Yearly Archives:

2015

Tricksies

“Virtually all cultures have stories involving the Trickster, most notably connected with the related ideas of creation, boundaries, and change

Since synchronicities abound at times of transition, we can also expect to find the Trickster present at such times, giving with one hand while he might take away with the other, but he will certainly play a few tricks in the process.” ~ Robin Robertson

Of all the mythological characters, it is the Trickster who is most associated with chance and synchronicity, who is the bearer of good or ill fortune, who stirs the sands of fate and melds together glad and unhappy chance in patterns guessed only in the gleam of his eye. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

But the Trickster is nothing if not paradoxical, and so he is also the joker, as selfish and unreliable as they come. His faults are ridiculously evident:

Sometimes he made mistakes, and although he was wise and powerful, he did many foolish things. He was too fond of playing tricks for his own amusement. He was also selfish, boastful, and vain.

~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

The world of modern mechanistic science is a world bounded by the rigid constraints of causality. It is the Trickster’s predilection to cross such boundaries, bringing the unexpected to the commonplace. His gift of synchronicity, however, seems dark, sinister, and threatening to that world, because it appears to be an intrusion from an alien landscape, a world that mechanistic science cannot enter. Synchronicity plays the devil with the myth of causality. The expressions of the Trickster, who returns to us the life that our boundary-making tries to exclude, raises a satanic specter in the eyes of science. Its qualities are the most offensive: it cannot be objectively tested, and it makes itself unavailable for prediction and control. Synchronicity represents a hostile other because it is acausal, and as such blasphemes against the mythos of the causality principle. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

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Kids Incorporated

When you sit next to my nephew Noah and Suzie’s son Milo at the dinner table, there’s a good chance you get to witness some pretty funny things. Such was Andy’s vantage point when he captured these photos on his new iPhone (yes folks, Andy is finally on the 21st century texting scene!) We gathered the crew to celebrate Mom’s birthday, and the pictures tell more funny stories than I ever could.

(Be sure to watch for the frightening shot in which Suzie unhinges her lower jaw to take a bite of some pasta. To be fair, I also included a photo in which my mouth was full too. Throwing shade on myself, look, I can do it.)

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When Snowflakes Fall…

Most of us complain when a snowstorm wreaks havoc with our plans, but lately I’ve learned to embrace them. For a few hours, or as long as the snow keeps us inside, we are bound in one place. A favorite place to ride out a winter storm is at the condo in Boston, where I can watch the falling snow from the cozy environs of that stalwart structure.

A cup of hot tea in hand, a book waiting to be opened on the table, and a slow song like this one on the stereo.

Goodbye, no use leading with our chins
This is where our story ends
Never lovers ever friends
Goodbye, let our hearts call it a day
But before you walk away
I sincerely want to say
I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this, I wish you love

And in July, a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health, and more than wealth, I wish you love
My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best, my very best, I set you free
I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to keep you warm
But most of all, when snowflakes fall, I wish you love
But most of all, when snowflakes fall, I wish you love.

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Be My Guest [Blogger]

Earlier this year I promised a few changes on www.ALANILAGAN.com, and one of those was the implementation of a Guest Blog feature. In an ongoing effort to make this site slightly more interactive, and to give voice to better writers than myself, I’m opening a few select spots up to those who have something to say. It need not be ground-breaking or earth-shattering (and I’d prefer if it wasn’t the latter as I know I wouldn’t fare well in an earthquake) but I know some of my friends have a gift for gab, as well as some sharp minds and wonderful wits.

First up is my pal Skip, for whom this feature was pretty much created. I begged, pleaded, and bothered him until he agreed to spill some words for the cause, and after reading his virgin entry it’s just as impressive as I knew it would be. He’ll premiere the Guest Blog spot with a two-part introduction that’s as hilarious as it is moving.

After that, I’ll be opening the series up to anyone who has something they’d like to contribute, particularly on the issues of love, life, sexuality, Tom Ford, Ben Cohen, and Madonna. (And pretty much anything else.) If you think you have what it takes, or just have something to say, contact me at alanilagan1[@]gmail.com.

