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August 2015

A Dry, Dry Recap

Like my wit at its best, this has been a dry week. The gardens are scorched. Stretches of ostrich ferns have browned up and shriveled off. We are headed incontrovertibly into fall. Sorry, but it’s true. Face the facts or extend your denial. Still, it’s summer, and it will be for a number of weeks, so I’m stepping outside by the pool and soaking up every last moment. August is a beautiful month.

The last week saw a fitting Speedo post, as that’s the preferred attire for certain men of a certain build.

It also saw the first glimpse into Madonna’s Rebel Heart tour. My excitement was waning, but now it’s back to where it always was, and there’s no better reminder of that than this collection of previous openings.

The male model was a staple of the August Hunks of the Day, thanks to Bryce Thompson, Nyle Dimarco and Kevin Baker.

Green beans hanging like bulbous garland.

The delectable Joe Zaso got his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

It’s tricky to rock around August.

Plans for a 40th birthday celebration in Boston were set into motion, thanks to the Lenox Hotel and their Judy Garland Suite.

Still on tour, still delusional, and still intrigued by the underside of life.

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This Won’t Be A Tour Stop

One city that the Delusional Grandeur Tour will NOT be visiting is Las Vegas. Though several pages of the Tour book were shot on location there, I do not enjoy the city in the least. It had some good points: for a hotel worshipper like myself it was a treat to visit the ornate lobbies and extensive grounds of some of the finer hotels (even if they were miles apart and one had to trek in 110 degree heat to get there). The Wynn and Encore were two of my favorites – even more-so than the Bellagio and the Venetian. On my last day in the sinful city, I spent much of my time roaming the hallways of the former, and winding down my trip with a quiet cocktail at the relatively hidden Parasol Lounge.

This secret gem was lit by the bright afternoon sun, but offered shady respite (in fitting fashion given its namesake). Enormous parasols in rich jewel tones hung overhead, and one descended in a curving escalator to reach the secluded space. Had I discovered the place earlier in my stay I might not have ever left it. Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t.

There are surely ways to make Las Vegas magical, but I didn’t have enough money to find them. Instead, I found sanctuary from the heat beneath a bunch of parasols.

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A Tour Takes Shape, Makes Destinations

The second question (after the more obvious,’What exactly do you do on a tour?’) is always, ‘Where are you going?’ For my final tour I’ll be keeping things relatively open as far as destinations go. I’ve made a life of planning far into the future, but this time I’m flying by the seat of my pants. It’s produced a feeling of exhilaration and terror, and I’m digging it. That said, there are concrete plans for the next few weeks, and a couple of Tour Stops already etched in the itinerary. First up is a Boston and Cape Cod jaunt to meet some new friends from Britain. JoAnn is hosting the Brits, and this will mark my first time meeting this wonderful group of people I’ve heard so much about. Following that is my 40th birthday weekend in Boston, a quiet affair with Andy in the Judy Garland Suite of the Lenox Hotel.

Early September will bring about a vacation in Seattle, WA -my first time in that fair city since 1998. Along with the flagship Nordstrom store, I always want to see some sea-life – whales or octopus – and perhaps a museum or two. Oh, and Starbucks. I need to see how their stores should really be operating, because I think the Albany locations have some serious issues.

After that, I’ll set up more definitive plans for New York, Washington, and Ogunquit. This tour is going places. Watch and see.

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Ways of Entry, Ways of Passage

While The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star is out of travel status until next weekend, a word on those portals and passages that bring us into other worlds. They are the doorways to different lands, the paths to new destinations. I’ve always been fascinated by such points – the transitory marks that bring us from here to there, and occasionally back again. Whether it’s a car or a plane or a boat, whether it’s a bridge or a road or a hallway – these are the hubs of transformation. A hotel lobby is the perfect, and infinitely fascinating, example of this. Airports, too. The places where people are in motion and flux, going or coming, running to somewhere or running away from somewhere else – these are the in-between states where most people aren’t really themselves, but in which I find myself most true and real.

At its worst, it results in what I see as a tourist’s frame-of-mind. Those frazzled or simply seemingly-mindless people who don’t know where they are or what they’re doing, who suddenly forget how to walk when out of their usual routine, who forget simple human decency because they’re so preoccupied with figuring out how to order a cup of coffee outside of their own kitchen. When I see stuff like that and I’m annoyed, I call it stupidity, but really it’s more of a distracted, out-of-place confusion that many people aren’t accustomed to coping with, at least not well.

Oddly enough, it’s a state I rather favor. I find comfort in not being bound to the usual trappings of home and tradition. Yes, it can be upsetting if you’re stuck in your ways and resistant to change, but if you open your mind to new experiences it’s nothing but exciting.

