I’ve held this one close to my chest because I’m always afraid of overexposing a good thing when I find it, but with my four readers I don’t anticipate this causing too much of a jam. The Hawthorne Bar, at the bottom of the Hotel Commonwealth, is one of my favorite bars in Boston, and on a recent stop-in I found out that they also serve some of the best deviled eggs too. They are surely splendiferous to look at, and their flavor matches their beauty.
The cocktails are an Eastside (we’re moving on up) and something with chartreuse and aperol in it. Though the latter fought a bit too much with itself, I appreciate the experimentation. No risk, no glory.
My luxurious notion of being on tour consists of traveling sporadically throughout the year and staying in fancy hotels whenever the opportunity affords, so while this Abba tune doesn’t speak directly to my experience, I have begun to feel the fatigue of traveling and being gone every other weekend. Being that this is my last-ever jaunt, however, I’ve been reluctant to hang up my touring shoes, so The Delusional Grandeur Tour has gone on far longer than anything else I’ve done. That’s about to end. No extensions. Must close!!! And it will.
On my recent Chicago trip, I stood in the window of the Palomar in the middle of the night, looking out and up at all the buildings illuminated in the darkness. Chicago knows how to accent its features, yet for all the impressive architectural beauty surrounding me, I felt a slight pang of loneliness, something I hardly ever feel. I missed home. The gardens. The bedroom. Andy.
In all the years of searching and seeking out other places to thrill me, I’d unwittingly crafted and found the ideal refuge of comfort and beauty: home. You don’t always realize you have one until you leave it.
TONIGHT THE SUPER TROUPER LIGHTS ARE GONNA FIND ME
SHINING LIKE THE SUN
SMILING, HAVING FUN
FEELING LIKE A NUMBER ONE
TONIGHT THE SUPER TROUPER BEAMS ARE GONNA BLIND ME
BUT I WON’T FEEL BLUE
LIKE I ALWAYS DO
‘CAUSE SOMEWHERE IN THE CROWD THERE’S YOU
The pull of the world, the lights of the universe, and the dizziness of new faces and places – they all conspire to seduce and delight, but it can be a lonely gig. Tiring and tiresome, it takes a lot out of me, and you who are sometimes reading this, to make it all happen. I’m ready to retire this delusional time of my life. It’s been fun, it’s been wild, and we’ve been through so much in all the seven tours I’ve done. So many friends and family, so many places and spaces, so many feelings and thoughts…
FACING TWENTY THOUSAND OF YOUR FRIENDS
HOW CAN ANYONE BE SO LONELY
PART OF A SUCCESS THAT NEVER ENDS
STILL I’M THINKING ABOUT YOU ONLY
THERE ARE MOMENTS WHEN I THINK I’M GOING CRAZY
BUT IT’S GONNA BE ALRIGHT
EVERYTHING WILL BE SO DIFFERENT
WHEN I’M ON THE STAGE TONIGHT
Still, there’s a little bit of kick left to these old legs, a little spark ready to rekindle the fire one last time. A final twirl around the world, a happy ending to send you off to sleep. In some way, we have connected. You’ve come along with me, and if you’re reading this now we’ve done it together. It does mean something. That forges a bond, and that bond is how we erase barriers.
SO I’LL BE THERE WHEN YOU ARRIVE
THE SIGHT OF YOU WILL PROVE TO ME I’M STILL ALIVE
AND WHEN YOU TAKE ME IN YOUR ARMS AND HOLD ME TIGHT
I KNOW IT’S GONNA MEAN SO MUCH TONIGHT
TONIGHT THE SUPER TROUPER LIGHTS ARE GONNA FIND ME
SHINING LIKE THE SUN
SMILING, HAVING FUN
FEELING LIKE A NUMBER ONE
TONIGHT THE SUPER TROUPER BEAMS ARE GONNA BLIND ME
This is the sort of thing I love: a recreation of a work of art by another work of art. Here we have the original Matisse painting of a Woman in Purple Robe, whimsically echoed in an abstract floral homage. It’s magical. I especially love how the skin tone in the painting is almost perfectly-matched in the double gerbera daisies. It’s a brilliant illustration of how art can continue to live on in unique ways, and how it might multiply in joy and happiness with each passing iteration.
There’s a reason hotels use white sheets for their bedding, and it’s not merely a matter of simplifying design decisions. Studies have shown that sleeping on a cloud of white bedding produces a more peaceful and happy night of sleep. Being that such sleep is the main goal of our home, I’ve switched out our winter sheet set for a crisp, cool white collection just in time for the warmer seasons. Whether it’s a psychosomatic trick of the mind, or the phenomenon is a real one, I already feel a bit better about the bedroom. It’s brighter. Cleaner. Softer. All the things you want a bed to be.
One of the most invigorating things you can do for a domicile is switch up the bedding. In Boston we have various sets depending on season and whim, but I’ve neglected to invest in such things in upstate New York for the past few years. We’ve found a winning combination this time around, however, so we should be set for a while. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to rest easy and go back to bed.
At the crux of nature and art is the featured painting by Matisse. Currently on exhibit at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, it’s a relatively calm piece, color-wise, for the artist, but one that perfectly captures the subtle shades of a bush known less for showmanship and more for fragrance. Beyond the meeting of art and nature, there is the matter of perfume – a very important matter indeed.
