went to piss.)

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Purple Panache – Part 1

Maybe this is a tribute to the Purple One whose reign recently came to a sad close, or maybe it’s just a collection of pretty purple things because I love the color purple. It matters not.

Most are flowers, but there are a couple of surprises thrown in because purple doesn’t limit itself to one form.

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Beyond the Glamour

Our tour stop in the lands of Cologne and Glamour has come to an end, but the next segment is right around the corner. For now, a pause in silken splendor, and a look back at the entirety – thus far – of the Delusional Grandeur Tour trajectory. We have made it through the wilderness (somehow we made it through) and there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s one of those all-illuminating lights, however, so the relief it offers is may be as equally thrilling as the fright that might initially result. Are you ready for the revelation?

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

01)  Intro/Curtain – Part OnePart TwoPart Three

02)  Sunset Pool – Part OnePart TwoPart ThreePart FourPart Five

03)  On The Road Hotel – Part OnePart TwoPart Three

04)  Rock Star Addict – Part OnePart TwoPart Three

05)  Animal Demons – Part OnePart TwoPart ThreePart FourPart Five

06)  Steam Punk Birdcage – Part OnePart TwoPart ThreePart Four

07) Red Riding Wood – Part OnePart TwoPart ThreePart FourPart Five

08) Winter Top Hat – Part OnePart Two

09) Warrior Retribution – Part OnePart TwoPart ThreePart FourPart FivePart SixPart SevenPart Eight

10) Cologne Glamour Fashion – Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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Muscari, In & Out of Focus

Certain blog posts are titularly self-explanatory.

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Summer Memories: The Best Guardian for a Red Sox Game

This weekend Skip and I head back to Fenway Park to take in a ball game between the Boston Red Sox and the Toronto Blue Jays. For the record, it is a win-win scenario for me, as the Blue Jays are my second favorite team (after the Red Sox). The very first professional baseball game I’d ever attended was a match-up between these two teams in 1986, the year the Sox went on to win the pennant. (We’ll leave Bill Buckner out of this for now.) At the time, I was more interested in the brown bag of paperwhite narcissus we’d just procured at a market than I was in the game. My Dad and brother had the better seats, by the third base line, while Mom and I were further back. It meant more to them than to us.

Last year I returned to the Green Monster’s lair with Skip, and it was an unexpectedly enjoyable experience. I’m not sure what sort of scene we made, what with the beer, the insults to the other team, and the runway rating I insisted on giving every player as their visage flashed across the screen for each of their at-bats. Surely it was no more incendiary than cutting the entire ‘Thor’ movie line.

I SEE THE DAWN OF A NEW BEGINNING

THIS TIME, THIS TIME WE CAN’T GO HOME

I HEAR THE STREETS OF TOMORROW CALLING

I GO, I GO WHERE YOU GO

‘CAUSE WE BELONG TO SOMETHING

WE BELONG TO SOMETHING NEW

As we sat down for the game, I found myself once again getting philosophical about the whole idea of baseball, its place in our culture, and the attraction that gets an entire park filled with grown adults hooting and hollering like kids at Christmas. Skip explained my various questions on the game itself, while the undulations of the crowd held me transfixed. I wanted so badly to do the wave, but I don’t think they did it that day.

Shaded somewhere behind the third base line, I was taken back to my first Red Sox game, while very much inhabiting the game at hand. Past and present selves existed, and the solitude I so often courted and craved in both childhood and adulthood found momentary abatement in the enjoyment of a friend – and a group -“ all of us watching the same thing, sharing the same experience,

IN THE MIDST OF THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

YOU SAID TO ME

WE ARE, WE ARE A DIFFERENT KIND

OH LIKE WE’VE BEEN KISSED BY HIGHER POWER

SAYING DON’T WAIT, DON’T WAIT UNTIL IT’S GONE

‘CAUSE WE BELONG TO SOMETHING,

WE BELONG TO SOMETHING,

WE BELONG TO SOMETHING NEW…

Most of my happy summer memories go back to the 80’s, but every once in a while a new one is created, and it gets filed away for those winter days when things can get a little lonely. Ever since last year’s Red Sox trip, Skip has been part of a new summer memory. It’s reminiscent of the days of ‘Stand By Me’ or ‘The Goonies’™ when my brother and a friend would join me for an adventure. Most days it was simply riding our bikes around town or traipsing through the woods or racing around the garage if it was raining. Some boyish things are better shared. A baseball game is one of them.

