Most people seem to have missed the deeper and darker meaning to Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the U.S.A.’ Far from a celebratory anthem, it’s more of an indictment for our country and some of the atrocities its committed over its history. That feels more relevant than ever, as our Supreme Court recently robbed our women of their right to choose, gutted our environmental protections, and allowed for guns to be all but given out to any and all white supremacists who choose to carry. (It appears white men can choose, but no one else can.)
While I remain quietly hopeful that our country will do the right thing, and that this relatively small group of hateful people with hypocritical and heinous ideologies doesn’t end up running America, I’m also realistic, and I’ve seen how selfish and awful people can be. So I will celebrate America in a quieter way today – the America my parents taught me about – where freedom and acceptance are the true orders of the day – and I will pray for her speedy recovery.
I break a sweat at the château
A party crowd that I don’t know
“La dolce vita” head to toe
I kiss a cheek to say hello
She takes a sip of champagne
It’s elegant, but not vain
She calls attention to her vein
And then she dives into my brain
Ahh, la dolce vita… and at the height of summer no less. It’s all happening… it’s all happening. July is here, and with it the very best parts of summer come to miraculous head. Some months are like that. They just fully explode into what they are, without hinting or teasing, and July is usually true to form.
Swimming pool summer
Gimme your number
Under your cover
I wanna take the heat
Making a daily jaunt in the pool to keep cool, as much as to keep calm, is a happy ritual. Like my daily meditation, it literally grounds me, binding me to the physical world, physically holding me in its liquid arms, and forcing an instant inhabitation of the present moment. Ignoring the power and might of water invites a peril I just won’t entertain.
She comes up for a breath
Fuck the rest, she’s the best
Her eyes are laser-beaming me
Suspending all reality
And just as soon as she smiles
She puts her sunglasses on
I haven’t felt this in a while
She breaks me down in style
Gliding peaceably through the water, taking languid and lazy strokes beneath the surface, the body is at once lightened of its usual gravitational pull. This may be the closest we can get to flying, and there is magic and majesty in such a state. So we fly, on the wings of water…
Swimming pool summer
Gimme your number
Under your cover
I wanna take the heat
Physical wonder
A sensual hunter
Under your cover
I can’t escape the heat
I can’t escape the heat
I can’t escape the heat
The small group of us sat huddled in a line, ordered by the notes we each held in our hand – one musical note from each little piece of a deconstructed marimba-like instrument. We were in fifth or sixth grade, and we sat in a side room to the main music room in the basement of McNulty School. The rest of the class continued with their musical studies while the few select students chosen to play ‘A Bicycle Built For Two’ in a mini-concert for the class.
How I absolutely abhorred group activities.
Almost as much as I abhor ice-breaker activities.
Such social anxiety wouldn’t be named or understood until decades later, and by then what did it really matter? Back then was when I needed to know, and I didn’t, but I trudged through, confident in my limited musical skills and well-liked enough to sail through this exercise in corn-dog musicality.
We ran through the song what felt like a bazillion times, and someone always screwed it up. ‘This shouldn’t be so difficult,’ I thought to myself. What I voiced out loud was probably (definitely) more cutting. Social anxiety or not, I had my store of patience, and it wasn’t plentiful. When that was gone, I tended to go brazen and blunt.
Yet I was not immune to the charms of working with a smaller group of people I’d have considered my friends at the time. As difficult as it sometimes was for me, I was also capable of ingratiating wit and charm, even as I cut down others – sometimes precisely because I could so deftly poke fun at others. In other words, I could be a hoot, and people genuinely enjoyed my company, if only to be entertained. It was apparent then that it wasn’t necessarily affection or adoration I could elicit – it was a sense of people waiting to see what I might say or do. There was a certain power in that, and a certain emptiness.
We worked through that silly song, over and over, until we had a pretty good grasp of it. Of course when we performed it for an audience we inevitably fell apart – not horribly, we just weren’t perfect – an early lesson on accepting imperfection, and one that I fought against for the ensuing years, foolishly and regrettably.