Those thresholds are my comfort zone. They are where and when I feel the most alive and energized. Part of me fantasizes about working in a job where the majority of time is spent in travel status, on a train platform or at an airport gate, waiting and anticipating the next rush of motion. It’s why I’ve never minded a lengthy layover (which are far preferable to the ten-minute gauntlets thrown down in an airport that’s five miles long) and why I consider a train ride or road trip a destination unto themselves.

It need not be a world-spanning flight or cross-country jaunt – sometimes the simple length of a pool is enough to clear the mind and bring about a new sensation. Sometimes it is even simpler: a doorway, the same doorway you’ve walked through your entire life, can be the starting point for a new beginning. It’s all in how you choose to go through it. The life you knew before can change in that single instant. Make it the one that you want, and don’t be afraid to leave certain doors behind.

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Down The Rabbit Hole

The greatest of journeys often begin in the darkest of places.

Dante knew this.

He also knew that the darkest of places are often the most intriguing.

Here, a hint of the road ahead, with shadows of a sinister character – the stuff of nightmares and horror movies, stuff of childhood terrors, stuff that goes bump in the night.

The darkness on the approaching edge of evening, the stiff breeze that portends change to come, the elegant wisp of smoke curling from some devil’s lips – these are the shadows that foretell of transformation.

Do not be afraid, though your heart tells you otherwise. Do not draw back, as fear proves more hospitable for him. Do not run away, because it’s the only way out.

We will battle the bunny. We will exorcize the demons. We will wage war with the world that created us.

Recommended by a FaceBook friend, this Natalia Kills song is a fitting accompaniment to these bunny photos, and it’s as cheeky a choice as any for the bad rabbits of the world.

We’re the kids your momma warned you about

We’re the kids your momma warned you about

Drive fast, roll tight, ride hard all night

We’re the kids your momma warned you about

We’re the kids your momma warned you about

Drive fast, roll tight, ride hard all night

‘Cause I eat boys like a cannibal,
Fuck hard, howl at the moon like an animal,
Eat me, drink me, straight down the rabbit hole
White lines, white lies, straight down the rabbit hole

When I fall in love, I fall down the rabbit hole
Down the rabbit hole, down the rabbit hole
Fall in love, I fall down the rabbit hole
Down the rabbit hole

When I fall in love, I fall down the rabbit hole
Down the rabbit hole, down the rabbit hole
Fall in love, I fall down the rabbit hole
Follow me down the rabbit hole…

Of course, there’s also the original ‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane, with imagery that conjures Alice in Wonderland. Rich source material indeed, even if its author was super-creepy and questionable of moral turpitude.

One pill makes you larger,

and one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you,

don’t do anything at all

Go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall

And if you go chasing rabbits, and you know you’re going to fall

Tell ’em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call

And call Alice, when she was just small

When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go
And you’ve just had some kind of mushroom, and your mind is moving low

Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know

When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead
And the white knight is talking backwards
And the red queen’s off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said
Feed your head, feed your head…

Both are escapes, both take us to places of dreams – and sometimes nightmares – and the journey is always a doozy. Take that journey with me this year ~ The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star. Upcoming stops include Boston, Cape Cod and Seattle…

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Birthday Plans in the Judy Garland Suite

When brainstorming for birthday ideas, I suddenly started to feel the pressure of living up to the whole ‘Big 4-0’ aspect of this particular anniversary of being born. Whenever that happens, I tend to panic a little at the daunting prospect of marking such a milestone in expectedly-astounding fashion. At such moments, I go into survival mode, and rather than trying to live up to the build-up and create some over-the-top experience, I will find a solution by going the opposite way: keeping things quiet and simple and uneventful. That’s the way this 40th birthday celebration is being designed, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a few flashes of extravagant indulgence. (I’m still me.)

Being that my brother told me he would be saying at our place in Boston on the eve and morning of my birthday, celebrating my 40th in Boston could only be comfortably accomplished by booking a hotel. Admittedly, this is a bonus for me, in light of my love of hotels, so it all worked out in the end, and with the generous offer of my Mom to make it special, I searched some of the places I’d always wanted to stay, but never had reason to, given our own digs in the city.

After perusing a few options (the Ames Boston Hotel, the Mandarin Oriental, the Langham and the Liberty) I came back to a nearby classic: the Lenox Hotel. A long-time fan of City Bar (and the gorgeous Lemon Verbena soap in the restroom) I’ve spent a fair share of moments passing through or taking momentary respite in their pretty lobby, and I’ve always wanted to spend a night or two there. I’ve also taken note of their celebratory support for diversity and marriage equality, as well as their unparalleled commitment to environmental ‘green’ initiatives.

