Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

30
December
2019
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The Rollercoaster Year in Review: 2019- Part One

A message for 2019, directly from me: get the fuck out of here yesterday. I’m in no mood. I have no patience. And you have tried me with all sorts of fuckery. As of this moment, I officially have no more fucks to give. Now let’s look back at this bad boy of a year and do our best to move beyond it! That warrants a dreaded exclamation point.

JANUARY 2019:

It began with a bang and a circus, and I had no idea what a fitting start that would be. 

There was peace if you sought it carefully. 

A birthday and a coveted pencil.

Pietro Boselli’s naked ass.

Sliding my ass into a onesie.

Bringing sexy back, Part One and Part Two.

Mary Poppins returned in fine form.

This still brings tears to my eyes, in the all-too-rare good way. 

A glimpse behind the curtain at the inception of a new project.

Brother can you hear me?

The passing of a favorite poet.

Madonna’s Secret Garden.

Zac Efron shirtless.

Tree cemetery.

Whaling in Oklahoma, in Boston.

Hunky odds and ends.

A mocktail hints at ways to come. 

‘Spamalot’ galloped to Proctors.

The art of the abelskiver.

Boston winter respite: Part One and Part Two.

Quirky brunch. An experimental meal ends in success.

James McAvoy naked.

FEBRUARY 2019:

Ahh, the months of February.

Jake Gyllenhaal nude.

Text me.

Super jock post.

Adam Levine’s shirtless climax.

Chris Hemsworth shirtless in motion.

Adam Levine’s nipples.

Best life hack of the year.

Iris eyes smiling.

My roller-skating days.

Zac Efron’s bulge.

My friendly Valentine. (Broken wings.)

Valentine music by Madonna.

Shirtless Shawn Mendes. And the Shawn Mendes bulge.

Boston warmth in winter.

The very first time I rescinded a Hunk of the Day for being so awful.

Tom Ford’s ‘Beau de Jour’.

Beneath a winter sea.

Summoning the sun.

Mike Rickard’s ‘Out Loud’.

A gratuitous Nick Jonas post.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s underwear package.

Oscars 2019.

Madonna & Lady Gaga.

Meditation.

A Japanese hot pot.

Pat the puss.

 

MARCH 2019:

All these Marches.

Do you feel the magic?

This American life.

Sexy suckers.

Let there be Light, Madonna-style.

Gratuitous underwear guys.

Friends & lovers.

Sexy (naked) Ass Wednesday post.

Shirtless Sunday studs.

Celebrating Skip’s birthday.

A boy babysitter.

The little prince (and I still need to find someone who can make me that coat).

Madonna’s ‘American Life’ gets a proper timeline write-up.

Hot half-naked ginger guys.

Adam Levine nude for his birthday.

A song that inspired two posts.

Spring cleaning, summer coming.

The 30th anniversary of Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’. And my crotch pays homage.

Savannah approaching.

Absolutely some regrets.

Desperado.

The naked footballer.

Beekman Boys beauty.

Let’s dance... you can do a little two-step!

Chris Evans owns America’s ass.

No one got me this robe and now it can’t be found. Another one of life’s little fuck-overs. 

APRIL 2019:

Full-frontal male nudity by Cristiano Ronaldo of all people. 

A duck crossing caught in Saratoga.

Rob Gronkowski sniffs Zac Efron’s Speedo, and it’s on video.

Naked in my bed.

Chromatic colorbleed.

Madonna’s ‘Forbidden Love’ brings back the dreamy soundscape of ‘Bedtime Stories’ and that poignant time in my life. 

More of Shawn Mendes shirtless.

Suzie had no idea who Diana Vreeland was. Scott would be so disappointed. 

Broadway plans with Mom.

Don’t look back, don’t ever look back.

Newsflash: Walmart sucks.

When and where men get shirtless.

A new Madonna can now begin.

Summer by Louis Vuitton never panned out. 

Making your first-born cry like the baby he was. Yeah, boy. You sit on that thing and you like it. 

Boston about to bloom.

Family Easter.

A trip to Savannah with Andy.

Artful and shirtless.

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29
December
2019
Tags: General
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A Post-Christmas/Pre-New Year’s Recap

Sandwiched uncomfortably in the midst of this holiday season, made especially disruptive thanks to Christmas and New Year’s falling smack-dab in the middle of the work week, I’m posting this recap a day early, as Monday and Tuesday will be filled with year-end recaps. So many recaps, and mostly of stuff I could not care less to repeat. Here we go – one last weekly one for the year.

Christmas Eve came and went without fanfare, and I couldn’t be happier that it’s done. It was largely ruined for me and the less said or thought about it, the better. 

The Boston Children’s Holiday Hour was also shaded differently this year, but it was still enough to warrant two parts.

A comprehensive Christmas retrospective, not sure why…

Maybe we will cancel Christmas next year.

You know things are off when Sylvia Plath supplies the Christmas quote.

Now onto the purgatorial lull.

