“Life is so damned hard, so damned hard… It just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can’t be hurt ever any more. That’s the last and worst thing it does.” ~F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
Our current era of instant information and transparency makes it refreshingly uncommon to find so little confirmed info on an artist who once dominated the American landscape as much as J.C. Leyendecker did in the first half of the 20th century. His work was regularly featured on ‘The Saturday Evening Post’ and in advertisements for Arrow, Gillette, Ivory Soap, Kuppenheimer and Kellogg’s. He was an inspiration and occasional mentor for Norman Rockwell, and if you’re aware of Rockwell’s signature style, you know Leyendecker’s, as the influence was that strong. Ensuing years, however, have given the prominence and glory to the latter, who also played the public publicity game far better than Leyendecker would or could.
Part of that has been attributed to his likely sexuality – I say likely because there is no official confirmation that Leyendecker was gay, though his unmarried lifestyle, and the fact that he lived with his long-time model and studio manager Charles Beach for almost fifty years, along with some decidedly homoerotic undertones to a lot of his work, makes it pretty clear whose team he was on. At the time being gay was still the love that dare not speak its name, and Leyendecker never publicly came out, nor did it seem to be his natural state to be open and public about much of anything – he preferred to stay at home and do his work.
That work, seen in small part here, is a glorious testament to his talent and artistic prowess, and depicts an America that was once written about by F. Scott Fitzgerald (whose books have occasionally employed an image by Leyendecker for their covers). Lovely words and lovely images for a country, and an artist, whose lives were not always lovely.
“And that taught me you can’t have anything, you can’t have anything at all. Because desire just cheats you. It’s like a sunbeam skipping here and there about a room. It stops and gilds some inconsequential object, and we poor fools try to grasp it – but when we do the sunbeam moves on to something else, and you’ve got the inconsequential part, but the glitter that made you want it is gone.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
“There’s only one lesson to be learned from life anyway…. That there’s no lesson to be learned from life.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
Golf has gotten a bad fashion rap over the years, and not entirely unjustly. Recently, however, the game has gotten more sartorially impressive, and I’m not going to pretend I don’t have one or two golf shirts in my closet, especially for the summer months. My friend Skip swears by them as the most lightweight and comfortable shirts for the sweaty season, and now they’re getting some major backing by companies I’ve admired and respected for some time. Case in point is Bonobos, which has booked golfer Justin Rose to represent their line, and he’s doing so in fine fashion. I’ve loved Bonobos for many years, and their impeccable eye for taste and talent seems to have found the perfect ambassador.
Justin Rose earns this Dazzler of the Day for that smart pairing, as well as his success on the golf course – a career he’s advanced in since 1998. He was the #1 golfer in 2018, and in 2016 he earned an Olympic gold medal. A career that lasts decades long in any sport is a notable accomplishment – one that grows and evolves and becomes better over time is the stuff of true dazzlers.
We often have a rabbit present in the yard at this time of the year – well, several, but very rarely do we see them at one time. On a recent afternoon, however, I was watching one rabbit under the lace-leaf Japanese maple and making sure it wasn’t munching on the hosta when Andy called me in to see another one in another part of the yard. Walking forward a bit more, I saw the one under the maple hop over to the other one, and then they both took off like rabbits usually do.
These two are bit more tame and far less timid than the ones we usually encounter. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad – time will tell if they devour our garden. They are nowhere near as destructive as a groundhog, but they can cause some damage, as everyone needs to eat. For now, they are welcome to munch on all the weeds and extra-long leaves of the lawn, and I’ll throw in some of the fountain grass and cup plant leaves as they both need major cutting back.
I’m old enough to have attended the first staging of ‘Here Lies Love’ – the fabulous imagining of an Imelda Marcos musical that is everything you expect such a thing to be and quite a bit more – and seeing that it is returning in even more magnificent form (a proper Broadway theater reconfigured for the immersive magic that formed such a key component of this show) makes me giddy and ready to return to New York. Resuming the role of Ferdinand Marcos is Jose Llana, whose initial take on that polarizing figure was as captivating as it needed to be to showcase how he could attain such popularity and power. Llana earns this Dazzler of the Day for capturing such lightning twice.
What is it about a bundt cake that makes it seem to taste so much better than any other cake? Is it the visual sumptuousness and simplicity of the shape? The dribble of glaze that said shape provides for such regular rivulets? We eat more than we think with our eyes.
