Yearly Archives:

2015

Mid-August Recap of All Augusts

Ahh, August. Favorite month of all the months, for so many reasons – and not just birthday ones. August is the last full month of summer. August is the last month with no school. August is the last month when there are more days in the pool than out of it. August is heat and sun and fading flowers. Most of all, August is happiness. Contentment. The calm before the storm. And I don’t want it to end, so let’s go back in time, just a week, and do it all over again.

We held a retirement gathering for my new publicist Gin-Gin, and she wore a head-dress that was simply stunning. Let me see your peacock. (Don’t forget to follow @CircleOfAlan on Twitter!)

Zac Efron and his man-purse, even if I employed that look years ago.

Summer poem for a summer night.

There was beauty in the form of male models, including Genaro Perez, Norbi Novak, Joshua Joles, Jake Jensen & Ellis McCreadie.

There was something more serious from the mouth of my own brother.

The latest, and last, for Hermes from the brilliant Jean-Claude Ellena.

Take a colorful toke.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour picks up steam, with some support from my naked ass and Louis Vuitton.

Somebody else has an August birthday, and she’s one of my favorite people in the world.

Finally, some sangria, for summer.

Continue reading ...

Summer Sangria

I’m not the biggest sangria fan (I abhor a muddled mess, and that’s what always ends up happening at the bottom of a glass of sangria). Yet other people love it to death, so I’ll sacrifice my own taste for the enjoyment of others. In this case, a simple summer recipe of white wine, some peach schnapps, and fresh fruit – allowed to marinate for at least several hours – results in a lighter sangria (much safer for cream-colored carpets and white linen tablecloths). I also find it a better fit for these summer days, when a heavier red wine can only be lightened so much with the addition of fruit and other nonsense. Anyway, we’ll let the photos speak for the recipe – modify amounts per personal preference. Sangria isn’t anything close to a science, and I don’t have much patience for such unfussiness.

Continue reading ...

The Birthday of My Main Muse

An August birthday shout-out to my main muse Madonna, who I’m guessing is currently too busy gearing up for her Rebel Heart Tour to pause much for celebrations. We are going to pause for a moment on this blog too (as I’m only returning from Cape Cod today), and set up a quick little collection to honor the woman of the hour – and the day – with a look back at some previous Madonna Timeline entries.

We’ll begin with some early ones, such as the very first: ‘Who’s That Girl.’ Whispers that this retired-too-soon jewel will be cropping up on the new tour has me all aglow like some senorita, mas fina. When that first Timeline was created, I had no idea what it would become, so it’s a very basic sketch of what went down in the summer of 1987. If I could do it all over again, I’d embellish a bit more, fleshing out the excitement of being a kid and connecting with your distant cousins at a family wedding while Madonna played in the background of every thrilling turn. But what’s done is done, and as the birthday girl doesn’t like to dwell on the past, neither should we.

Bouncing along with the more carefree singles of her past, this was ‘Cherish’ – another early timeline entry that could have done with some further explanation of the late summer/early fall of 1989. I remember Maine, and the way the sun slanted differently in the coming fall. A navy J. Crew sweater is part of my memory too, as is the cold sting of the ocean off Maine.

Perhaps her greatest attribute is her resilience, as proven by the mantra of ‘Over and Over‘ – a ‘Like A Virgin‘ deep-cut that personifies the 80’s, and the rise, and rise, and rise of Madonna herself. It doesn’t matter who you are, it’s what you do that takes you far.

Adolescent angst was at its height when I listened to ‘Supernatural‘ – a B-side to the far-superior (and peppier) ‘Cherish.’ It conjures memories known mostly only to myself and a few select friends. I’m afraid I didn’t do it justice, but some things are too dark to bring back to light.

Sassy-pants with attitude to spare, this was ‘She’s Not Me.‘ Let the haters hate, let the wanna-be’s be, and let them eat my dust.

It sounds silly and trite to say it, but Madonna has in many ways been the love of my life. When friends and family and lovers turned against me, there was always Madonna. She was the one person on whom I could always count – for support, for inspiration, for love. She taught me self-reliance. She taught me how to get back up again. She taught me that ‘Love Makes the World Go Round.’

Happy Birthday M!!

 

Continue reading ...

What’s In A Bag?

Clothes and sundries, accessories and toiletries.

Socks and underwear on the bottom, along with whatever pajamas or loungewear that feel appropriate for a visit.

Rolled pants and shirts (rolling will actually keep things less wrinkled in most instances).

