July 2016
In just a few short days, the summer Olympics will open in Rio, and the British gymnasts will be part of the show. More on them to follow, no doubt, but for now here’s a quick peek at the boys and the bodies en route to Brazil. (That other British visitor, Mr. Tom Daley, will be making his own kind of splash a little later.) Here hoping that our US Gymnastics team can hold its own.
Hot, torturous month of July.
Relentless sun, overbearing humidity.
The glory of summer – even this dark one – shines through.
Respite in a pool, or conditioned air.
My God, I will miss it.
Though the summer of ’16 has turned into a sad series of unfortunate events, it’s still summer, and it’s not over yet. Swim onward, sun-worshippers, swim on like our lives depend on it.
Pull yourselves through the water and kick your way to somewhere better, where the sun won’t go away in a few months, where there is an eternal summer, where the breeze is forever warm.
I’m trying to jumpstart my own psyche.
We’ve all done it (some of us more than others) and this clip gives me such immense joy that I wanted to share the link with you. It’s a guy named Griff doing his rendition of ‘Poor Unfortunate Souls’ while preparing dinner for his partner Rick. Amazing in so many ways (how did he not burn the vegetables – mine would be charred) THIS is how you lip-sync for your life. Below is one of their other clips, a song I know all too well – ‘Part of Your World.’
Stephen Sondheim’s ‘Into the Woods’ may be one of the most meaningful musicals in my life, so when a new production trundles along, I’m always interested in how it will be executed. I first saw a touring production right after it debuted on Broadway in the late 80’s. I was not much more than a kid then; it spoke to me on a superficial level, but even at that young age I knew there were darker themes and deeper meanings to this traipse through the forest.
As a typically-tortured angst-ridden teenager, I wore the cassette tape of the Broadway recording down to nothing, playing it over and over and intoning the wit and wisdom of Sondheim, each lyric revealing something more with every listen. My family felt distant at the time, not knowing how to come to terms with a gay son, and I had my own difficulty coming to terms with who I was too. Those themes were felt in the musical. I longed for the sad comfort of ‘No One Is Alone’ and wept bitterly at the warning (then unheeded) of ‘Children Will Listen.’ One day, I thought, the world would hear my cries.
A couple of decades later, the Broadway revival with Vanessa Williams found me at a different place in life, and in a post 9/11 world the ‘Giants in the Sky’ were very real, and very scary. Suzie and I saw the show in New York (she had been along the first time I’d seen it in the 80’s too) and as we veered into middle-age it seemed to mean a little more, and a little less. Though the movie version was adequate enough, there’s some sort of magic that occurs in a Sondheim musical that can only be conveyed on stage. That magic is evident in the Mac-Haydn Theatre’s production of ‘Into the Woods’ running through August 7. Grab your basket (I’m not afraid to ask it) and rush to get tickets to this production – it’s that good. Adhering faithfully to the original version (with the additional Witch and Rapunzel duet from the 2002 revival) the remarkable direction and choreography of John Saunders makes the most of the theater-in-the-round set-up, immersing characters and audience in the midst of a forest that can go from enchanting to terrifying in a few cunningly chromatic notes.
Anchored by the narrator, the intertwining of fairy tales turned on their head was relatively novel when the musical premiered almost thirty years ago, but it remains a vital reimagining of the stories we thought we knew. More profound re the broader metaphors Sondheim aimed for – and reached – particularly in today’s world, where giants still go to battle, children are still alone and abandoned, and adults are as lost as ever.
Though this is an ensemble piece, each cast member gets to shine – not always the case in such extensively plotted and populated stories. Every character is fully fleshed out, and no one is purely good or evil. A girl in a red riding hood (Bridget Elise Yingling, in a sardonically perky and perfect turn) packs a basket of sweets, but ends up expertly wielding a very sharp knife. A carnally lascivious wolf (Gabe Belyeu, all howling menace and hilarity) wears his desire on the outside with a studded codpiece before his bloody comeuppance. A pair of epaulet-framed semi-clueless princes (Pat Moran in unwavering arrogant excellence and Conor Robert Fallon giving classically handsome Disney face) are as dashing as they are comically dim-witted. A waif of the cinders (Amy Laviolette, in gorgeous lilting voice whether in rags or riches) transforms into a princess but hangs onto her heart. A Baker and his Wife (Paul Wyatt and Libby Bruno in convincing and conflicted form) ground the goings-on with their heart wrenching quest for a child. A narrator ties it all together (Jamie Grayson, doing double duty as the mysterious old man, and indelibly marking his stamp on each) before getting unceremoniously tossed from the proceedings in dramatic Act Two fashion. Finally, a witch (Julia Mosby in commanding, scene-stealing beauty-and-the-beast-in-one-fabuous-diva mode) does more than witches usually do in a much maligned but mostly misunderstood journey of her own.
