Yearly Archives:

2015

‘Sister Act’ at the Ogunquit Playhouse

Who knew a group of singing nuns could be so hellishly entertaining? And who could have foretold that a movie like ‘Sister Act’, while filled with its own musical moments, could make such a deeply satisfying transition to the stage with an entirely new score? The Ogunquit Playhouse is putting on a new production of the Tony-nominated show and it’s nothing short of a revelatory religious experience.

Re-set in the late 1970’s, the music is a pastiche of soul, disco and gospel, written by the celebrated Alan Menken (who was largely responsible for putting Disney back on the musical map with ‘The Little Mermaid‘, ‘Beauty and the Beast’, and ‘Aladdin‘ – all of which have gone on to become Broadway shows.) The show itself takes a moment or two to build, but once Deloris is back in the habit and raising the roof with the rousing ‘Raise Your Voice’ every board and block of the Ogunquit Playhouse vibrates with sheer joy and show-biz salvation.

It turns out that soaring gospel anthems and Latin prayers form the perfect melodic structure for the injection of a disco beat. As built from the ground up by the Playhouse, this production boasts a winning cast, and the two leads are largely why it’s such a stunning success. Rashidra Scott gives a devilishly-good rafter-raising performance as Deloris, injecting the role made famous by Whoopi Goldberg with a dose of glamour and a wondrously-gifted vocal prowess. After understudying the role on Broadway, Ms. Scott brings exuberance and energy to her Ms. Cartier, and displays the absolute voice of an angel – a powerfully-throated angel who can bring the roof down with a growl from the base of her register to a full-fledged peel of her highest note, and everything in between is just as heavenly.

Her counterpart, the equally-divine Jennifer Allen as Mother Superior, reigns with an iron fist but a heaven-sent voice. Her Act Two number ‘Haven’t Got A Prayer’ delivers moments of comedic gold shot through with a self-doubting pathos. It gives her character the empathetic pull that drives the tension, and ultimate resolution, of the relationship between her and Deloris.  Taking us along on the fascinating transformation of a woman toiling with inner-turmoil and her own faith, Ms. Allen has the less showy role, but as she jockeys for power and respect in different, and just as compelling, ways, she forms a sparkling foil for Deloris. They challenge each other, and turn out the better for it.

Having missed out on the original Broadway run (which starred the amazing Patina Miller, who went on to seduce audiences, and a Tony Award, in ‘Pippin’), I was pleasantly surprised to see that this musical went deeper than the film, highlighting the friendship and genuine bond between the women (particularly in the moving title song) as well as the internal fight within Deloris herself – in which her show business dreams battle with her angelic guardians.

By the end, Mother Superior echoes one of the first beliefs of Deloris: “All things being even, here’s what I believe in – Nothing matters more than love.” Hokey, perhaps, but truer than any religious dogma that was ever uttered. When you put it to music like this, and let it pour forth from the vocal instruments of such a talented cast, the results are transcendently spiritual. ‘Sister Act’ is one hell of a good show, and I’d wager the Big JC himself would be tapping his foot to it too.

{‘Sister Act’ runs until June 21, 2015 at the Ogunquit Playhouse.}

Continue reading ...

Return to the Pleasure Quarters

The night is black

And I am excited about you.

My love climbs in me, and you ask

That I should climb to the higher room.

Things are hidden in a black night.

Even the dream is black

On the black-lacquered pillow,

Even our talk is hidden.

– Geisha song

This is a culture in which hedonism, sensualism, and the art of the erotic, not at all the same as sex, were uninhibitedly developed in very sophisticated ways. In the floating world of the geisha, it was love, not sex or sensual pleasure, which was taboo. ~ Lesley Downer, ‘The The Secret History of the Geisha: Women of the Pleasure Quarters’

The whole thing was a game. Like any game, you had to play it to the best of your ability and you had to stick to the rules; but in the long run it was not to be taken too seriously. And whatever went on in the licentious night-time dreamworld of the Yoshiwara was always forgotten the next day. It never infected the world outside those enchanted walls. That tradition carried over into the world of the geisha. Mystery was of the essence.

It was all show biz. But in the floating world, nothing could continue unchanged for long…

To play at love was one thing, really to fall in love quite another – and in the supercharged world of the geisha it was always a danger…

Often the only solution was death.