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Oodles of Blooms, Indoors & Out

Lilacs and ajuga and roses – oh my!

A single flower can be majestic, but when taken en masse a collection can be even more striking.

Here are a few examples of how more is sometimes more.

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Low-Key Anniversary

It spit and spattered, but the sky never opened up.

It went cloudy and gray, but there were peeks of brilliant blue.

It felt hazy and quiet, but some years are like that.

We spent a low-key anniversary in Boston a few weeks ago, but there were softly-faceted jewels of dinners and ring-cleaning and fragrance shopping expeditions to be had.

A sixth wedding anniversary isn’t much reason to shout, so we kept things on the calm side, with breakfast procured from Café Madeleine and devoured in the haven of the condo.

We made our usual stop in the Boston Public Garden after the cleaning of the rings, and Andy met a few new friends who really knew how to quack.

There were bouquets of peonies wherever we went – much like there were on our wedding weekend; it was a happy reminder, a sign that things were as they should be.

We left as the rain descended, driving home in the falling drops, much like we did six years ago.

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Basement Boudoir

You don’t always have a choice on where or how you create beauty, but even the smallest and most dismal of spaces can be made into something more. This was the small scene in the new below-ground location of the SoWa Market, a sorry shift from its formerly-expansive space in a neighboring building. There’s something sad about this in every way, and yet there’s something comforting about it too.

Maybe it’s the light.

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Last May Day & Coral Beauty

Everybody knows The Four Seasons doesn’t fuck around, especially when it comes to their floral displays. Witness these gorgeous peonies, in all sorts of shades of coral – bright, warm, vibrant and rich. They look almost fake in their striking, saturated hues and the architectural perfection of their design. A painter could not have conjured a more flawless flower.

Though I’ll always be partial to the old-fashioned bomb-style blooms of the traditional peony (and its intoxicating perfume), hybrids like this carry their own glamour.

The cost of such beauty is a lack of any pervading scent, and scent is half the point of a peony. That’s a trade-off some of us won’t make. That said, there’s no denying the beauty at work here.

This is a fitting post for the last day of May, when the final full month of spring shifts into the golden road to summer.

The blooming season is heading into its first crest. All the world is alive.

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Night/Day, Winter/Spring

The unofficial kick-off to summer arrives with today’s holiday, and for a visual treat of how far we’ve come, check out these contrasting shots of Boston. Taken from our Braddock Park vantage-point, they illustrate the shift in seasons better than I could ever describe.

Winter, spring, summer or fall…

 

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A Memorial Day Recap of the Week Before

This is always a bittersweet day – more sweet than bitter – but there’s always a sadness in leaving Ogunquit – even if it means the summer season has just begun. Most of the time, it’s the most beautiful day of the weekend, which makes leaving doubly difficult. I’ll do a quick chronicle of this year’s trip in a it – for now, the usual Monday morning recap.

A very hot start to the week, as Gus Kenworthy showed off his naked ass at noon.

Two-time Hunk of the Day Daniel Rodrigues looked in a mirror, with good reason.

A beautiful Boston afternoon. And again. Beauty in a building.

Here’s a hyphenate you don’t hear very often: real estate agent-male model Donnell Blaylock Jr.

Sweet plum blossoms.

One of the younger Hunks of the Day: David Henrie.

Diana Vreeland knows vivacious and bold.

The kind of snow you can’t blow.

The bulge and the butt of Marshall Arkley.

Nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart.

A Hunk of the Day whose name says it all: Rocco Hard.

Putting my butt where my mouth is. A preamble for this naked male celebrity post.

Jake Shears, shorn again for his second Hunk of the Day post.

The exquisite Sakura Cocktail, or as close as I could get.

Light them up.

When hunks go glam: Danny Glam.

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Smoking Is Rat Poison

Such was the refrain that my brother and I recorded over and over on a ‘Stop Smoking’ audio tape we made for our Uncle when we were just kids. It was our attempt at getting him to do something healthy, and we made it as much for our amusement as for our underlying fear that he’d die from all those cigarettes. We didn’t know any better then – we thought people could change that quickly and easily. I think that’s the part of childhood I miss the most – that sense of infinite possibility, and the ability to believe in anything. We need more of that now.