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Boston Chill, Boston Solitude

It is, even by Boston standards, a crazy cold night. Not so much because of the temperatures but because of the wind. ‘Fuck’ seems to be uttered by every third person I pass in regards to the evening at hand. I’m in Boston for the weekend, trying to find some comfort in solitude, some way to make the winter bearable.

My soul had started off somewhat chilly too. I had a solo dinner of Pad Thai, with an introductory bowl of Tom Yum soup in an effort to warm the tongue and the body. I was not in the mood to be around people, and ate my dinner alone in the front window table of House of Siam. I had just done something I hardly ever do: canceled an appearance at a friend’s party. I wanted solitude. I wanted quiet. I wanted a moment to myself. Yet as I rounded the corner to Braddock Park, a woman smiled from ear to ear and said that she loved the color of my coat. I smiled back and thanked her. Later, a woman checking me out at the register remarked on my ring, saying how beautiful it was. Even the normally taciturn sales-clerk at Barneys was all smiles, probably because I just purchased one of their Byredo Parfums, but no matter. The city was welcoming me, the city that so many have called cold and charmless, and it thawed my bruised heart like only Boston ever could.

Whenever I run the risk of over-inflating my ego, there are one million different people with one million different pins ready to pop that shit up. Not tonight. Tonight they cradled my tired soul. Tonight they held my raw hand. Tonight they reminded me that just when you are ready to give up on people they still hold the power and capacity to surprise, to please, to comfort.

On this evening, I returned early to the condo. It was just too bitterly cold to explore the city. Besides, I had come there just for this – a quiet night of reading, of hot tea, of looking out onto the gray but beautiful expanse of Braddock Park, up at the towering and twinkling Hancock Tower – all from within the warmth of this sturdy brick building. When safety is no longer to be found in our childhood homes, we have to find it elsewhere.

I pick up a book of Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry, and read the following:

Some Things Are Dark

Some things are dark – or think they are.
But in comparison to me,
All things are light enough to see
In any place, at any hour.

For I am Nightmare: where I fly,
Terror and rain stand in the sky
So thick, you could not tell them from
That Blackness out of which you come.
 
So much for ‘where I fly’ but when
I strike, and clutch in claw the brain –
Erebus, to such brain, will seem
The thin blue dusk of pleasant dream.

A recording of Tibetan prayer bowls rings its low calming tones as I turn off the lights in the front room. Braddock Park glows through the windows. I shuffle into the bedroom, where a candle burns on the bedside table. A ridiculous gray union suit keeps me relatively warm and cozy, and I slide under the covers of the bed to read a little.

So much of my life is spent alone.

And so much isn’t.

 

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Tom Yum

A fabulous Duchess recently asked me for a soup recipe, and while I didn’t have the exact one she wanted, I’m putting up this version of Tom Yum soup I found online and tested out a few days ago. While my traditional go-to meal for staving off the cold of winter is pho, this one is a worthy winter-beater as well, with the heat from all the chili peppers giving some red-hot goodness to the spicy broth. (If you’re having trouble finding some of the more exotic ingredients and you don’t have access to a decent Asian market, try going online. I’ve found some wonderful suppliers of Kaffir lime leaves just a few clicks away, and once you get a batch they freeze quite well for a while.)

This somewhat-sour soup is said to have medicinal properties as well, with its classic Thai triumvirate of the aforementioned Kaffir lime leaves, lemon grass, and fresh galangal root. It is indeed hot and spicy, so if you’re unsure, add the chili peppers at the last possible moment (the longer they’re in, the hotter the soup will be).