When this disparate group comes together in song and story, and the fairy tale forest reveals itself to be as dark and scary as the real world, the musical soars in brilliant Sondheim fashion. Wishes are granted, only to turn on their wisher in ways both unexpected and devastating. Children and parents alike are challenged and lost. Love is celebrated, betrayed, mended, and dissolved. It’s an evening fraught with enchantment and tension, fairy tale freedom and very human bonds, and brought to thrilling life with that unmistakable Mac-Haydn magic.
{‘Into the Woods’ is playing at the Mac-Haydn Theatre through August 7, 2016.)
Bold things sometimes come in small packages.
Take this Lychnis bloom, for instance.
It’s tiny – much more-so than these macro-blow-up would reveal.
Yet it can be seen from across the yard because its color is so vividly striking and pronounced.
Its leaves are a downy silver-gray, muted so as not to detract from the show above.
Together, they form a spectacular pair.
Foils are an essential part of the gardening experience.
Contrast and texture, architecture and design – these are the elements
Signs of healing scratched into the sidewalk,
colored chalk ground into concrete;
this is where the ephemeral and the stalwart meet.
Signs of love screaming
Trample upon me,
Tread upon me,
Steal upon me
In the night.
Somehow we survive the morning.
Not all days are washed away by rain.
A little love remains,
faded
but it’s there.
I want to cry, and laugh, and hug, and love.
With its long line of designer chic boutiques, Newbury Street doesn’t always make it easy for simple things to be noticed, but beauty will always rear its head above all, and that’s why these roses – fresh from a summer shower – were such a refreshing, and prominent, sight.
They fought for notice outside the colorfully-filled windows of Anthropologie and Ted Baker, and against the odds they won.
Despite the softness of their shades, their rich texture and stunning form – augmented by the beads of rain that still clung to select petals – was enough to warrant pause in my shopping expedition.
It takes a lot to stop that train.
I was grateful for the brakes.
The chant in the field was infectious, and I couldn’t help but join in: “No hitter, can’t hit” – CLAP-CLAP – “No hitter, can’t hit” – CLAP-CLAP. If I could have been a baseball cheerleader, I would have been in my pom-pom glory, but since I couldn’t (and since there weren’t any) I had to find other ways of amusing myself at my brother’s Pee-Wee baseball games. I was reminded of this when we attended my nephew’s last game of the season. As we sat in the setting sun of a rather beautiful summer day, my mind returned to the games of my brother’s youth. At such times it wasn’t my youth ~ I was on the outside, aloof on the periphery while the real action swirled somewhere in the middle. I liked that vantage point. I went unnoticed, blending into the background, which made my disappearance unremarkable.
Behind almost every field at which his team played (Bacon School, Veteran’s Field, Isabel’s) there was a path that led to a stream or creek. Some of these were barely running in the heat of summer, but some were almost rivers. I’d slowly soften my chant and sneak away, out of the sight or sound of the game, and into a secret world hidden behind leaves and trees and the winding half-hearted paths that led to the water.
Not unlike today, I was drawn to the water back then. The sound of it trickling or moving along, the way the light danced on its rippling surface, and the creatures that made its wet environs their home ~ all of it entranced me. Being landlocked in upstate New York instilled a longing that found expression in my fascination with all sorts of water bodies and tributaries.
On those summer afternoons, as the light slowly began to drain from the sky, I’d walk along the water’s edge. The muffled shouts from the game faded as I listened to the gurgling brook, or the unexpected splash of some hidden animal. In the cool surroundings of the leafy forest, summer felt secret and solitude felt safe.
I’d rejoin the dusty dry game as it neared its final stretch, returning to the noise and the tumult, but quieter in my heart. Nature could tame my emotional wilderness better than any other form of exertion. Like running around bases and hitting balls.
I remembered those games as I watched my nephew make his way to first base, and my niece meander around the perimeter of the field. We are each lost in our own world, but if we’re lucky we meet up again at the end of the game.
A community garden is a thing of beauty. Its beauty is more than what you see – it’s the underlying notion of people working together that instills something greater. The stories behind each plot, the neighbors that strike up conversations with any passing stranger, and the sense of genuine community add to the overall enchantment of such spaces.
It certainly helps that along with the vegetables and vines there are flowers that exist solely to delight with their dress.
I’ve passed this way before, but whenever I need a respite from concrete sidewalks and skyscrapers, I take a turn and wander along the verdant path. To recharge and reconnect with the living.
Some of the plants along the way are grand and bold, while others require up-close examination to leave an impression. All are worth a look.
Like some charmed Harry Potter platform, this secret library at number 10 ½, is fronted by a pair of red doors. A red door is a lucky sign, warding off the evil eye and serving as a talisman of protection. I’ve always wanted one.
Sculptures glow before the backdrop of an overcast day.
An inspiring setting in which to read or write, or simply ward off the rain.
On a side-street off of Tremont, this little market offers fresh local goodies for those lucky enough to stumble into its charming, tiny space. Outside, buckets of sunflowers and lilies and sweet peas spill onto the brick, while yummier treats beckon inside. This is the relatively unseen side of Boston, at least for non-locals, and I always get a secret thrill when I happen upon such jewels.