Lilacs seem to remind many people of their childhood, and I’m no exception. I distinctly remember the lilac bushes in our front and back yards, and the way their flowers held the water so often falling from the sky at this time of the year. Their heart-shaped leaves were the purest form of green (enjoy them now, as they usually succumb to mildew once the humidity of summer hits).
Matisse captured their subtlety in a vase, and the accompanying gray atmosphere that early spring sometimes signifies. Rain abounds during lilac season, and their subtle shades work well against a dull sky. The softness of their visage deceptively belies the perfume they produce, and it is this exquisite fragrance that pulls me, and so many others, blissfully back to childhood, and back to the beginning.
Two pink cherry trees in full bloom framed the entrance to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The glorious double Kwanzan variety makes a dramatic specimen, especially when in the throes of its blooming passion. Here, I offer a look at the one on the left, in case you’re unable to witness their splendor in person. Tis the season of the sakura.
I had spent the day working outside. Somehow the dirt manages to be partly muddy, and partly dry – making for the worst of all worlds – mucky stuff on my shoes and hands, and a dusty layer of airborne soil in my hair and on my clothes. My nose was running, and sweat was carrying dirt to all sorts of fun places. (Mostly my eyes; sorry again, perverts.) The day was cool and breezy, but after spreading cow manure and grappling with patches of pachysandra that have somehow persisted for over a decade, I was a sorry sight. After a winter of relative stagnancy, the stretches involved in preparing the yard for another spring season were a re-awakening of things that had assumed I’d given up on ever stretching again. My body felt sore, my hands and arms were scraped with the cuts and bruises of stubborn plants and incorrigible tools, and my allergies were just beginning to win the battle of pushing me back inside. You would not know it to look at me, but I was happy as a hooker eyeing a vessel docking for shore leave.
My runny nose ran me to the shower, and I let the hot water and soap work their magic in removing the grime of a day from every crevice of my aching body. This was the good kind of pain – the sort that nodded its acknowledgement of a day of work well done. I scrubbed my skin until it glowed like a ‘Peace’ rose, then dried off and combed my hair before sliding into a white terry-cloth robe. I padded barefoot into the bedroom and laid down for a moment, looking out the window where the sun was still shining on the backyard.
That, right then and there, was the moment of happiness and contentment that had eluded me all winter. The comfort after the exertion, the softness after the strife – it was blissful. I promptly fell asleep, which was not my intent, but that was ok too.
Our annual Broadway mother-son trip to New York is slated for a couple of weekends from now, and while I’m looking forward to the shows and time with my Mom, I’m also keenly anticipating our first stay at The Towers at Lotte New York Palace. In a city like New York, most people seem to consider the accommodations an after-thought, more of a place to sleep and shower than a destination unto itself. I’m somewhere between the two, though that may change with the the promise of these Towers.
Located at Madison and 50th, the location is ideal for our purposes – within reach of Broadway, but safely removed from the annoying aspects of Times Square. Billing itself as a boutique hotel within a hotel, The Towers at Lott New York Palace is the fancier section of this wondrous property, and looks to be the perfect home-away-from-home as we enjoy a long weekend indulging in Broadway and fancy dinners. (Stay tuned for a more indulgent review after we experience all the luxury.)
It’s an oft-made assumption that the biggest night of fashion is the Oscar Awards, but that’s simply not true. The first Monday in May, and the night of the Met Gala, actually holds that title. This is when people take risks, go completely wild, and usually make more of an impression on me than the relatively tame Oscars game. To that end, this is an evening of whimsical and daring enchantment for the fashion-lovers.
With its unexpectedly-tricky avant-garde theme (Rei Kawakubo/Comme des Garçons) the Met Gala presented some sartorial challenges for most attendees, which is odd, because it’s such fertile ground for over-the-top architectural opportunities. Rihanna and Katy Perry came through, but everyone else fell a little flat, even Madonna. (Though hers is usually a grower, especially upon closer examination.) Anyway, here are some of the looks from the most fashionable night of the year.
It’s almost time for our annual Mother’s Day Broadway trip, and I’ve already made the selections (and, more importantly, ordered the tickets) for the shows we are seeing. This time around we are splurging on the accommodations (Lotte New York Palace) and the fact that we are seeing three musicals. I tend to choose at least one play to ease the wallet and the general bombast of an all-musical weekend, but this year we need that escapism.
Our triumvirate of musicals includes an 1812 comet, dueling make-up mavericks, and one grandly delusional diva in the form of the following:
For ‘The Great Comet’, I just want to see Josh Groban in all that padding, and hear him sing in person for the first time ever. ‘War Paint’ is starring Christine Ebersole and Patti LuPone, and was created by the team that so enchantingly brought ‘Grey Gardens’ to Broadway life. Finally, what more can I say about ‘Sunset Boulevard’ and Glenn Close that hasn’t been said already?
I’m looking forward to all of the above, and I know my Mom is too. A few fancy days in the city are exactly what we need to ring in the warm seasons.
On this first of May, as we begin one of my favorite months, a look back as is our Monday tradition. The Delusional Grandeur Tour culminates this month with its final flourish. I closed out April in Boston, and we shall return a couple more times before the end is at hand. For now, the week in review:
