Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Skip assembled the rest of the Old-Fashioned that I had begun right before he arrived – the first cocktail made in our home in well over a year. I poured a mocktail spritzer for myself, and we convened on the back patio, a pair of vaccinated bros reunited to plan an upcoming trip to Boston over a game of chess. Our little world resumed as if we’d never left off, all fabulousness and freshness, with a few new twists.

First up was the chess game. I hadn’t played in about three decades, and I’m not sure why I waited so long. It brings back some wonderful memories – my best friend in grade school first taught me how to play the game. Billy was the smartest kid in the class, and the best one to teach me the game. I picked it up quickly and soon we were trading off wins and losses at a pretty even keel. When my Uncle Roberto came to visit a few months later, he asked if I wanted to play chess, and that’s when the real lessons began.

Pleasantly surprised at my Uncle’s prowess with the game, I was immediately beaten time after time after time, but I was learning and watching and formulating a shift in strategy. He led with his Queen. I played with my silly pawns and rooks, cowering in defensive mode while my Uncle ruthlessly ransacked the game. It was a lesson in chess, and a lesson in life. Soon, I evolved my game. The Queen would lead my board from that moment forward – and eventually that board would lead my life. Better to be bold and storm your lot in life than sit timidly back, hiding behind a row of petty pawns and the limited diagonal power of the bishops.

It all came flooding back as Skip made the first move and we began plotting out a trip to Boston, which we were both eagerly anticipating. Unleashing my Queen upon his formidable fortress, I won the first game, and then the second. It was the first time I beat Skip at anything since possibly ever. He has busted my ass at Connect Four, trivia, cards, more trivia, Rubik’s cubes, and just about any and every other game ever made. With such a history between us, I figured he would whip me at chess too, since he’s always been a thinker and puzzler, but perhaps chess is the one thing I can win. We’ll pick it up again in Boston to see if these wins were just flukes.  

Maybe it was the game, maybe it was being back with an old friend, and maybe it was the power of the Queen returning, but I felt happily emboldened by the end of the evening. It had passed quickly – too quickly – and catching up in person on what we missed over the last year will take some time. As spring unfurls, and we move from April into May, time feels like it’s back on our side. A momentary reprieve, and a rather happy one that I’m tentatively embracing. Hope has been missing for too long.  

This afternoon marked two weeks since my second Pfizer COVID vaccine, and the veil of worry and stress and doubt that has hovered over all our heads for over a year lifts just slightly. The emotional weight is slower to fall away – I’ve been on guard for too long to let it all down now, and I’m still intending to take precautions and retain a number of healthier habits developed over the past year. Distance from strangers, for example. Regular and thorough hand-washing. And a mask in public is the new accessory that I intend to keep for a bit, especially in the winter months. (This past year marked the first in which I didn’t come down with a flu or terrible cold at some point. That’s no coincidence.)

As for the new sense of freedom that comes with being fully vaccinated, I’m taking my time before going carefree and crazy. Just knowing that I can travel, and hug my parents, and spend weekends in Boston again is enough. I don’t need to indulge in all of it at once. The sense of hope, and possibility, is enough. 

These are new beginnings. 

The Pink Moon – in full, flagrant, fuck-it-all form – wreaked its typical havoc as it rose and fell this week. Sometimes its power and pull can’t be completely understood or divined until after the fact, when hindsight and somber analytical contemplation put things into focus at last. Life is like that – when it feels unbearably confusing, and all you can do is stumble rather confusedly forward, I shall keep going, sure of its eventual revelation, certain that whatever path I’m on will resolve itself into the right one. 

And so I channel and harvest the power of this Pink Moon, its mighty magnificence, its troublesome toil, and I pull that energy into my own journey. We are such different people than we were but one year ago, and in my own case I’m rather proud of where I’ve ended up. Even when the moon momentarily seems to muck things up, I remain unswerved.

Best of all, the moon no longer frightens me. 

I am not afraid. 

This spring has been a roller-coaster of a weather ride, continuing the utter insanity that we all wanted so badly to leave behind in 2020. The world apparently doesn’t go by our calendar or schedule, as there is still cray-cray everywhere you look. After last year’s pool debacle, I’m not counting on it being open anytime soon – it’s easier to deal with disappointment when plans aren’t made. And so we peer into the reflections afforded by the pool cover’s dark magic, when spring appears in the sky and reflects its muted glory in the dim waters. 

A change in perspective is good for shaking shit up. 

The full moon rises tomorrow and I’m completely over it. Hopefully that is the reason for all my irritation and agitation of late, because I am sick of the cold and the wind and the things that have gone wrong even at this early stage of spring. We earned something better than this, which is why I went into the cologne cabinet the other morning and spritzed some of Diana Vreeland’s ‘Vivaciously Bold’ on then put the photo up on Instagram (among other things). My senses reinvigorated immediately, so don’t let anyone ever tell you cologne isn’t worth it. On with the recap (and perhaps the only post of the day because I was locked out of my website during the time I normally would have populated some crap better than this). Happy Monday!!

Let’s begin with the murder that almost happened at Walmart, because that’s the vibe I’m feeling right now, and it’s not pretty. 

These pink-cupped Narcissus were much prettier.

When the bark is the bite.

This week my jury memories were jogged, and jogging isn’t always good.

The Korean Victorian Holiday House. 

Color design by Narcissus.

Recalled to Boston life.

Grin and pear it.

Hearts of tulips.

Dazzlers of the Day included the luminous likes of John Cena, Snoop Dogg, Mel Odom, Victoria Beckham, Lourdes Leon, and Rosé.

Apparently you have to be 18 years old to purchase spray paint now. I found this out the insulting way as I was self-checking out of Walmart with a can of bright yellow spray paint for some outdoor accent furniture, and a pack of sandpaper. As I tried to complete the transaction, the screen refused to let me finish, saying an associate was needed to help. After calling a young woman over, she punched in some code and the question came across the screen: Is the customer over 18? The woman very quickly, too quickly if you ask me, clicked ‘Yes’. 

“Are you sure?” I asked from behind my mask, laughing a little.

“I can see your hair,” she replied.

So it’s like that.