~ Lesley Downer, ‘The The Secret History of the Geisha: Women of the Pleasure Quarters’

How cruel the floating world

Its solaces how few –

And soon my unmourned life

Will vanish with the dew.

~ Saikaku Ihara

Continue reading ...

A Recap With A Nude Adam Levine

June is here! Glorious season in which summer returns, filled with roses and sunshine, signifying the end of the school year, the start of vacation, and all that is right with the world. We begin with… cold and rain. Whatever. Let’s look back over the last few sunny days in which we fast-forwarded to the onslaught of summer.

It began in a depressingly demon-like way, with this post about child molester Josh Duggar. It’s hard to bounce back from a story about a guy who molested his own sisters, and whose parents covered it up and then went on to preach about how sinful the gays are, but we’ll try.

And what better way to try than with a trip to Ogunquit, where the cares of the world seem to melt away like lemon drops.

It was a quiet and sleepy visit, exactly what we were looking for, and it gently restored us to our senses.

The lilacs were in full bloom, fragrantly blazing a delightful trail from nose to nose.

Shh, don’t tell!

Somebody certainly seems to enjoy a pearl necklace.

What a beautiful pansy and…. AAAAAUUGHHHHHH!!!

All good things must come to an end, but there’s a full summer to be had before we return.

Take this, doomed Duggar brood – the Hunks are coming back to reclaim this space.

A tick, a tock, a moment on the T.

Summer is on the way. Have faith.

And last but not least, Adam Levine’s naked ass. Yup, a very nude Adam Levine shut down the month of May in most winning fashion, with nothing but his bare butt.

Continue reading ...

The Sun Rises on the Summer Season

Whether or not I can summon regular installments of the ‘Summer Memories‘ series I half-heartedly started a few years ago remains to be seen, but that is my intent to keep things fresh on the blog. Summer burns both music and memories into one’s consciousness, searing such indelible moments into the mind due to a combination of heightened temperatures and heightened emotions. It’s a deliciously heady time, thanks to the sensual delights of sun and water, fragrance and light.

Water and light have formed the critical crux of many a summer moment. I can still remember an oppressively hot weekend in New York City when the simple sound of running water seemed to cool everything down. Most of the hotels were booked (and this was before the median night cost $350) but a little place in Chelsea still had a room available. It was an interesting few floors – typically cramped, with a shared bathroom down the hall, and a strange little room on the second floor, which had an open-top hexagonal aquarium/terrarium in the middle of the space. I’d never seen such a set-up before, both an architectural piece and a place for a pet, with seemingly no other point for the room’s existence.

Goldfish swam languidly in the expansive tank, and I crouched down to peer in at them. Somehow, some light managed to penetrate the alleyway behind the building, filling the space and reflecting the iridescent scales of the fish. The sound of the tank’s running water, and the bright oasis in the middle of the city, soothed me. Summer, and the heat bouncing hard off the cement and the buildings, can be trying in New York. This moment made it all right. During my weekend there, I’d pause whenever I passed the second floor, rejuvenating heat fatigue and calming frayed nerves.

That’s the beautiful conundrum of summer – so much gorgeousness, so much heat, so many attempts at cooling off. It makes the head concoct all sorts of strange scenarios, such as stalking. It also affords moments of respite, high above the city. There are walks to more water, and music that is giddy and innocent, or imbued with an underlying darkness. It’s the season of the sun… even if we’re not quite there.

Continue reading ...

Adam Levine’s Naked Ass

Adam Levine drops his towel and gets completely nude for these screen caps from his new video ‘This Summer’s Gonna Hurt Like a Motherfucker.’ Well, no one said ass-play was ever easy… Mr. Levine has taken his clothes off here before but for a strategically-placed pair of lucky hands. This time it’s on video and in motion, captured here for posteriority.

 

Continue reading ...

Tick Tock on the T

Every now and then when I’m riding the T in Boston I’ll catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dirty glass across the subway car. It used to be a youthful guy with a backpack, then it was a young man with a Jack Spade bag, and now it’s just a middle-aged man in a simple black t-shirt with a few more lines and wrinkles, even in the forgiving dirtiness and filtering scratches of the subway window. The digital numbers of the advancing clock glow red between station announcements. The squealing joints of subway cars screech their moans and miseries around each trying turn. We sway as the train swerves slightly, jostled but not mindful of much: the ennui of the commuter.

