A favorite as much for its decadent rolls as its convenient location right off Southwest Corridor Park, Douzo was where I once enjoyed a New Year’s Eve dinner of hellaciously good stuff. We revisited it recently, and it was just as good as I remember. Sometimes it’s better to just let the images speak for themselves, particularly when they’re as pretty as the presentation included here. To give a brief synopsis of what you are about to see, the appetizer was a Yuzu lobster dish served over shiso tempura, followed by a collection of special rolls (including the aptly-named, and strikingly-crafted, caterpillar roll). Everything was as delicious as it looks.
Monthly Archives:
September 2015
September
2015
September
2015
Riding Into My 40’s
My over-riding feeling on turning 40 was that it was just another day, so arrangements for the moments leading up to and including my birthday were low-key and casual (even if there was an itinerary). We drove to Boston for a long weekend, and arrived at the condo, where we set up camp for a couple of days. A quick and easy dinner at Cinquecento (to which we arrived courtesy of Andy’s new Uber skills) was followed by an early night. I needed to rest up for all the relaxation and fun that the next day would bring.
For my 40’s, I want to be more relaxed, more playful, less worried and concerned about things that don’t really matter. I want to let go of certain things, and hold onto what was always most important to me – friends and family and love and beauty. I want freedom from the constricting binds of jealousy, envy, unfairness, injustice, and hatred. I want redemption from the past – from the hurt and pain and heartache that accompany most of our journeys to 40. Mostly, though, I just want to have more fun. I don’t ever really allow myself to do that. Something is always holding me back.
For the last weekend of my 30’s, I relaxed into a few days of celebratory ease, and it began with a wonderful visit to Etant Spa in the South End. I’ve gone there for a massage before, and it is always a luxurious treat. A massage is more than mere self-indulgence: it provides a bit of nourishment for the soul, a blissfully tranquil state of perfect relaxation. That has always done more for my health and well-being than exercise or healthy eating ever could.
Having a massage early on in this long weekend provided the best point of entry for the proceedings. Everything that followed was tinged with the sweet shadings of a lighter touch, the removal of daily work concerns or home tasks, and a reinvigorated state of being. The eyes opened up to play then, and everything felt more alive. An art installation I might otherwise have overlooked, and certainly not have jumped on, called to me.
Entitled ‘InMotion: Memories of Invented Play’ by Amy Archambault, it was a fitting embodiment of what I wanted to do as I entered my 40’s.
A dinner at Douzo was next. The last days of my life as a thirtysomething were coming to a close. Quietly. Happily. Contentedly.
September
2015
A Belated Birthday Wish for My Father
Being that my Dad’s birthday falls rather inauspiciously on September 11, I always miss out on the public well-wishes for his special day. Here they are now, a day late, but with no less love or fanfare. Earlier this summer, he had a series of health issues which scared me to the core, and it made me wonder what a world without him would be like. I didn’t, and I don’t, want to face that, and if this birthday means a little more because of it, I’m happy that it’s so.
Every boy who’s lucky enough to have a father can’t help but look up to him. Every boy who has a father as good as mine holds him in iconic status, no matter what he does. That doesn’t change as we grow up. If anything, my love and respect for my Dad has grown in stature, as has my understanding of the man who left the Philippines, and the only life and family he knew, to make a better life for himself – and his future family. I’ve never forgotten that – and I never will.
Happy Birthday, Dad – I love you.
September
2015
September
2015
An Unhappy Reminder
As I’ve done since opening this website in 2003, tomorrow marks the one day a year when things go silent here out of respect for the lost lives of 9/11. Words have never been enough to convey the profound loss and sadness of those who experienced that day, and I would never be able to explain the shock and horror of everything that we all went through at that time. Instead, a day of silence – to honor, to remember, and to heal.
Tomorrow also happens to be my Dad’s birthday, but he has never minded the lack of a timely post for that. And in case he does now, here’s an early Happy Birthday to him. More later…
September
2015
A Male Celebrity with the Balls to Wear A Speedo
Behold, the blue Speedo of Luke Evans, a guy who has yet to be named a Hunk of the Day (it will happen sooner or later I’m sure, sop stay tuned). In a bold departure from the disastrous board shorts most male celebrities hide behind at the beach, Mr. Evans makes the impressive and distinctly un-American move of donning a budgie-smuggler. Such is the confidence and natural ease of Europe in contrast to the hypocritically-puritanical wimpiness of the United States. American men are just supremely prudish when it comes to swimwear, and I’m not sure why. We are so bold (rude, really) when it comes to almost everything else, but present the notion of a Speedo and the men run whimpering. It’s such a shame, particularly when given such specimens as Zac Efron, Tom Brady, Nick Jonas and . I guess we’ll have to make-do with the foreign likes of David Beckham, Tom Daley, and Mr. Evans to lead the Speedo brigade.