As for smoking, I never really got into it. I dabbled over the years – trying cloves and bidis before Marlboro lights – but for some reason I was lucky enough never to get hooked. It was a social thing at first, to get an extra break at work when my friends were going out, or a photo prop, done for effect and accessory over any real enjoyment or addiction.

It’s strange – part of me wanted to get addicted to something, playing up the attraction to a darker side – but it was never really true. Why I felt the need to appear as such, I’ll never know, but that’s another post for the denouement of the Delusional Grandeur Tour.

Light ’em up.

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The Sakura Cocktail

If there were no cherry blossoms

in this world

How much more tranquil

our hearts would be in spring.

~ Ariwara no Narihira

It was a blustery spring day in Washington, DC. The wind had taken most of the cherry blossoms a week or two prior to my arrival, but some of the Kwanzan trees still held their pink beauties. Outside the Jefferson Hotel, a stand of tulips fought the wind, and in a lull they stood with the afternoon sun slanting through their luminous petals. I was early for a dinner with Chris and Darcey, and in an effort to escape the cold wind (while enjoying one of my favorite watering holes) I ducked into the marble hallway leading to Quill.

It was the tail end of cherry blossom season, but the city was still feeling its blush. On the cocktail menu was something that held a number of my favorite libations: the Sakura. The listed ingredients included two mainstays: gin and grapefruit juice. The remaining elements were just as enchanting, and taken together they made the same beautiful promise that every cherry blossom bud made: the promise of beauty and hope and a spring that always comes back.

Listed ingredients:

  • Bluecoat gin
  • Yellow chartreuse
  • Yuzu
  • Grapefruit
  • Honey Syrup
  • Rhubarb bitters

The drink arrived, and it was very much a sip of spring. The shading was unexpected – a soft buttery yellow that flirted with peach – but that only made it feel all the sunnier. The taste was sublime – tart and slightly fruity, with the welcome herbal challenge of the chartreuse and the warm lilt of honey, sparked by the exquisite jolt of the yuzu and rhubarb bitters.

When I returned home, and on an equally blustery day, I managed to procure all the ingredients and try my hand at assembling a decent approximation of the magic of the original Sakura by Quill. It turns out I needed everything but the gin, as my kitchen is not equipped with yuzu or yellow chartreuse or rhubarb bitters. It is now – and every ingredient is important for this one to be successful.

For proportions, I used one part gin, one part grapefruit juice, 1/3 part chartreuse, 1/5 part honey syrup, and a few healthy drops each of the yuzu and bitters.

The variable that enchantingly influences how this cocktail looks is the grapefruit juice. I extracted the nectar from a fresh ruby red grapefruit, which takes the yellow chartreuse and yuzu into cantaloupe-shaded territory. I actually preferred the yellowish version of the original, so the next time I try this I’ll use a white grapefruit instead. Either way, it sings of spring.

Outside, the wind whipped wildly. A shower of white apple blossom petals fell like snow and whirled around my feet. Inside me, I held the memory of the Sakura. In spite of the wind, the world felt a little warmer.

Look at the cherry blossoms

Their color and scent fall with them

Are gone forever

Yet mindless

The spring comes again.

~ Ikkyu

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Nude and Not-so-Nude Male Celebrities on Display

The naked male celebrity gets more than his fair share of attention in these parts, but there are those who keep their clothes on occasionally, and this is a nod to them. Not that we’ve completely gone off nudes – and there are a few here to keep you interested, but every now and then I enjoy a complete ensemble that encompasses more than someone’s underwear and cologne and odd piece of jewelry.

Let’s begin with Chris Evans, who has appeared in these pages in far less clothing than he’s got on here. (You especially like it when he pulls his pants down.) A nod to his star-making turn as Captain America, he’s got the bull’s eye, and the eyes of America, upon him.

Nick Jonas has also graced us wearing much less, but here he offers a little glimpse of arm pit action, which is always appreciated by some of you.

Tom Daley may not be wearing more clothing in this post, but nor is he wearing less. It’s his standard Speedo attire, a look that has yet to grow tired, and one that he’ll be flaunting in Rio this summer. Who’s ready for another Olympic games? [Raises hand.]

Rob Gronkowski recently bared a bit of his butt for this pec-tacular post, but here’s his full-on backside in a shot that won’t make any paper editions of GQ stateside.

And bringing up the finest rear this post has to offer is Bear Grylls, frigidly baring his backside to end this post on a bare-ass note.

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