This basic bundt is the Harvey Wallbanger cake, the recipe of which may be found here. It’s worth a try (and if you don’t have the Galliano on hand, because no one really does, a Sambuca or Yellow Chartreuse makes a fine substitute). For this one, in place of the 3/4 cup orange juice that keeps this sweet and moist, I took the time to squeeze a few Mandarins that made it even better than I remember.
Indulging in a bit of nostalgia in this recent post had me briefly revisiting an old photo album, something I’m not wont to do because dwelling in the past is not usually conducive to living in the present. Still, it has its fun and merits every once in a while, and the older I get, the more past there is to dissect. Speaking of dissection, let’s do a bit on this photo because there’s a lot of things happening here, and none of them are very good. In case you didn’t notice, here’s what I see:
I’m pointing to my ass in a lame visual joke to pretend I’m getting a tattoo there. (Pause for guffaws.)
There is a cigarette in my mouth, and this was probably one of those Bidi cigarettes that my friend Chris and I favored at the time like children.
My hair. My hair is platinum blonde, because everyone should be blonde at one point in their life. That was mine, and it only worked well once the roots started growing in. And even then, it probably didn’t work.
That signature seven-button polo shirt from Structure, where I worked at the time. Why seven buttons? That was the tag line promoting them, and there was no satisfying answer.
The platform shoes in black suede, which wouldn’t be out of fashion today actually.
There is a plaid flannel shirt tied around my waist. THERE IS A PLAID FLANNEL SHIRT TIED AROUND MY WAIST.
It takes a formidable performer to step into the many shoes of Imelda Marcos, and in the new staging of ‘Here Lies Love’ Arielle Jacobs is hellbent on proving that she has the vocal chops and emotional fortitude to transform into the former First Lady of the Philippines. Based on her previous performances in such demanding material as ‘In the Heights’, Jacobs seems a shoo-in for a fabulous showing, and I can’t wait to get tickets for this all-Filipino version of that wondrous show. Jacobs earns this Dazzler of the Day for all of her stage work, including appearances in such classics as ‘Into the Woods’, ‘Wicked’, and ‘Aladdin’. More magic is surely on the way with ‘Here Lies Love’.
Is Kinder a candy, or maybe an online dating app for kangaroos or koalas? I don’t even know anymore. This slightly-spooky piece of garbage/pop-art was staring up at me from the asphalt of a parking lot, and it demanded a closer inspection. Scuffed and scratched, the vaguely-painted face looks downtrodden but defiant – the very essence of mustering some element of prettiness in the name of survival. Like all of us at this point, the face may be looking for rain, for something to wash the dirt of the world off in a vain grab for recaptured beauty.
There is a popular variety of amaryllis named ‘Apple Blossom’ whose name suddenly makes complete sense, as these photos reminded me instantly of that holiday staple. I prefer the real deal, in form, fragrance, and blossom time, so here is an ornamental apple tree at the height of its May bloom. When seeking out an appropriate musical accompaniment, I found this romantic ditty, redolent of spring and love and freshness.
Ornamental apple trees and their sweetly-scented flowers inspire an indulgence of nostalgia, bringing me back to childhood, when I’d attend my brother’s baseball games. I wanted nothing to do with baseball – I was much more interested in walking the woodsy paths surrounding certain baseball fields – so once the game was underway I’d make my exit and sneak into the woods, the chants of ‘no hitter, can’t hit’ fading into the distance. It was like closing a curtain of foliage behind me and entering another realm.
Embracing the quiet and solitude, I studied the plants and trees and life around me. The rustling of a squirrel or chipmunk reminded me I wasn’t ever totally alone, and if I was especially lucky the gurgling of a stream would provide the only soundtrack I needed. It was a treat to come upon water like that, both for its beauty and tranquility as much for the additional wildlife it often afforded. Being land-locked for the first part of my life left me ever-hungry for water in whatever fashion it appeared; oceans, lakes, streams, rivers, ponds, and pools all fascinated me, and the sound of water was some mystical siren’s call.
At this time of the year, all the forest seemed to join in the spring celebration, the ephemerals like Trillium and Bloodroot nodded in the slightest breeze, while in the air the branches of crabapples and other fruit trees were covered in perfumed blooms. I remember climbing into the branches of one of the larger crabapple trees, risking the buzzing of bees to be surrounded by the sweet blossoms, and listening to the muted shouts of a baseball game coming from another world. Birdsong took over, joining the happy humming of the bees, and the moment remains embedded in memory as a brush with the sublime.