September
2015
Another Madonna Tour Opens
The magic is in the air again. The lights are about to go down. And only one woman in the world can instill such a rapture in me and so many others, even three decades into her storied career. Madonna’s Rebel Heart Tour opened last night in Montreal, and in a few short weeks I’ll be seeing her in Boston. Suzie and I will return to the place where we saw her live for the very first time, some fourteen years ago, on her Drowned World Tour. It’s our tradition, and we’ll be celebrating our 40th birthdays again that weekend, which makes it doubly momentous.
This time around, I almost didn’t get caught up in the usual excitement and anticipation that precedes a Madonna tour. I’m not sure why – maybe tour fatigue (I’ve seen her nine times since she returned to regular touring in 2001) – or maybe just the natural maturation of fandom, whereby one is less obsessed but no less in love. Yet as per tradition, the electricity is arcing again, and as these video promos for the show will attest, something special is in the offing.
After the catastrophic leak of the ‘Rebel Heart’ album earlier in the year, Madonna has managed to keep pretty much every aspect of this tour under wraps. She’s teased song titles and set-list ideas, but the visuals, until now, have been impressively secret and unseen. A few costume sketches showed up in Women’s Wear Daily, and they looked lovely – but the real test will be how they appear in person. It will also be interesting to hear how many of her teased songs make it into the final set-list. (Whispers of ‘Who’s That Girl’ and ‘Rescue Me’ had most Madonna fans fainting with giddy nostalgia. Yes, the 90’s are nostalgic at this point – deal with it.)
As for whatever else this tour brings, the element of surprise, often an aspect of her greatest work, is back in effect – and I’m getting extremely excited.
September
2015
It’s Still Summer
Labor Day may have come and gone, but technically it’s still summer, and at 93 degrees it certainly feels like. While I’ve put away my white pants for the season, summer lingers on in poetry and pool romps. Here’s a poem by one of my favorite writers, Mary Oliver, extolling the continuation of the sunny days:
LITTLE SUMMER POEMÂ TOUCHING THE SUBJECT OF FAITH
Â
Every summer
under the sun’s brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can’t hear
anything, I can’t see anything —
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,
nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
And still,
every day,
the leafy fields
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.
And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing —
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves,
the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet —
all of it
happening
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.
And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt
swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?
One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn’s beautiful body
~ Mary Oliver
September
2015
When the Mockingbird Sings
Every once in a great while, a book comes along that makes you slow down and savor each page, forcing you to devour it as quickly as you don’t want it to end. The great literary conundrum – when you enjoy something so much you rush through it because you can’t stop, but at the same time you do everything in your power to prolong the pleasure, earmarking pages and underlining passages and revisiting favorite parts before it’s even over. Such was the power of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ by Harper Lee – a classic that had somehow escaped my vision in the course of four decades. I just finished it, and what a wonderful read it was. In many ways, I’m glad I waited. This sort of jewel might have been wasted in my youth. Instead, I am still moved by its last few chapters, and it’s been haunting me since I finished it. The best books do that. They stay with you long after you’ve read them, inhabiting a place inside the soul that enriches and emboldens – a place that you don’t let everyone see, because it means too much, and too many people might sully it. Instead, you hold it close and secret and safe, and you hope the world doesn’t rock you too much to dislodge it.
“Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
“People in their right minds never take pride in their talents.”
“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.”
“A steaming summer night was no different from a winter morning.”
September
2015
A Sun-Setting Recap
On this day of Labor, we recap the week before, and as I’m wrapping up a Tour Stop in Seattle as we speak, let’s delve immediately into the past before looking ahead. Unofficially the end of summer, Labor Day is really when the fall season heats up. To that end, the Hunk of the Day feature was in full daily effect, with the gorgeous likes of the following gentlemen strutting their shirtless selves:
For many unfortunate people this week marked the return to school. Sucks to be them! And on some days it sucked to be me, saddle shoes and all.
Hateful, homophobic, and law-breaking fashion-abomination Kim Davis was still defying the highest court of the land and refusing the issue marriage licenses to gay couples.