A family-run boutique hotel, the Lenox has long been one of those classy bastions of Boston, its regal red sign rising above the bustle of Boylston and calling out a storied past where luminaries have enjoyed the hospitality and elegance at hand.

The final thing that sealed the deal? The Judy Garland Suite. How could I not spend my 40th birthday in a room named after Judy Garland, especially one that looks so pretty? Some things are meant to be.

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Summer Memories: I Want Tomorrow

Tricky month, August is. Last full month of summer. Tricky nights, August nights are. They carry with them the hint of fall. Felt it for the first time this year last night. Cool. Brisk. Nice. Not unwelcome, not yet. Still, stave off a bit. Give us a little more summer. A little more sun. A little more heat. I’ve not yet grown tired of it. We remember the winter. We don’t want to go back there. I find myself staying up so as not to end the days too soon. It is tiring, but it’s a happy exhaustion. The giddy sleep that can come only after a day of splashing by the sea, soaking up the sun.

Dawn breaks; there is blue in the sky.

Your face before me

Though I don’t know why.

Thoughts disappearing like tears from the Moon.

Years ago, August meant the encroaching approach of college. The end of summer vacation. I’d lie in bed at night and listen to this song by Enya. A lullaby and a march, like the relentless passing of time, some gentle ticking of the clock that never wavers come sun or moon, come waves or wind. It marks its moments easily, subtly, yet the end result is the same: the end of summer. It’s in the night air now. I want to mourn, but by the morning I will forget. There will be more heat, more sun, and I will not remember what the darkness whispered.

Waiting here, as I sit by the stone,
They came before me
Those men from the Sun.
Signs from the heavens say I am the one.

Now you’re here, I can see your light,
this light that I must follow.
You, you may take my life away, so far away.
Now I know I must leave your spell
I want tomorrow.

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Summer Memories: Picking the Beans

Within the metallic mesh fence that protected the vegetable garden, I peered into the leafy jungle. Slightly fuzzy leaves rose along a bamboo framework, and nestled inside, dangling in the shady nooks, the green beans hung. Having been dispatched by my Mom to pick some beans for dinner, I’d ventured into the garden in the hour before eating. It was quiet and still. The morning cacophony of bird calls and waking had given way to the riotous pool splashing of high noon, but now the day had settled into itself. In other countries this would be the time for a siesta.

The act of harvesting instills a sense of contentment and accomplishment. I don’t usually grow vegetables, and there’s a difference between a decorative plant that produces beauty all season long, and a vegetable which produces something that physically nourishes you. Both have their purpose, both have their merits. I’ve just always sided with the prettier choice.

On this summer afternoon, however, I find peace in picking beans, in the stillness of the garden. My hands are soon filled with beans, which I drop into a bag which soon fills as well. I walk over to the tomato cages and rustle through their fragrant hairy foliage. The fruit (or vegetable, let’s not debate it) is not quite ripe. Same with the eggplants and peppers. For this day, the green beans will have to do. That’s the way summer goes.

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Other Openings

Madonna knows how to make an entrance. Each of her tours begins with a stunning opener, from the Metropolis mistress of 1990’s Blonde Ambition show to her most recent floating confessional crowned princess of the MDNA tour. I’ve only been going to her shows since 2001’s Drowned World Tour, and each time she opens a concert it’s a magical experience.

I think my favorite was the following beginning to the Confessions Tour, which was also the show at which I had the most fun. It was just a big dance party, as signaled by the brilliant opening of a disco ball.

A couple of years before, she struck a few elegant yoga poses for the reimagined ‘Vogue’ of the Reinvention Tour, rising from the floor like some otherworldly gorgeous creature.

As mentioned, her most recent MDNA tour began with a floating confessional, which she smashes into pieces before taking aim with a killer show.

I can’t wait to see how she makes her entrance for the Rebel Heart Tour.

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Best Speedo Bulge of All?

While the world continues its debate over Steve Grand and his sexy posturing, I’m focusing this blog’s heat-seeking lens on Jack Laugher, the British diver who more than amply fills his Speedo to the brim. Mr. Laugher is no laughing matter when it comes to looking seriously good in his work uniform. He’s been named Hunk of the Day once before, and while this is not an official Hunk of the Day post, it’s a sure sign that his second crowning is not far off, particularly if he’s going to gift the world with photo shoots like this one by the amazing Paul Cooper.

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A Tour Begins (In a Recap)

This was when it began for the very last time. The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star kicked off this weekend.

It was a hot week on all fronts.