Anyway, the daisy will occasionally bring back those memories of grade school, and banding together with my classmates and friends, left briefly on our own to work toward something as a group.
Bee balm, scientifically called Monarda, is one of those plants I grew many years ago, then got tired of maintaining and controlling its often rampant growth, so I took it all out. Lately, I’m looking for easy and slightly aggressive growers to take over and hold strong, so I may be getting another specimen if something catches my eye.
A favorite of pollinators (hence its common name) it provides the sort of long tubular petals that appeal to our beloved hummingbirds. I’ve planted a number of hummingbird favorites in the hope of drawing back our many visitors last year, though thus far we’ve only seen a single one. Maybe a little/large patch of bee balm will entice more to come.
Actor, singer, model and more, this is Chris Salvatore, the epitome of a Renaissance man, and worthy recipient of the Dazzler of the Day crown for a body of work that spans well over a decade. He’s been in movies and videos, released music and an underwear line, and performed in stage shows, all while seeming genuinely kind. It’s doesn’t seem easy to maintain such a stance in show business, but somehow he’s managed. His latest venture into the Only Fans realm is only the latest in a long line of show-stopping moves. Keep watching and he’ll keep entertaining.
When I came to get you from your folks’ You said all I want to do is cry I don’t have time for any of your jokes You said all I want to do is cry They treat me like I’m made of gold All I want to do is cry All I want to do is cry
This is ‘Summer in July’ – about as simple and succinct as one can get, and just as sonically unchallenging. You can dive deeper into the lyrics if you like, or stay close to the surface and the sunlight. It’s your call.
I wish I could make you love me I wish I could make you a summer in July A summer in July A summer in July
Carefree and clothing-free, it’s time to let go of the swimsuit and let God’s natural attire slip through the pool water unfettered. Water, air, and light ~ primal and elemental and brilliant ~ breaking summer down into the most basic of basics.
We were driving home in my car You said nothing makes me feel no more So you opened up the passenger door And said all I want to do is die You treat me like I’m six years old All I want to do is die All I want to do is die
Every day after the first of summer loses a little light. We don’t feel it yet, but it’s happening. Summer can be insidious that way, summer knows how to sneak in and out at night. When I was a teenager, I’d slip out of the house on hot summer nights and walk around the neighborhood, feeling some sort of restlessness and wonder, something that wouldn’t be quelled or cooled by the air conditioner or the pool, or the glasses of iced tea that would sweat and drip before I could ever finish them.
On those walks, with the light of the street lamps shaded by the heavy canopy of maple trees and oaks – shadows beneath shadows – I found safety and security in the warm darkness, sure of myself and my solitude in a way that would comfort me on much colder days in the near and far future.
I wish I could make you love me I wish I could make you want me I wish a summer in July A summer in July Summer in July
While this blog swims slowly into the likely fall and winter of its lifespan, there is still room for a gratuitous tease and skin-friendly post for summer. Still time for shirtless male celebrities, or gratuitous nudity, or other such click-dick-bait. Still time for summer to shimmy and sweat and dive into the coolness of a day by the pool. Still time… still time…
The formula for a lazy summer mocktail is simple enough – a small part of some sweet fruit juice or syrup, a dash of fresh, tart citrus, and a generous topping of your preferred seltzer. In this case, I used a Watermelon-Cucumber Cooler from Trader Joe’s as the base, squeezed out the juice of a small lime (you don’t even need to break out the squeezer, just use your hands and strain the seeds out) and filled the rest of the cup with some grapefruit seltzer. Stir and serve with a slip of lime peel.
Summer was made for simplicity. Complex and convoluted mocktail recipes can wait for fall and winter. The head is fried in this heat. Keep it light and simple and slightly sweet.
July reminds me of this line from ‘Sunset Boulevard’: “Maybe red, bright flaming red – let’s make it gay!” The heat is on, and not just on the street – in the gardens as well, when the warm hues take center stage as the cooler shades of spring have long since faded. These shades are bright and bold, and they have to be to combat the striking sun.