The Delusional Grandeur Tour rocketed from one side of the country (Portland, Maine) to another (Seattle, Washington) in less than a week. Boomerang anybody?
While hooting it up in Seattle, a series of Sunset Boulevard posts from the Tour Book were put up. It began with a pool, and the unfortunate detour of a writer at the end of his rope ~ a man who ended up the victim of his own machinations as much as… hers.
My love affair with Norma Desmond began twenty years ago, and comes full circle on this tour. This world’s waited long enough, I’ve come home at last.
September
2015
This Time Will Be Bigger
She whispers ferociously in my ear. “It’s a return!” Flinging her sunglasses off her face, her eyes still smolder, her gaze is still entrancing. When I begin to doubt anything, she adjusts her turban and sweeps around the room with majestic flair. Enveloped in leopard print or sparkling in a beaded gown, she mesmerizes with a glamour that cannot be erased with the passing of time. It may fade, but it can never fully disappear. No one who makes such an impression can ever be forgotten.
I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M FRIGHTENED
I KNOW MY WAY AROUND HERE.
THE CARDBOARD TREES, THE PAINTED SEAS, THE SOUND HERE
YES, A WORLD TO REDISCOVER, BUT I’M NOT IN ANY HURRY, AND I NEED A MOMENT
I’VE SPENT SO MANY MORNINGS JUST TRYING TO RESIST YOU
I’M TREMBLING NOW, YOU CAN’T KNOW HOW I’VE MISSED YOU
MISSED THE FAIRY TALE ADVENTURE IN THIS EVER-SPINNING PLAYGROUND
WE WERE YOUNG TOGETHER…
I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE, THAT’S ALL IN THE PAST
THIS WORLD’S WAITED LONG ENOUGH, I’VE COME HOME AT LAST!
AND THIS TIME WILL BE BIGGER!
AND BRIGHTER THAN WE KNEW IT!
SO WATCH ME FLY, WE ALL KNOW I CAN DO IT.
COULD I STOP MY HAND FROM SHAKING?
HAS THERE EVER BEEN A MOMENT WITH SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR?
For twenty years she has haunted me. For twenty years I have felt her passion and her pain, her heartache and her hopefulness, her determination and her desperation. In many ways, she inspired my very first tour, and this false notion of being a star.
No One Ever Leaves A Star…
In the same manner she believed her fame and notoriety preserved through all those years, I built a legend and a sense of celebrity to everything I did. I wasn’t famous enough to fade. I wasn’t known enough to be forgotten. Yet I carried myself as if I was the Greatest Star of Them All.
Now it’s time to let her go. To let myself go. To break the delusional mirror at last. It’s not a good thing to be stuck in the gauzy, glamorous solitude of a mansion on Sunset Boulevard, no matter how pretty or decadent the trappings may appear. It’s not a happy place to be. It’s not a safe place to be, and at this stage in my life there is a lot to be said for safety, and warmth, and comfort.
Yet a part of me will always belong to Norma, and a little bit of Ms. Desmond will always reside in my heart.
The whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways
So much to say not just today but always…
We’ll have early morning madness
We’ll have magic in the making
Yes, everything’s as if we never said goodbye
Yes, everything’s as if we never said goodbye…
We taught the world new ways to dream!
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
September
2015
Dangerous, Delusional & Devastated
Before she slashes her wrists open, before she withers beyond the point of salvation, there is a moment when Norma Desmond has the hope that everything will, finally and at long last, work out. That she will get the guy, and that the guy will love her in return. It’s a sad and deluded take on what is happening – the belief of a person too desperate to face the truth of the situation. Yet there is something noble and honest and raw about her happiness. It’s the stuff of childhood, the stuff of innocence. The sort of earnest belief that a lifetime of delusions will foster and encourage, but it carries with it a purity and grace that far less jaded individuals too often fail to exhibit, or even know.
In the name of that innocence, she dances a dance few of us have the guts to execute.
It is a dance of unabashed happiness, a dance of dreams.
Yet at the end, it is only a dance to the death of remaining hope.
RING OUT THE OLD, RING IN THE NEW, A MIDNIGHT WISH TO SHARE WITH YOU
YOUR LIPS ARE WARM, MY HEAD IS LIGHT, WERE WE ALIVE BEFORE TONIGHT?
I DON’T NEED A CROWDED BALLROOM, EVERYTHING I WANT IS HERE
IF YOU’RE WITH ME NEXT YEAR WILL BE THE PERFECT YEAR.