It’s rare to find an ‘Alan’ that spells his name correctly, so it’s especially thrilling to name Alan Cumming as Dazzler of the Day. It’s even rarer to find someone with such an exquisite last name, so Cumming wins on both fronts. An actor who has been shape-shifting like the most miraculous trickster over the last few decades, Cumming is one of those amazing performers who completely disappears in character, despite a larger-than-life personality that has made his Club Cumming a magnet for the most fascinating people. Seeing him on social media has given his coveted events and performances an accessibility that voyeurs like myself have feasted upon.
His career has spanned a generation, with notable film performances in ‘Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion’, ‘Circle of Friends’, ‘X-Men’, and ‘Emma’ (and during only a few seconds of screen time, he was easily the most interesting and engaging part of the Tom Cruise/Nicole Kidman/Stanley Kubrick masterpiece/fiasco that was ‘Eyes Wide Shut’) and his theatrical and television accomplishments are just as incendiary (he largely gave ‘Cabaret’ its renewed lease on life, lending a menace and pathos that got lost in the movie version). He’s put out a musical album, written several books, and released a fragrance line (with a name like ‘Cumming’ you just have to take a sniff), and regularly enthralls at his club. From all personal accounts, he is as sweet and generous and entertaining as you’d want him to be. Check out all the happenings at Club Cumming – I’m setting a goal to pop into New York before the year is out and finally visit this entertainment landmark.
As our favorite month of May enters its final full week, attention has shifted from the indoors to the outside, frost warnings and freezes be damned! I won’t waste precious time and space by droning on – here’s your weekly recap:
The scenario depicted here is one of life’s more infuriating moments, and it’s rampant on the Mass Turnpike whenever I’m trying to get to Boston. For those times when you need some constructive rage to light a fire under your ass, check out this Madonna-fueled post. And when you need to cool down, calm down, and slow down, revisit this post when I managed to turn the road rage off. I’m not always able to do it, so reminders like this are helpful.
Taking a picture of a picture and playing with reflections can reveal a portal into the past. The young man in the forefront is all of 18 years old, while the older, grayer man in shadow, looking like he is peering amusedly over his shoulder, is heading toward 48. Three decades of difference and wondering at the world around them is revealed in this single shot. It’s easy to say that with age comes wisdom, and largely that may prove to be true, but when I look back at myself at that time, there was a certain wisdom inherent in innocence and not knowing things that carried its own weight and import. Of course, that was often overshadowed by the misguided pride and exuberance of youth, and the unabashed revelry one finds upon returning home for the summer after a year at college.
On my headphones, and originating from a walkman we once had to carry in our hands, this Janet Jackson song, ‘Love Will Never Do (Without You)’ played its booming melody and Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis magnificence. With a video gorgeously directed by Herb Ritts, complete with more than a few erotic undertones (and some homoerotic ones for those looking really hard) this song became a summer anthem for me, and still brings me back to those carefree days…
Our friends think we’re opposites Falling in and out of love They’ve all said we’d never last Still, we manage to stay together
May had arrived in all its heady glory. Faced with the luxurious prospect of three summer months of freedom, my Virgo nature also understood it needed some sort of structure and plan to feel completely comfortable, and so I started a daily jogging regime, followed by a swim in the pool. It kept track of the days, provided a basic blueprint around which to organize a day, and kept me in shape.
While I would never quite be devastatingly cute enough to be a proper twink, I teetered on the brink of twinkdom on my best days, and in the warped, overcompensating method of finding self-confidence through faking it, I flagrantly began to revel in my youth in the way everyone should during its brief years of dominance. The robust confidence that came after a single year away at school left me feeling undeservedly superior and slightly smug, and I’m just thankful I didn’t turn into a total monster.
Pounding the pavement as delicately as I could muster while jogging (and doing my best to avoid shin splints) I embraced the warm days and looked forward to traveling around my small hometown, which felt even smaller after a year’s glimpse at more expansive places. Halfway through these runs I’d doff my shirt, as much for pleasure as it was for comfort – the sun felt wonderful, especially when I recalled practically crying when the 20th snowstorm of the year barreled across the campus of Brandeis just a few short, and cold, months earlier. It was also a relief to be freed from sweaty clothing – nipple-chafing is a very real and painful thing – I don’t care how deeply one might enjoy some nipple-play. There was also something vain in it – the body and mind wanting to reveal themselves for reasons that went back centuries, and it felt as primal as it did imposed by a society that celebrated sex for all its selling points.