Next to me is a young man with a hat that holds longer locks of hair. He reminds me of my friend Chris when he was younger. I’m suddenly aware, as happens only once in a while, of the passing of time. I remember visiting Suzie in Ithaca and meeting Chris and the other roommates. We were so young. It was twenty years ago. There so suddenly, like the arrival of a subway train that seems to take forever then is gone in a flash, the relentless rush of it all feels overwhelming. We hurl so quickly to our next destination we don’t realize how fast we are going.

I look around at the people lost in their cel phones, connected to their earbuds and disconnected from the world in front of them. They see but cannot hear each other. They glance but cannot listen. And I am just as guilty.

A small part of me panics at the notion of how quickly it’s all passed. Mostly, though, I marvel that I can still be in the same location after going so many places.

Continue reading ...

Returning to the Realm of Hunkdom

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a Hunk of the Day due to the Ogunquit recap of the last few days. (It’s the only way I have of extending the vacation, so I’m going to indulge.) Now that it’s finally over, we are back to our regularly-scheduled shirtless smut. Yet rather than dive in with a fresh face right away, let’s have a quick look back like we did a week ago at some former Hunks who have brightened this blog with their flawless bodies and supposedly scandalous nudity.

Tom Daley is always good for a bit of Speedo exposure, and a suit that barely contains his good stuff. It’s also almost Speedo season, so let the games begin.

The very first glimpse I offered of Nick Jonas was in his Hunk of the Day crowning a couple of years ago. That was before he took his shirt off and all hell broke loose.

It’s been ages since ‘Dawson’s Creek’ was on the telly, and to be honest I never watched it then either, but James Van Der Beek has survived the Hollywood machine and maintained a presence in La-La-Land, thanks in part to hot shots like these.

Henry Cavill is the former Hunk of the Day in the featured photo of this post, and this last pic as well. Previously the bulge-tastic Mr. Cavill proved just how super a man he can be in these nude pics.

Finally, lest Tom Daley get all the Speedo-clad glory, here is Matthew Mitcham’s original Hunk of the Day post. After all, it’s almost time…

Continue reading ...

Springing Forth From Ogunquit

Our time in Maine had come to a close, but with it I was holding the calm and restorative peace the town always produced close to my heart. As the unofficial start to the summer season, Memorial Day weekend could not have been more perfect – weather-wise, food-wise, and soul-wise. We arrived to a lovely gift from our fellow Ogunquit-lover Eileen – a gorgeous piece of pottery and a heartwarming note of welcome. Along with the scent and pleasant visage of lilacs everywhere, it felt like the whole town was once again open for merriment.

Newly-planted flowers were already bursting with blooms, while returning perennials finally felt warm enough to begin their show too.

One of the most important things for this Dadbod in the making was the food, and this trip provided a number of delicious meals, including the one picture here from Five-O. it began with the most amazing octopus dish – fresh, tender, and perfectly grilled, it sat on a bed of fiddle-head ferns and was so good it turned Andy into a new octopus fan. The chicken that followed, on a creamy bed of mushroom risotto, was nothing short of miraculous. Don’t even get me started on the olive oil and orange cake that I splurged on for dessert. My pants still have not forgiven me.

Along with the food, there was no shortage of entertainment on hand, starting with a phenomenal set (and personal lap dance) by Hedda Lettuce at Maine Street. My thighs are still tingling.

There was also the magic of the Ogunquit Playhouse, where ‘Sister Act’ was raising the roof with a glorious production.

It’s there through June 21, so get your tickets and book your room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn now.

The weather was so perfect, the weekend flew by too quickly, but even when it rains that’s the way it goes. Ogunquit is magical in that respect. Maine is a state of mind. Maine is the way life should be.

Until we meet again…

Continue reading ...

An Initially Unwelcome Surprise

Spiders usually scare the shit out of me. Almost as much as house centipedes (truly the ghastliest of all creatures put on this great good earth.) Yet every once in a while, when a spider is cute and small enough to not pose a threat, I’ll think of ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and not scream like a baby when I see one. That was the case when this ghostly little arachnid surprised me as I was taking photos of a ruffled pansy. I didn’t see it at first, so intent was my gaze upon the colorful petals, but just as I was leaning further in to snap the shot, I saw it walk forward a bit.