Maybe a book if I’m carrying the bag with me.

Sometimes a gift or two, depending on the host.

The most important thing to pack though, and you don’t even need a fancy bag for this, is an open-minded readiness for anything, and a willingness to try everything. It is the essence of a good traveler.

Continue reading ...

A Cape That Doesn’t Go On Your Back

The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star moves from Boston to Cape Cod this weekend, with the arrival of new friends from England and a reunion with all the old Cape buddies. Being in travel status always excites me, and not only because I get to break out the Louis Vuitton Keepall. Touring is a state of mind, and being on the road is sometimes safer and more secure than being at home.

Living out of luggage carries its own set of challenges and drawbacks, but it also affords more opportunities for shopping. (I consistently find myself without a pair of shoes or jacket, or pants as these promo photos will attest, necessitating impromptu buying excursions wherever I happen to be. This is not entirely unintentional.)

That sense of unplanned possibilities goes against my very Virgo grain, but in the best way. It jars and jostles, veering into unknown and unfamiliar territory, and setting my head just slightly off-kilter. Sometimes it’s good to be a little unfocused, a little less anal, good to go with the flow. Touring affords these valuable lessons, and I’ve designed it that way.

Complacency = Death.

Continue reading ...

The Best Weed Money Can Buy

This blog has glorified the Butterfly weed a number of times already, but it merits repetition, as this is one of the finest garden plants I know. Foliage remains handsome throughout the entire season, and the fiery orange blooms last for several weeks, peaking in July, but occasionally lingering beyond. This was not the year for taking such sweet time, so the photos here are from a while ago. Still, the beauty is timeless.

A relative of the common milkweed, this more refined version is perfectly-suited to the perennial border. It keeps within bounds (though it will disperse its fluffy seeds if allowed to get that far) and has a tap root that makes moving it a challenge. I tend to allow it to go to seed and spread a bit. If caught early enough, such seedlings should survive a transplant before that root gets too long.

This is also a favorite of butterflies and bees, which find its unique flower form a perfect landing trip.

Any friend of the butterflies is a friend of mine.

Continue reading ...

The Man Behind the Nose of Hermes

As the main fragrance front-man for Hermes over the last decade or so, Jean-Claude Ellena has made a name for himself and brought the venerable company an elegant edge in olfactory matters. His Jardin series is a masterful collection of woody, water-like florals – as distinctively evocative of their inspiration as they are of a standard summer day in anyone’s mind. Unlike some florals, these don’t dominate, they gently ease the scent of the season delicately out of one’s countenance. It’s a subtle and sly sleight of nose, and somehow Ellena manages to make these deceptively lasting (in brilliant counterpoint to the main obstacle of a light spring/summer fragrance, which is that they’re gone too soon).

His latest, and final, contribution to the Jardin line was released this season: Le Jardin de Monsieur Li is an ode to a fictional Chinese garden of one Mssr. Li, with notes of kumquat, jasmine and mint. (Just once I’d like to go along for the planning part of these visits – I’m so easy-upkeep they wouldn’t even know I was there!) Ellena indicated that this fragrance was conjured by an imaginary place for meditation:

“I remembered the smell of ponds, the smell of jasmine, the smell of wet stones, of plum trees, kumquats, and giant bamboos. It was all there, and in the ponds there were even carp steadily working towards their hundredth birthday.” – Jean-Claude Ellena

For me, it feels like a not-so-distant cousin, or somewhat-distant sister, of Un Jardin apre la Mousson, which was his ode to a garden after a summer storm. Both are based in watery, fruit-like richness, yet both are light enough for the humidity that signifies such moisture in the summer. Perhaps Mssr. Li bears a slightly more refined bearing, less messily aquatic, more contained, like a pond of manicured water plants, and for that reason I’m a bit more partial to it. Such a spectacular way to end his line for Hermes, this is an impressive addition – the final gem – in a crown of delicious creations. He will be sorely missed, but I’ll hold onto the hope that some other house might coax him out of semi-retirement someday.

Continue reading ...

That’s So Gay

My husband and my brother follow each other on Instagram, which I find both amusing and confusing. (My brother started and quickly stopped following me a long time ago.) Anyway, a couple of nights ago Andy sent him a picture of some car that he thought my nephew would like (it had what can only be described as wings (or raised fins) on the back, and it looked cool to me). Rather than responding with a simple ‘Ha!’ (my stock go-to reply to anything that neither impresses nor bothers me much) or a dismissive ‘Not his style’ my brother sends one word as his response: “Gay.”