Further hotness was found in the form of male model Clint Mauro.

Cool off with a little rain.

Closer to the end of the month marks my birthday. The Big 4-0. Get me something pretty.

Drama in Chatham!

This kind of heat goes for Miles.

Cross country summer heat with Suzie.

Eric Angelo is practically an angel. A hot angel.

The soft opening.

Steve Grand gets named as Hunk of the Day for the second time.

August 1, 2015 marked the first night of the last tour.

Things are about to get delusional… and dreamy.

All you wonderful people out there in the dark.

The Preamble.

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The Entrance of a Rock Star

I feel you. Yes, you. Out there, in the dark, holding up your lighters and your phones and all the hope in the world. You lift me up, you give me power, you give me glory. Arms outstretched, arms welcoming the sky, arms welcoming the night, the moon, the stars and the sun again.

I feel you. You, shouting my name, shouting for more, shouting like your life depends on it. You scream the lifeblood of mercy. You scream for redemption, for all the unredeemable things we’ve done. You scream to feel again. I scream back.

And I still feel you. Waves of adoration like love lapping at the shore of the spotlight. Riotous applause and raucous cheers, all that excitement feeding on itself, a frenzy of grasping hands, desperate grabs for a piece of it, ravenous appetites and the morsel of a wink and smile.

Do you feel it? In the air, in the night wind, in the height of summer, and the sprawling year before another summer arrives?

Listen for it. Wait for it. Prepare for it.

Star-fucked vainglory.

Delusions of grandeur.

Absolute annihilation.

The very last time.

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

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The Delusional Preamble

PREAMBLE:

It begins with a girl dancing. The choreographed abandon is limited only by the pastel confines of her bedroom. ‘Baba O’Riley’ is blasting over the stereo, and the girl thrashes wildly in carefully-executed movements. You’d almost think it was unstaged, yet this is practice. Each motion is deliberate. Each exercise is calculated. Each toss of her hair absolutely planned. The end result, though, is the look of sheer unbridled wildness, a thrashing of controlled chaos. She would make the world think she had lost control, and she’d hold that world in the palm of her hand.

She spins round and round, jumping up and down, while those iconic guitar chords herald the arrival of something magnificent. She mouths the words, ‘Teenage wasteland,’ and stops. It won’t work. It won’t be enough. She looks in the mirror as the music plays. She pulls off her blouse, tugs her skirt down, and stands there in a bra and underwear. As the familiar musical progression sounds again, she modifies her movements now that she is free from the binds of her Catholic school-girl uniform. It is at that moment when she realizes what must be done.

A pounding on the door, and then the sharp words of her father: ‘Madonna, get ready for school.’

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

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Dreams & Delusions

Once

upon

a

time…

Once

upon

a

dream…

A dream is a wish…

Dream away…

Dream dream dream…

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you,

that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it’s true

that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

But if I know you, I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream

– Jack Lawrence

 

“That’s the whole point.

We know the outcome, but we don’t know when, or where,

or who will be there when it finally happens.

It’s a Suicide Tour.

I’m old, I’m sad – that’s on a good day.

I want out of this mess.

But I don’t want to fade away, I want to flame away –

I want my death to be an attraction,

a spectacle, a mystery. A work of art.

Suicide is a weapon; that we all know.

But what about an art?” ~ Jennifer Egan

 

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

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The Delusional Grandeur Tour Kicks Off

Kindly take your seats, and hold onto your hats.

This is The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

The title is both facetious (I’m not really a Rock Star, duh) and prophetically accurate (I am delusional, and grand). As the Tour goes on, you’ll see that something deeper is at work, and it’s the culmination of all the other tours that came before this one, neatly tying things up with one of the boldest confessions I’ve made. It wasn’t an easy journey, and there may not be a happy ending, but there is magic to be found along the way, and the sort of enchantment that only comes from taking a trip together.

Let’s begin with a tease of what’s to come:

The Table of Contents

  • 1) INTRO/CURTAIN
  • 2) SUNSET POOL
  • 3) ON THE ROAD HOTEL
  • 4) ROCK STAR ADDICT
  • 5) ANIMAL DEMONS
  • 6) STEAM PUNK BIRDCAGE
  • 7) RED RIDING WOOD
  • 8) WINTER TOP HAT
  • 9) WARRIOR RETRIBUTION
  • 10) GLAMOUR FASHION
  • 11) SAMSARA HEALING WATER
  • 12) SPRING SALVATION
  • 13) FLOWER BOMB BALM

As the curtain rises this one final time, I invite you to come along for the ride.

Something special is in the offing,

something poignant rides on this wind,

and something tells me this is going to be the best one of them all.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star

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