 Tom Yum Soup
Ingredients
  • 4 cups of water
  • 2 stalks fresh lemongrass, trim off the very end of the root and smash; cut into 1 inch pieces
  • 3 slices fresh galangal root (smashed)
  • 3 fresh kaffir lime leaves
  • 1 tbsp. tamarind paste, with or without seeds
  • 1 tbsp. fish sauce
  • 3/4 lb shrimp, medium to large size, shelled and de-veined
  • 12 fresh Thai chili peppers, whole
  • 1/2 small white onion, cut 1/4 inch slices
  • 2 tbsp. roasted chili paste (nam prik pao)
  • 1 (16 oz.) can straw mushrooms, drained and rinsed
  • 1 small ripe tomato, cut into wedges 1/4 inch thick
  • 1 small lime, squeezed
  • 2 sprigs fresh cilantro (more if desired)

Preparation

Bring water to boil over high heat in a medium-sized saucepan. Add the lemon grass, galangal, kaffir lime leaf, fish sauce and tamarind paste. Add the shrimp, bring to a boil and cook 3 minutes. Add the onion, nam prik pao and mushrooms. Boil for another 7 minutes until the shrimp is cooked through. Add the chile peppers and tomatoes. Turn off the heat. Add the lime juice. Taste to adjust the seasoning, adding fish sauce to taste. Garnish with cilantro, roasted whole chili peppers and a splash of coconut milk if desired and serve hot.

 

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Not-So-Suffering Saffron

Undeterred by Jo Malone’s take on saffron, I returned to that spicy inspiration while exploring the world of Byredo Parfums this past weekend in Boston. My first brush with the house was in Las Vegas, of all places. I’d just won a hundred bucks on roulette and rather than letting anything ride, I took my paltry winnings and went directly to Barneys to have something to show for it. Since it was well over a hundred degrees (it being Las Vegas in August) I chose ‘Palermo’ – a refreshing grapefruit fragrance that lifted my heat-fatigued spirits. One never forgets their first time, and for better or worse the lighter, summery aspects of ‘Palermo’ meant that I unfairly relegated Byredo to a similar compartment.

This time of the year demands something darker and heavier, and despite my minimalist leanings earlier in the season, I decided I need something with a little more oomph. As I stepped into Barneys in Boston, I went back to Byredo in the hope that there was something richer than ‘Palermo’ ~ and there most certainly was: the bold ,the brazen, and the bodacious punch of ‘Black Saffron.’

This one has a riotous beginning, starting with a bang and not letting up until the very end. The saffron hits you right up front, followed by a luscious period of leather. Hints of petrol, in a not-entirely unpleasant way (but certainly not for everybody) dominate for a bit. Stay with it through this, don’t run away. It’s not going to explode, but it is something you’ve got to get over. Eventually, after a bit of dry down, the real gem reveals itself: a rich sweet oriental musk, almost cloying, and certainly not quiet. It’s got a similar flavor to that of the similarly-titled ‘Black Orchid’ by Tom Ford.

I thought I wanted to be quiet this winter, but sometimes you’ve just got to make some noise. ‘Black Saffron’ is here to shake it all up. Sound the alarm and prepare the olfactory systems. Full steam ahead.

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For Love of Winter Water: A Valentine Request

A winter weekend of solitude was accented by an exploratory fragrance journey to Barneys in Boston, whereby I tried out a trio of scents for winter wear. I was on the look-out for my Valentine’s Day wish list, and it boiled down to these contenders: ‘Bal D’Afrique’, ‘Black Saffron’ and ‘L’Eau D’Hiver.’ I went in expecting to purchase the ‘Bal D’Afrique’, and request the ‘Black Saffron’ as a Heart Day treat, but as is usual on my cologne expeditions, this one took a twist and a turn, and ended with me using some Christmas money to get the ‘Black Saffron’ right up front (more on that later).