He tries to tell her, he tries to ease the news, but it’s easier not to, easier to leave before landing the final blow. As misguided and mistaken as she is, Norma is never dishonest. Her want is raw and open, her desire is stated, and boldly at that. She puts it out there, and leaves her heart vulnerable for the taking.
He does not take it. He tramples on it. Lightly at first, but it is unmistakable, and a declination, no matter how kind, stings however it is delivered. When you love someone and are told that you are not loved in return, there’s a sort of pain that’s different than dealing with anything else. It isn’t blameless, like death, and it isn’t random, like an accident. It’s a deliberate verdict on what you mean, or don’t mean, to another person. It is a dismissal.
ANOTHER CHANCE, ANOTHER START
SO MANY DREAMS TO TEASE THE HEART
WE DON’T NEED A CROWDED BALLROOM
EVERYTHYING WE WANT IS HERE
AND FACE TO FACE WE WILL EMBRACE THE PERFECT YEAR.
She wants so much to be wanted.
She wishes so badly to be loved.
She asks for so little… and so much. She asks for everything.
She gives her heart to this final dance, not knowing it will be their last. That’s just how she lives. A dance isn’t worth dancing if you’re not going to take the chance. She goes hard that way, burning brightly and at all expenses. The magnificent white-hot brilliance of pouring the whole of your being into the existence of another.
“What you’re trying to say is that you don’t want me to love you. Say it. Say it!”
She is dangerous.
She is devastated.
Above all else, she is delusional.
It carries her through to the very end.
It was the only way she could survive.
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
September
2015
I Can Play Any Role
A woman sits in a dark room, shrouded in a cloud of tuberose perfume and topped with a turban befitting royalty. Even in the dim light, she wears sunglasses – perhaps to add an air of glamour, perhaps to hide tearful eyes, perhaps to shield her from the prying gaze of others. Whittling the months and years and decades into splinters of time and decaying dreams, she went from having the world at her feet to being forgotten and isolated. What terrors lurked in her great, dim mansion? What nightmares tormented her sleep? Is it better to have never known such happiness and adoration at all, than to know it and lose it and spend a lifetime trying to win it back? It must have been a brittle existence, a fragile and lonely one ever on the verge of breaking apart, shattering into a thousand jagged shards.
WITH ONE LOOK I CAN BREAK YOUR HEART
WITH ONE LOOK I PLAY EVERY PART
I CAN MAKE YOUR SAD HEART SING
WITH ONE LOOK YOU’LL KNOW ALL YOU NEED TO KNOWÂ
WITH ONE SMILE I’M THE GIRL NEXT DOOR
OR THE LOVE THAT YOU’VE HUNGERED FORÂ
WHE I SPEAK IT’S WITH MY SOUL
I CAN PLAY ANY ROLE.Â
This is Norma Desmond. On this day she waits, for what she does not yet know. Joe Gillis is about to pull his car into her driveway and hide it away in her garage. For now, though, in this early morning of a sunny day which once again won’t allow any sunlight into her grand home, she sits quietly nurturing the heart that survived the only way it knew how. A belief in the grand illusions of her faded fame. A hope planted on the fantasy of her implacable glamour. A delusion that saw her through decades of a lonely existence. The things we believe in order to go on living… and the things we refuse to believe.
NO WORDS CAN TELL THE STORIES MY EYES TELL
WATCH ME WHEN I FROWN, YOU CAN’T WRITE THAT DOWN
YOU KNOW I’M RIGHT, IT’S THERE IN BLACK AND WHITE
WHEN I LOOK YOUR WAY, YOU’LL HEART WHAT I SAY.Â
She is a sad creature, but she doesn’t see that, not in the way that most people might see it. She’s not sad in a pitiable way, in the way that makes one feel sorry for her – she’s internally sad that she can no longer thrill like she used to thrill, that she can’t make her art the way she once did, that there is no longer a place for her in a changing world that left her old-fashioned craft behind. She’s also sad because she’s had her heart broken. No doubt she’s broken a few hearts in the process too, and sometimes that’s worse. Sometimes that takes a deeper toll, a toll whose devastation only becomes clear long after the fact, in the ruined years that follow. It’s a toll that doesn’t ever seem to find comeuppance, a hurt and ache that finds no resolution or relief. A guilt that bears down on everything that comes after it.