I know I shouldn’t expect less, and certainly not more, but at this stage of his adult life, and at this formative point in his own children’s lives, to toss the word ‘gay’ around in an apparently derogatory manner is just offensive. When he gets angry, or just casually describes someone be doesn’t like, I’ve heard him use the term ‘faggot’, which he once explained did not mean anything against gay people, it was just a term for something stupid. That excuse no longer flies with me. It never did.

My brother probably won’t ever change. I’ve implored him not to say such things, I’ve screamed and yelled, I’ve spoken calmly and explained that it hurt me personally to hear him use such language, and I’ve told him unequivocally not to talk that way around me, but while it has lessened, it’s still apparently there. Even in the harmless response to a picture of a car he didn’t like.

I’ve long since given up on him. But if his kids should ever say something like that one day, it would break my heart. Kids see and hear everything. Even my non-parenting ass knows that. Words matter. What may be meaningless or insignificant to him might make a world of difference to others. I would hope that message is being passed on to his kids, because if you’re not preparing your children to be open and embracing of difference, you’re setting them up to fail in this diverse future.

As I was sliding down a maudlin hill contemplating all of it, I was reminded by Suzie that I should help do my own bit of education. So let’s turn this into a teachable moment for all those people who say something is ‘gay’ without meaning disrespect to those of us who are in fact gay. Here you go:

 

Continue reading ...

Summer House, Summer Night

THE HOUSE WAS QUIET AND THE WORLD WAS CALM

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
~ Wallace Stevens

Continue reading ...

Zac Efron & His Handbag

This was a rather unfortunate choice of jacket by Zac Efron, as, from a distance and with this particular stance, it looks like he’s holding a clutch. A very chic, shiny black clutch, but a questionable one at best. Let’s face it, Zac Efron looks best without a clutch. And without a jacket. And without any clothing at all. Like, AT ALL. (Especially when nude in GIF motion.)

Continue reading ...

The Mistress of My Inner Circle

Introducing my publicist, Ginny! Also known affectionately as Gin-Gin (as so many lovely Virginias in my life have been) she is responsible for my Twitter fan-handle @CircleOfAlan. How can I not get on board with that kind of vainglorious tribute? If ever I rise above the small-town trappings of Loudonville, let @CircleOfAlan become my officially unofficial outlet for news and gossip.
As for Ginny, she will be playing Liz Rosenberg to my Madonna as I extend these flights of delusional fantasy into real-world nonsensery. (I’m even making words up now, so don’t bother to dictionary it.) On a more serious note, she’s become a lovely friend in her own right, and we recently held a retirement party for her at our home. It was the least I could do for someone who helped me out at work and made every day a little more fun and enjoyable. (And now that she’s retired she’ll have that much more time to devote to the online Twitter promotion of yours truly.)
It was a testament to her heart and engaging personality that so many friends from her work world showed up to celebrate. It’s also an indication of how fun she is that she was game enough to don an Alan Ilagan original head-dress to greet her guests (at least until she fell over in her chair). All in a day. All in a party. All in a publicist.
When I look back over the friends I’ve made over the years, many of them were motherly in certain ways. Some were mothers of my friends, others were simply older women who played a motherly role in my life. I’m not sure why I’ve searched for mother figures, or what role of healing they filled and continue to fill in my life. I’m just glad they’re there. We seek out what we need to survive.
Continue reading ...

A Dry, Dry Recap

Like my wit at its best, this has been a dry week. The gardens are scorched. Stretches of ostrich ferns have browned up and shriveled off. We are headed incontrovertibly into fall. Sorry, but it’s true. Face the facts or extend your denial. Still, it’s summer, and it will be for a number of weeks, so I’m stepping outside by the pool and soaking up every last moment. August is a beautiful month.

The last week saw a fitting Speedo post, as that’s the preferred attire for certain men of a certain build.

It also saw the first glimpse into Madonna’s Rebel Heart tour. My excitement was waning, but now it’s back to where it always was, and there’s no better reminder of that than this collection of previous openings.

The male model was a staple of the August Hunks of the Day, thanks to Bryce Thompson, Nyle Dimarco and Kevin Baker.

Green beans hanging like bulbous garland.

The delectable Joe Zaso got his second crowning as Hunk of the Day.

It’s tricky to rock around August.

Plans for a 40th birthday celebration in Boston were set into motion, thanks to the Lenox Hotel and their Judy Garland Suite.

Still on tour, still delusional, and still intrigued by the underside of life.