Which means my Valentine’s Day wish list has boiled down to but one selection: L’Eau D’Hiver. Executed wondrously by Jean-Claude Ellena, this loosely translates as ‘Winter Water’ and is meant to personify this season’s softer, melancholy aspects with a powdery bit of heliotrope, tempered by iris and honey to add warmth. Somehow, the genius that is Mssr. Ellena comes through, as the scent manages to be both icy and warm. It’s also one of the most sophisticated fragrances I’ve tried in a while. Available online here from Barneys, it’s a price point down a notch or two from Tom Ford, which should be a relief to Andy. Unless he feels generous and goes for the 100 ml… (Relax, I haven’t given up on Mr. Ford, but his latest ‘Patchouli Absolu’ is not on my must-have list. L’Eau D’Hiver most definitely is. )

As for Valentine’s Day, as much as I appreciate the sentiment of flowers and chocolates and such, they never last, and if I stand any chance to turn my burgeoning belly around I can’t have candy in the house anyway. This season, it’s about the fragrance. (Hey, it can always be worse for the wallet: I could be touting the virtues of diamonds, and sending someone on an errand to Tiffany’s.)

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A Rockin’ Winter Recap

The title of this post is slightly misleading, as it would seem to imply some sort of excitement or event that made the past week extra-special or noteworthy. In reality, nothing much happened other than the usual parade of Hunks and interludes of incessant complaining about the weather. (We get it, it’s cold.) Still, maybe something resonated with you, so let’s recap.

Murray Swanby rounded out the Andrew Christian explosion of late, and did it in fine underwear-clad form.

Tiffany unveiled its first-ever advertisement featuring a gay couple

Jerrad Swodeck made all the gay boys, and more than a few straight gals, swoon. (I think some straight men and gay ladies swooned too.)

Perfumed punctuation.

Ning Zetao got into the pool, and into a Speedo.

The best memories can be conjured by the cheesiest pop songs.

Hanging with a very hunky Mr. Cooper (Helfet, that is.)

Deep in the heart of Boston

…with a little help from a few friends.

A ginger with an ass made fine from curling ~ Niklas Edin.

An Andrew Christian bonus: Daniel Sisniega.

Finally, Rob Gronkowski got his official honor as Hunk of the Day, mostly because someone pulled his pants down.

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Birthday Gal

Today marks the birth-date of the woman who (whether you like it or not) brought me into this world. That’s right, it’s my Mom’s birthday, so if you see Laurie today wish her a happy one!

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How Do You Get By?

How perilous the perch when you have to rely on another, and how precarious to be the one on whom reliance is placed. There is little way to win in this life, little chance we each have of making it through unscathed. Those are the thoughts that went through my head as I studied this bit of street art in Boston. A whimsical thing, it was actually impressive of size and stature, climbing high onto the exterior of a building near Back Bay. Strolling deeper into the night, I held hands with the moon, who was kind enough to reach down and extend her light for the way home.

That walk will be much chillier now, and the only way I’ve found of making it through these dismal winter months is to hunker down with a few select friends, make some comfort food (a beef stew is a fine choice), and find a few candles. Then, laughter will light the night, love will warm the way, and friendship will see us through to the next day. Soon, it will be spring again. It doesn’t feel like it, but wait.

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Unexpected Inspiration

I love it when art takes me by surprise, seizing upon an unlikely moment or an unexpected place, such as this graffiti-ridden spot at the end of Newbury Street. In the little space between what used to be Best Buy (and many years ago Tower Records) and one of the many Starbucks stores, there is an expanse that has always been the repository of graffiti and tag-lines. On this day, however, it holds a heart, a heart in a gilded frame. I pause in front of it, while Kira gamely waits out my fascination.

I snap a few photos, and in them it almost looks like a work of photoshop. But there is no retouching here, no magical computer strokes or filters to lend it anything more. What you see is the way it really was. Maybe the light of the day helped, maybe the worn surface lent it some enchantment – whatever the case, I am enamored of this shot. It reminds me that art can be found when it’s least expected. Love too.

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Ice Castles: My First Graduation

Please, don’t let this feeling end
It’s everything I am, everything I want to be
I can see what’s mine now
Finding out what’s true since I found you
Looking through the eyes of love

Now, I can take the time, I can see my life
As it comes up shining now
Reaching out to touch you
I can feel so much since I found you
Looking through the eyes of love

The year was 1986.

The scene was the gymnasium at R.J. McNulty Elementary School.