Startled more than scared, I took another photo and watched as it did a little dance. Backlit by the sun, it was an almost translucent white – hopefully no one identifies as some poisonous thing that could have killed me with a fang-transmitted dose of venom. And if you do, please don’t tell me. The best part of a spider is everything I don’t know.

Continue reading ...

My Pearls Are My Life: Not For Sale

Sometimes the perfect blog post title can be found on a tag in an antique store. Such is the case here, where a mannequin posed with the titular phrase. A bit of punctuation tweaking and suddenly things took on a deeper meaning. Blacksmith’s Antiques is filled with such hidden art, and some startlingly spooky items as well. Dolls like these are creepy on so many levels, I don’t understand how our children aren’t more disturbed. There is an eerie beauty to their dilapidated state, though, and a sadness that hints of neglect and age and the passing of time and innocence.

We all suffer similar effects, even if they’re mostly internal. I don’t know anyone who could stand to face a Dorian Gray-like portrait that told a physical tale of what they were thinking throughout their life. Let it be writ on the fading visage of these dolls rather than anything else.

Here is where we discover whatever happened to Baby Jane. Here we see who was afraid of Virginia Wolff. Here is the embodiment of soiled dreams and dingy nightmares, the stuff of hourglass sand and every thing that ever had a price tag attached to it.

The past can be a sad and scary place, and even happy moments can’t last forever. Time conquers and takes all, including the most trifling memento.

Time devours the present and prepares its great gaping mouth for the future. Emotionless, it swallows us up, and the only thing to do is give in to its relentless march, easing into its unyielding formation.

When you make your peace with time, all else falls into place.

It is the land that flows by the river, and the world that spins by your ear, as a pair of dancing mice sings a sweet song of youth.

Continue reading ...

A Secluded Ogunquit Space

One of my favorite haunts was in full-bloom during this recent trip to Ogunquit. It’s a woodland garden nestled in an out-of-the-way spot near the Ogunquit Heritage Museum. No one seems to know about the area, and I’m glad, as it affords one of the only spaces of solitude during a bustling fair-weather holiday weekend. The back entrance to it is framed by a pair of white bleeding hearts, and inside a path meanders along informal gardens filled with trillium, poppies, lily of the valley, and other shade-loving bloomers. My time there is always calm and quiet, and to lend a bit of that silence to this post, my commentary will end here.

Continue reading ...

The Lilacs of Maine

One of the perks of a late spring season in Ogunquit is getting to experience the lilacs all over again. On many years, Memorial Day arrives too late, and follows too much warm weather, for the lilacs to hang on until we get there. This time around, they were in full bloom throughout the entire town. Everywhere we went their delicious scent formed a perfectly-perfumed backdrop. The sweetness carried on every breeze, and even at night when they hid in the darkness, we could tell they were there.

No other flower conveys memories of childhood – and spring – as powerfully as the lilac. It’s also come to signify our time in Ogunquit, as there is a long row of the New England beauties along the driveway of our guesthouse. Innkeepers Greg and Mike always include a bouquet of them if they’re in bloom, and so our room is filled with the glorious scent as well.

Fragrance is one of the most powerful memory-triggers of the human experience. Music comes in a close second for me, but certain scents have a way of bringing me back to moments more effectively and meaningfully than anything else. (There’s a certain corner of McNulty School that always brings back to the terror of grade school with its stale odor, and my reaction to it is frighteningly visceral.) The memories that lilacs brings up are much happier. Hopeful. The stuff of spring – and the start of a new season.

Continue reading ...

Ogunquit Quietude

Some Ogunquit visits are loud and exciting, filled with noise and fireworks and non-stop motion. Other visits are quieter and looser, subdued by beauty, good food and lovely weather, like a balm upon the soul when the rest of the world gets a little too noisy and chaotic. For this trip, after such a torturous winter, we opted for the latter. I wanted quiet and peace, with room for naps, and an unrushed pace that allowed the town to wash over our weariness, gently restoring and replenishing what the winter had drained.

It began on the Marginal Way, and both of our walks along that gorgeous path happened to be at times when the tide was going out. There were no thundering waves crashing upon the rocks, no relentless wind that made talking and listening difficult. It was as if the ocean was lulling the hesitant back into trusting her again, and it worked.