Continue reading ...

This Won’t Be A Tour Stop

One city that the Delusional Grandeur Tour will NOT be visiting is Las Vegas. Though several pages of the Tour book were shot on location there, I do not enjoy the city in the least. It had some good points: for a hotel worshipper like myself it was a treat to visit the ornate lobbies and extensive grounds of some of the finer hotels (even if they were miles apart and one had to trek in 110 degree heat to get there). The Wynn and Encore were two of my favorites – even more-so than the Bellagio and the Venetian. On my last day in the sinful city, I spent much of my time roaming the hallways of the former, and winding down my trip with a quiet cocktail at the relatively hidden Parasol Lounge.

This secret gem was lit by the bright afternoon sun, but offered shady respite (in fitting fashion given its namesake). Enormous parasols in rich jewel tones hung overhead, and one descended in a curving escalator to reach the secluded space. Had I discovered the place earlier in my stay I might not have ever left it. Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t.

There are surely ways to make Las Vegas magical, but I didn’t have enough money to find them. Instead, I found sanctuary from the heat beneath a bunch of parasols.

Continue reading ...

A Tour Takes Shape, Makes Destinations

The second question (after the more obvious,’What exactly do you do on a tour?’) is always, ‘Where are you going?’ For my final tour I’ll be keeping things relatively open as far as destinations go. I’ve made a life of planning far into the future, but this time I’m flying by the seat of my pants. It’s produced a feeling of exhilaration and terror, and I’m digging it. That said, there are concrete plans for the next few weeks, and a couple of Tour Stops already etched in the itinerary. First up is a Boston and Cape Cod jaunt to meet some new friends from Britain. JoAnn is hosting the Brits, and this will mark my first time meeting this wonderful group of people I’ve heard so much about. Following that is my 40th birthday weekend in Boston, a quiet affair with Andy in the Judy Garland Suite of the Lenox Hotel.

Early September will bring about a vacation in Seattle, WA -my first time in that fair city since 1998. Along with the flagship Nordstrom store, I always want to see some sea-life – whales or octopus – and perhaps a museum or two. Oh, and Starbucks. I need to see how their stores should really be operating, because I think the Albany locations have some serious issues.

After that, I’ll set up more definitive plans for New York, Washington, and Ogunquit. This tour is going places. Watch and see.

Continue reading ...

Ways of Entry, Ways of Passage

While The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star is out of travel status until next weekend, a word on those portals and passages that bring us into other worlds. They are the doorways to different lands, the paths to new destinations. I’ve always been fascinated by such points – the transitory marks that bring us from here to there, and occasionally back again. Whether it’s a car or a plane or a boat, whether it’s a bridge or a road or a hallway – these are the hubs of transformation. A hotel lobby is the perfect, and infinitely fascinating, example of this. Airports, too. The places where people are in motion and flux, going or coming, running to somewhere or running away from somewhere else – these are the in-between states where most people aren’t really themselves, but in which I find myself most true and real.

At its worst, it results in what I see as a tourist’s frame-of-mind. Those frazzled or simply seemingly-mindless people who don’t know where they are or what they’re doing, who suddenly forget how to walk when out of their usual routine, who forget simple human decency because they’re so preoccupied with figuring out how to order a cup of coffee outside of their own kitchen. When I see stuff like that and I’m annoyed, I call it stupidity, but really it’s more of a distracted, out-of-place confusion that many people aren’t accustomed to coping with, at least not well.

Oddly enough, it’s a state I rather favor. I find comfort in not being bound to the usual trappings of home and tradition. Yes, it can be upsetting if you’re stuck in your ways and resistant to change, but if you open your mind to new experiences it’s nothing but exciting.

Those thresholds are my comfort zone. They are where and when I feel the most alive and energized. Part of me fantasizes about working in a job where the majority of time is spent in travel status, on a train platform or at an airport gate, waiting and anticipating the next rush of motion. It’s why I’ve never minded a lengthy layover (which are far preferable to the ten-minute gauntlets thrown down in an airport that’s five miles long) and why I consider a train ride or road trip a destination unto themselves.

It need not be a world-spanning flight or cross-country jaunt – sometimes the simple length of a pool is enough to clear the mind and bring about a new sensation. Sometimes it is even simpler: a doorway, the same doorway you’ve walked through your entire life, can be the starting point for a new beginning. It’s all in how you choose to go through it. The life you knew before can change in that single instant. Make it the one that you want, and don’t be afraid to leave certain doors behind.

Continue reading ...