We were in sixth grade – our last day of sixth grade – and those of us in the band were playing the ‘Theme from Ice Castles’ – in likely rather-sad fashion. Yet the melody came through, and as I read the lyrics that went along with the song, I wondered if our band conductor/football coach Mr. Pangburn had chosen the song for its sentiment or sound. Did he know that some of us were realizing that our childhoods were coming to an end?

And now I do believe
That even in a storm
We’ll find some light
Knowing you’re beside me
I’m all right…

Like most kids, I didn’t fully fathom that the last years of childhood were in fact the last years of childhood. Turning into a young adult always seemed far away, just out of reach and tantalizingly unavailable. While most of me couldn’t wait to get there (I found kids to be, for the most part, tiresome and foolish) there was a small portion of my heart that held onto my youth, that didn’t want to grow up. That little boy was the one playing the oboe in the hot, stuffy gym of McNulty School, during his sixth grade graduation, in the only school he’d ever known since kindergarten.

He thought back to that first day, when his mother set him free all those years ago. He sobbed at the ankles of his teacher, Miss Delamater, so sad and terrified was he at being left alone in a room of strangers. It took a few days before he would talk. But eventually he found his way. He made friends, and was especially popular with the girls. He survived the usual battles of childhood – chicken pox and forgotten homework and being sent to the back of the class for laughing too much (as if he could control that!) – and less-than-usual battles as well – a lactose intolerance that left his stomach in such pain he missed weeks at a time, a strange fear of being away from home that made him look up at the fluorescent lights to dry the tears that came suddenly from seemingly nowhere, and the nagging, gnawing suspicion that the difference he felt in himself from his classmates was indeed very different from the difference that most kids feel. Now, at the end of his elementary journey, he understood that he didn’t want it to be over. All the pain and the sadness was coupled with such joy and happiness, and the whole path was so rich and wonderful and varied that he wasn’t ready to let it go. But the band played on…

Please, don’t let this feeling end
It might not come again and I want to remember
How it feels to touch you
How I feel so much since I found you
Looking through the eyes of love

And now I do believe
That even in a storm
We’ll find some light
Knowing you’re beside me
I’m all right

My eyes turned watery. I looked around at my classmates, at my friends, and I knew it would never be the same. They didn’t seem to notice. The song ended with a spattering of applause. The ceremony continued. At the end, we had some refreshments, said a few good-byes, and headed off into the summer.

Now, I can take the time, I can see my life
As it comes up shining now
Reaching out to touch you
I can feel so much since I found you
Looking through the eyes of love.
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The Scent; With a Semi-Colon

Clean. Crisp. Citrusy.

This is ‘M; Men’ ~ a fragrance by Masakï Matsushïma. Pretentious punctuation aside, it’s a good scent for this time of the year, when I want things to be stream-lined and simple after the excess of the holidays and the clearing out of the seasonal decorations. To that end, this cologne lends its minimalist nature of citrus and vetiver (more on vetiver later) to create an atmosphere of refined simplicity. It’s got some tea notes as well for depth, but it’s not an overpowering scent by any means. I like that right now, when I’m looking to be quiet. Understated elegance trumps gaudiness… for now.

This is a bit of a lead-in post for my next Tom Ford acquisition. It’s not a Private Blend, so forget your fantasy of ‘Moss Breches’ or ‘Tobacco Oud’ and think more mainstream. Something for the office, for the day. A classic, given a modern Tom Ford twist. In the meantime, think M; Men.

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Touched by Tiffany

In their first same-sex marriage ad, Tiffany is proving to be as forward-thinking as it is venerable. Like everything the sterling company does, this is classy, timeless, touching, and beautiful.

Strangely, or wisely depending on bank accounts, I own only one Tiffany item: a gorgeous pen given to me by a dear ex-boyfriend. It’s still the best pen I’ve ever owned, and writes better than any other I’ve ever tried. I’ve had it for over sixteen years (I save it to use on special occasions). Like the company that made it, it’s classic, timeless, touching, and beautiful.

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