WITH ONE LOOK THEY’LL FORGIVE THE PAST
THEY’LL REJOICE I’VE RETURNED AT LAST
TO MY PEOPLE IN THE DARK, STILL OUT THERE IN THE DARK…Â
Yet she is not broken. She has not yet cracked. There is the distinct possibility that a return is possible. Not a comeback. Don’t ever call it a comeback. She hates that word. But a return, yes. A return to form, a return to glory. A return to being loved. Why should she be so punished for wanting that again?
WITH ONE LOOK I’LL IGNITE A BLAZEÂ
I’LL RETURN TO MY GLORY DAYSÂ
THEY’LL SAY, “NORMA’S BACK AT LAST!”
Somewhere downstairs, off the terrazzo where rumor has it Rudy Valentino once tangoed, her butler shuffles about. A car rolls into the driveway, and she peers out the slats of a window shutter. A man walks toward the door, out of the sunlight, into the shadows of the house on Sunset.
Norma Desmond rises. He is not who she thinks he is, but he may be altogether better.
And there’s that hope again, that innocent belief in herself, and the possibilities of the world, even when it’s done nothing but dash her against its cold rocks. She emerges from her boudoir, regal bearing intact, ready to demand the love of the world, or the love of a man, or simply the chance to do it all again.
THIS TIME I’M STAYING, I’M STAYING FOR GOOD
I’LL BE BACK WHERE I WAS BORN TO BE
WITH ONE LOOK I’LL BE ME!Â
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
September
2015
Shot to the Heart, and Then A Splash
It is not enough to be adored.
How sad to finally say it, how sad to give up that ghost.
It’s easier to believe in something, no matter how far-fetched, no matter how ridiculous, than to face an empty truth. Some of us, like Joe Gillis, believe right up to the very end. The bullets tearing through his back must have come as quite the surprise. The first one doesn’t even stop him, so intent is he on walking out the door, away from the dream, into the future.
Most of us just stumble along, happily or sadly as circumstances allow, without the drive to move toward or away from something. I’ve always admired those who make the effort to do more, not only to steer the way, but to actively rev the engine. It’s a lazy thing to simply react to the world. To take a first step into something, no matter how unknown, is an act of courage.
To take the last step requires something more.
Resignation.
Reconciliation.
Redemption.
When at last we grip our bloodied chests, when our final breath floats to the surface and disappears, we find relief at the end of a journey.
The splash, and then the slow gentle sinking
Of a dream
Of a wish
Of a beginning.
The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand Of A Rock Star
September
2015
The Sun Starts to Set
It begins with a man floating face-down in a pool. Not just any pool, the pool belonging to Norma Desmond. The man has been shot, Ms. Desmond has gone delusional, and at this 40-year-old crux of my life, I feel sympathy and empathy for both. The dreamer destroyed by a world that passed him by; the dreamer destroyed by a world that passed her by. Both treated roughly, and both deserving it a little, because we all fall victim to our successes as much as to our failures. The sun sets equally on everyone. It cannot be stopped.
Audiences don’t know somebody sits down and writes a picture; they think the actors make it up as they go along.
~ Joe Gillis
My fascination and love of ‘Sunset Boulevard’ runs deeply. It runs darkly too. Ms. Desmond did, after all, slash her wrists in an act of desperation, hopelessness, manipulation and love. It was an act of defiance too, and, in a sad way, of nobility. She was a survivor, but not a successful one, and merely surviving is not the stuff of grandeur. We want to pretend it is, and we bestow honors on the Miss Daisy’s of the world to make it be true, but comebacks are never as glorious as that first initial high. It’s the nature of the beast.
You don’t yell at a sleepwalker – he may fall and break his neck. That’s it: she was still sleepwalking along the giddy heights of a lost career.
~ Joe Gillis
Joe Gillis and Norma Desmond are brittle and bitter, not wholly likeable, and selfish enough to want and want and want, but they were made that way, and why should anyone be blamed for being a product of their surroundings, of a world that so easily discards those who dare to dream and want? It’s a harsh view of our nature, a cold and contemptuous take on greed and fame and love, and there is little redemption to be found in the way either of them end up.
There’s nothing tragic about being 50, not unless you try to be 25.
~ Joe Gillis
Because ‘Sunset Boulevard’ played such an inspirational role in my very first tour, it’s only fitting that it rears its gorgeous and grotesque head again for my final tour. Here, an homage to the demise of Joe Gillis. There is peace in still water. Darkness too.