Summer lends itself to fiery celebrations, especially this weekend, but in these years of our lives I prefer the fireworks to be quietly exploding in the garden alone. Our world is loud and chaotic enough, and summer, while it may be hot, hazy, and lazy, should also be subdued and silent when it can be. The garden can make all the noise, as seen in these bold blooms.
July shouts its arrival in brash and beautiful fashion, moving us deeply into summer.
A fitting final image for the end of Pride Month, this collection of hand washes from Stonewall Kitchen marks a subtle nod to the rainbow, while reminding of our last trip to Ogunquit. Anything that brings back such a happy memory is worthy of a blog post, no matter how brief. Happy Friday – and Happy Pride!
Recaptured brilliantly by Madonna expert Matthew Rettenmund on ‘Boyculture’ here, Madonna’s return to her throne for Pride 2022 was a smashing success, and a tell-tale signpost of why we need her more than ever. Even with the snippets and clips alone, she proves she is still one of the most thrilling entertainers of any generation. She performed various versions of several career-spanning songs – ‘Material Girl‘, ‘Hung Up‘ and ‘Celebration‘ – all of them seductive, playful, exuberant and as fresh as when they each came out for the very first time. It was a pleasant, and badly-needed, recollection of what made, and makes, her so damn great. Personally, I just needed the celebratory revelry of dance, pride, and gay fabulousness that is the hallmark of her wondrous career.
The bridge between the FaceBook/Twitter crowd and the SnapChat/TikTok crowd seems to be found in a single name and space: Instagram. Somewhat regrettably, I don’t focus much on my Instagram account, but I’m trying to change that, especially since so much of my previous creative endeavors have focused on visual elements.
The lagging interest in my Instagram account is indicative of a larger lagging in much of my social media lately – and quite simply I’m just not that interested. Most of my posts are in service of this website and any new blog entries.
Both FaceBook and Twitter have gotten mired down with the awfulness that is so prevalent these days (and I am guilty of Tweeting the hell out of our present political predicament) so Instagram is usually a safer space for viewing flowers and pretty things, and for keeping things light and whimsical. We need more of that.
Summer fare doesn’t come much better or brighter than a simple BLT sandwich. I made this one myself, after Andy cooked the bacon, and I didn’t toast it (much to Andy’s chagrin) because I knew it would be devoured so quickly I didn’t want the roof of my mouth to get all scratched up from the toast. Yes, that’s how my mind works. Comfort over quality, even when it’s going to get macerated and swallowed up anyway.
We don’t mess around with the BLT around here – maybe we’ll go California on its ass with some avocado once in a a great while, but for the most part we keep it simple, which keeps it good. Sometimes I’ll strip it down even further and just do a bacon, tomato and mayo sandwich. Who needs all that healthy lettuce when bacon is involved? If you’re going to do bacon, do the damn thing right.
This wild sweet pea blooms in one of my favorite shades of pink, and I’ve allowed a single specimen of this otherwise-invasive plant to take up one small spot in the garden border, just to enjoy the color. It also brings a freshness to this time of the year, when the heat and humidity can really deflate the air and the spirit (we just had a 95 degree day as evidence of summer’s power). The leaves and blooms remain cool and unmarred by pests or wild weather, lending a brightness and vigor to the garden, coinciding with the crest of summer.
It’s an essence that supplies the sense of coolness – these flowers don’t actually bring the temperatures down, but their visage calms and soothes the spirit with the matte foliage slightly imbued with shades of silver and gray, and the light green flower buds. It’s a case of mind over matter – necessary when the days run a little too hot, and mandatory for finding relief. We haven’t reached that point yet – all the heat and sun are still welcome and refreshing – but inevitably summer will tire us out. For now, I’m looking forward to being so spent.
While all of the petunias I planted in our garden bed have been devoured by this crazy-cute culprit, there are a pair of hanging baskets that have been in bloom for over a month now, lit up with some sweet potato vine leaves, and safely hung high above the ground. It’s the only safe space, with all the rabbits and groundhogs and other mysterious raiders who come in the night.