Flowers joined in the gentle tugging at the heart. Much of the plant life was late, but that worked out well; we often miss the lilacs but now they were in full bloom (more on them later). Other things were just beginning, such as this brilliant blue camassia (the flowers of which are usually gone by the time we arrive). Creeping phlox was a carpet of riotous color, while apple and plum blossoms waved fragrant white flags against the sky.

For a writer and observer (and, ahem, blogger) it is sometimes difficult to get out of one’s head-space, to not worry about documenting and retaining what is being seen and experienced, but when I’m in Ogunquit, I remember to let go and inhabit the moment. It takes a while to be wholly present again, to be completely mindful of where I am and not think about the future.

I walk out along the rocks, peering into tide pools and the gorgeous green ribbons of seaweed gently undulating with each lapping wave. Bits of iridescent sea shells sparkle in the sun-drenched water, and the warm light of that setting orb sets the rocks aflame.

I pause and look out over the ocean, and Andy takes the only photos that will be taken of me for the rest of the weekend. (There will be more than enough of me to come in the next few months… you have been warned.) For now, we examine a feather at the foot of the Marginal Way, as indicative of the beauty and the quiet I’ve sought for so long. It is as lovely a beginning as any.

Continue reading ...

Another Season in Ogunquit Begins

A tiny and quiet start to our long weekend in Ogunquit is provided by these flowers – each of which is no bigger than the nail on my pinky finger. They are likely missed by most walkers on the Marginal Way, but I know where to look for them, and they’ve lingered there for the better part of a decade. How something so small and delicate-looking can be hardy enough to survive the wilds of the Maine coast is a wonderful mystery of the world.

They flutter in the wind, yet never falter, and their beauty is hidden among the rocks and roughly-hewn junipers. They signify the start to summer in a seaside resort town, and in their quiet, soft-spoken whisper, they are the perfect beginning to our lazy weekend in Ogunquit.

Continue reading ...

Josh Duggar is a Child Molester

Very rarely do people piss me off for doing something that has no direct effect on my life, but Josh Duggar is the exception. He’s the oldest son in the Duggar Family – a family that doesn’t believe in birth control, and is vehemently opposed to marriage equality. If that’s what they want to believe, fine. Doom your children to an outdated, out-of-touch future in which their cult-like upbringing is directly at odds with the majority of reasonable, rational, fair-minded and accepting people of this country. But Josh Duggar, in addition to preaching and railing against marriage equality, committed a few sins that you really can’t commit if you are to stand in judgment of others. He molested at least five under-age girls when he was fourteen years old. A few of them were his sisters. And he’s admitted to it.

His parents, also adamantly and outspokenly against marriage equality, not only didn’t report the molestations in their home for over a year, they sent him to seek counseling from a man who is now in jail for possession of child pornography.

So let’s keep this simple and fact-based: Josh Duggar molested little girls in their sleep, but now wants forgiveness and redemption because he had the guts to admit it and apologize. Umm, WHAT? Because you said you’re sorry and regret it makes it all right and forgivable? That’s not how it works. The child molesters I’ve seen on the news don’t – and shouldn’t – get to say they’re sorry and move on with their lives. They robbed children of innocence, they raped and molested and ruined and destroyed – and neither they, nor you, Josh Duggar, get to apologize and receive any sort of exoneration.

A fourteen-year-old knows the difference between right and wrong. Touching the breasts and genitals of your little sisters while they were asleep is not a simple mistake, it’s a deliberate act of cunning and cruelty, one that was repeated more than once. Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar, the parents, didn’t report the events for over a year, making them just as guilty for not protecting their own daughters.

As someone who’s been on the general end of Duggar’s anti-gay-marriage rhetoric and views, I’m appalled by his actions.

As someone who believes that most people deserve some chance at forgiveness and redemption, I cannot find it in my heart to offer that to a child molester. A child molester is a sick fuck. A child molester like Josh Duggar, who molested his own sisters, is something so disgusting that it goes beyond any name or label that accurately designates the appropriate terror.

You may say what you like about my lifestyle or the choices I’ve made over the years, but not once was one of those choices to molest an under-age girl or boy. Not when I was fourteen, not when I’m forty, not ever. Josh Duggar chose to do that to his own sisters. If you can forgive that, if you can forget that, and if you can think it’s ok for that to have happened with no recompense, then you’re a better person than me.

Or maybe not.

Continue reading ...