There’s no easy explanation for it But whenever there’s a problem We always work it out somehow Work it out somehow
They said it wouldn’t last We had to prove them wrong ‘Cause I’ve learned in the past That love would never do without you
Sprinting into the final days of my teenage years, I yearned for adulthood before realizing I had already entered it – the body advancing so much sooner than the mind. In-between girlfriends, and not quite having arrived at boyfriends yet, my love for this song was questionable given my relative inexperience in all things having to do with romance. Yet it spoke to me, and in a powerful way, and every summer that followed I would return to its spell, happily entranced by the notion of love, even if I had no love affair of my own to set to its music.
Other guys have tried before To replace you as my lover Never did I have a doubt Boy, it’s you I can’t do without
I feel better when I have you near me ‘Cause no other love around Has quite the same, ooh, ooh Like you do, do, do, do babe
Winding my way back home, I slowed as I neared our block, beginning the cool down that would culminate with a dip in the pool, dousing the fire that burned all about the body – a delicious denouement to the only work I had to do that summer. It was an indulgence – a harmless decadence that took place mostly in my mind because all of this happened in solitude. After years of doubting myself, and having others doubt me, it felt like a beginning of something else – a more genuine sort of self-love, of learning that I could be ok on my own. I didn’t see it then, but this song would not end up being the soundtrack to some great romance with anyone else – it would be the giddy and surprisingly reliable accompaniment to the love affair we should all be having with ourselves.
They said it wouldn’t last We had to prove them wrong ‘Cause I’ve learned in the past That love would never do without you
And so that May passed all too quickly – and that brief time in which I thought I was hot shit, and maybe I was, would prove to wither like so many spring blossoms that weren’t designed to last in the heat. Did I make the most of it? For the most part, yes. Do I wish I had realized more fully what a lovely thing it was to be young? Yes. That too. Do I miss the underlying wonder, panic and worry at not knowing what I should be doing and not knowing what I wanted to be doing? Not a bit, because it still fuels me to this day.
As for this song, it’s still a bop, still a summer dream, still a portal to the lusty month of May, when a young man once ran away from his youth, on the hunt for love.
(They said it wouldn’t last) (They said) hey (They said it wouldn’t) what do you want? (They said it wouldn’t last)
If you believe in love, sing (Love will never do) (Love will never do without you)
When left with the luxury of a day to enjoy, I tend to slow down and savor the simple minutes. Even when looking back on otherwise-busy weekends, it has been the downtime and in-between moments that were often the most memorable. On this morning I made a stop at the South End Buttery, one of the local haunts that I’m auditioning for the sorrowful vacancy left by the closing of Café Madeleine. It’s actually been around a lot longer than that beloved Café, and has some delicious scones – it’s just a little further from the condo. A regular haunt is a comfort when one is used to structure and routine. When I worked at the Structure store, and later John Hancock, I would make Finagle-a-Bagel part of my morning schedule, but that got pricey to do every day. (I imagine it’s even more ridiculously exorbitant now.) But a coffee at the Buttery would be doable on a daily basis.
From there, I wound my way through the South End, and the morning was so magnificent – the way May can be at its most beautiful – it was a thrill just to see the flowers and tiny squares in bloom. I thought of how charming the scene would be at other turns of the year. By the time I meandered along the edge of Boston Common and skirted the Public Garden, it was early afternoon – a favorite pocket of the day to be back at the condo when the sun began streaming into the bedroom – so I headed there.
Back on Braddock Park, the tea kettle whistled and I sat down at the table in relief. I haven’t been in Boston much, or anywhere for that matter, and my distance-walking legs were not what they used to be. It felt good to sit and be still, and I realized that yes, this was something I could handle, and embrace. I hadn’t had to crack a book or scroll through a phone or find any method of amusement because I hadn’t come close to being bored, nor was there any sense of needing to occupy the time or fill it with activity, despite the pace to which I’ve grown accustomed.
I also hadn’t cooked or baked anything in the kitchen for a while – another thing I’m looking forward to doing in Boston more when there aren’t a hundred new restaurants to try. All of these abstract ideas took more solid and defined form in my head, and I allowed myself a brief indulgence of the planning process that will ensue in more concrete form in a few more years. Time will pass all too quicker than I want it to, so I’m putting these thoughts back in their pretty box for now, content to focus on the moment at hand and fully inhabit the present. And so it is that I end this post, and this little jump to the future, and return to life as it currently stands. I don’t want to wish any of it away.