The root vegetables here have been dusted off to reveal a rich rainbow of color. The bounty of summer reminds me that the season is not quite half over yet, and I’m glad there is still more time for sun.
These robust radishes are crying out for some sea salt, and a crusty baguette with butter. The greens want only for a thorough washing, or maybe a quick sauté. Summer calls for something simple.
From the rich dirt of the earth come various edible sundries. Some beneath the ground, some above it – all precious in their own way. Fungi and foliage, root and stalk.
And flowers – oh such glorious flowers – signifying summer, spreading happiness, and reminding me how beautiful this world can be.
The ubiquitous mail-box vine commonly comes in the dark purple shade of color that everyone knows – and loves – but this lighter lavender hue has brought me around to the clematis once again. They are wonderful plants if you have the vertical space and conditions they like (feet in the shade, face in the sun). For some reason, I’ve never pampered the ones we have, and they still reward us with blooms every year. I need to rectify that. If anyone knows the value of a proper pampering…
The anti-thesis of the hatred and evil that the Republican party has been spewing for the last several years, this is a truly classy woman: Michelle Obama, the First Lady of the United States of America. She is intelligence personified. She is history in the making. She is grace on earth. At the Democratic National Convention, she gave a speech that went above and beyond the confines of our political system – it rattled heaven and shook the world with its power and import.
The story that has brought me to this stage tonight. The story of generations of people who felt the lash of bondage, the shame of servitude, the sting of segregation, but who kept on striving and hoping and doing what needed to be done so that today, I wake up every morning in a house that was built by slaves. And I watch my daughters, two beautiful, intelligent, black young women, playing with their dogs on the White House lawn. And because of Hillary Clinton, my daughters and all our sons and daughters now take for granted that a woman can be president of the United States. ~ Michelle Obama
Once upon a time I was a staunch Republican. At least, I was raised as one, and had I been able to vote during the Reagan and Bush #1 years, I probably would have gone their way. My parents, being in the medical field, tended to vote Republican for fiscal reasons, and to this day I can get behind a fiscally conservative method of running the country. Unfortunately, the glory of the GOP has not been in evidence for decades. Of late, it has become the party of hate and intolerance, openly embracing those who foster racism and homophobia and sexism. That’s no longer a question of opinion, it’s a matter of fact.
Witness their candidates: Donald Trump and Mike Pence. The former is a terrifying joke and the latter is a dangerous bit of milquetoast who all but destroyed Indiana with his anti-gay and anti-woman agenda. That agenda now forms a very frightening part of the official Republican platform.
The sad thing is that the GOP could very much be a party with sound support and incredible power. Many of their basic tenets for financial responsibility are sensible. Their original plan to have less government in our lives (and bedrooms) was a hands-off live-and-let-live philosophy that I found compelling. And way back during Abraham Lincoln’s time, it was the Republican Party that championed equality for everyone.
EVERYONE.
What a turn-around a crazy Tea Party can make.
Since giving in to the early demands of loons like Sarah Palin, Michele Bachman, and Donald Trump, the Republican Party has been poisoned by what looked like a quick chance-grab for a few extra votes from the lunatic fringe. Since then, they’ve allowed the poison to take hold, and it has weakened and destroyed the GOP from within. The metaphoric Republican elephant has been taken down like the very real (now dead) elephant that Donald Trump Junior killed on a trophy hunting expedition. Hijacked by these internal terrorists, whose beliefs espouse “traditional†marriage and gay conversion therapy (in which a gay person is subjected to torture treatments to make them straight – look it up) the Republican Party has now woven such heretofore extreme beliefs into their official platform. It’s made it impossible for even sane Republicans to embrace their party without attaching themselves to blatant hatred and discrimination. You can’t argue that they’re not anti-gay when it is explicitly there in the official party platform. For any of my friends who can even entertain the idea of voting for Donald Trump, please understand that he and his party will work to make my marriage invalid. They will work to destroy the marriage of countless loving couples who only want to enjoy the same things our straight counterparts enjoy. They will work to dismantle the rights we have won – and to what purpose and end? How does my marriage have any bearing on them? How does my loving partnership impede on their marriages or beliefs? It has nothing to do with them – yet they seek out our love to destroy in the name of religion, and I cannot understand that.
Much in the same way, I cannot understand the Republican Party anymore. To embrace a person who has repeatedly made racist, misogynistic, and hateful comments about everyone not exactly like him, who supports a ban on people based on religion, who wants to build a wall to keep those seeking the American dream out is something I do not get. And I have yet to hear a substantive argument otherwise.
(We now return to our regularly-scheduled frivolous programming.)
This is the response of Joe Jonas to all the hotness that his brother Nick has stolen the past couple of years. A naked Nick Jonas is certainly a sight to behold, but the best revenge is being hot, and Joe proves that right here. When you look back at the Hunk of the Day post for Joe Jonas, and the Nick Jonas Hunk of the Day feature, it’s hard to tell who’s going to be showcased next. (Hint: whoever doffs their shirt again.)