A holiday mocktail to make all your dreams come true. 

When the boughs don’t break and the cradle still falls.

Pistachio cookies to close out the seasonal gluttony. 

Here I lie naked before you. 

Hunks of the Day included James Lock, Kevin Baker, Jonathan Tucker, DJ Ruckus and Jason Michael Snow.

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29
December
2019
Tags: General
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The Final Shirtless Sunday of the Year

We’ll get to a weekly recap a little later today, then the big yearly recaps begin tomorrow. For now, this Sunday morning is one of our last “regular” posts for the year. There’s no sin in being “regular” despite my penchant for fighting it. Too often we are told we need to do something to set ourselves apart from everyone else, and there is a certain value in distinction. Making that an end unto itself, however, diminishes the power behind an authentic grab at staking an identity for yourself. I know a few people who are doing their damnedest to avoid the standard life of all that’s “regular” in an effort to matter. Because we all just want to matter to someone.

I’ve fallen into that trap as well. Quite a few times, in fact. Every party, every event, every dinner and show – we do our best to make ourselves memorable. We don’t want to be part of the pack, a mere member of the herd. We want to be known, even if it’s just among a select few.

When given the choice between a pair of jeans or a pair of hot-pink pants emblazoned with yellow and turquoise flowers, I will almost always choose the latter. But there is that almost, and it’s an almost that matters more than the usual. Without it, there is no distinction. There is no variety. There is nothing to make the hot pink pants pop so gorgeously.

Even this post, in which I’ve said basically nothing, when I wasn’t saying things that were completely confusing even to me, is a “regular” post. It’s not a recap or a nostalgic recollection or a brand new project announcement or a Tom Ford fragrance review – it’s just some guy droning on about how being part of the mainstream isn’t so bad after all. Especially when a pair of pink pants is waiting in the closet, and a bare-naked blog post is waiting in the pre-populated wings.

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28
December
2019
Tags: Food
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I Love a Drop Cookie Made with Instant Pudding

My friend Marline was just expounding upon how she loved a drop cookie and didn’t bother with those that required cooling and rolling and cutting. I’m in complete agreement, as I am on so many of Marline’s offerings of wisdom. Case in point: this simple pistachio cookie, which takes the short-cut around the nut scene and relies on the use of pistachio pudding mix for its flavor and color, and I couldn’t be happier to cut corners, especially when the results are so tasty.

One day I’ll go the Martha/Ina route of growing my own pistachios, harvesting them at their optimum time, curing and baking and drying or whatever the fuck we do to make pistachios palatable, then chopping and pulverizing in an old-school mortar and pestle – but until such time that a millionaire lifestyle of leisure and frou-frouery comes my way, it’s got to be Jello instant fucking pudding. It’s so fine and pretty! Once the liquids hit that powder it’s like St. Fucking Patrick’s Day without all the vomiting and passing out.

Here’s the recipe I found online somewhere (I believe it was EatMoveMake.com):

Pistachio Cookies
  • 2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
  • 2 eggs, room temperature
  • 2 packages pistachio instant pudding mix (3.4 ozs)
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste (or vanilla extract)
  • 2 cups flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 12 oz bag semi-sweet chocolate chips (or white chocolate chips)

 

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. In mixer, cream together eggs, butter and pudding mix until combined and smooth. (Watch it turn as green as Elphaba!) Stir in vanilla, then add flour and baking soda (I sifted these in). Fold in chocolate chips. (I switched out the semi-sweet chocolate for white chocolate for a lighter look and flavor.)
  3. Drop teaspoons of dough an inch apart onto ungreased baking sheet. (I did a tablespoon of dough and spaced them two inches apart on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.) Bake 12-14 minutes. Cookies will have a golden tint to edges but still be very soft. Cool completely then store in an airtight container. Deliver to your friends because you will have a lot of cookies. Or eat them all yourself.

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28
December
2019
Tags: General
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When the Boughs Don’t Break

There is a place of rarefied air where the pine cones dangle, untouched by human hands, unbothered by human hearts, unfettered by human bonds, and even the human eyes that bear witness from afar cannot truly reach these ornaments of nature. Not in time anyway, not before they can do their best to disperse the next generation of hope. Against the bluest winter sky, because some winter days still afford a backdrop of blue, the pine tree soars splendidly into spires of perfect form.

I’ve often wondered at these places we will never reach. So much of our planet is like this, yet we seem to not understand the humility of such circumstances. No one wants to believe they are so small, so insignificant. We still hold onto the idea that one person can truly change the world. And who knows, maybe one person can. But the vast majority of us won’t come near to making such cosmic noise. No matter how much we yell. No matter how dangerously we destroy. No matter how many people we love.

I think of my Astronomy professor at such times of rumination, he of the ‘Custom Slaughtering;’ sign on his office door, the one right next to the ‘Until Morale Improves, the Beatings Will Continue’ sign. Like certain serious scientists, he seemed to have a philosophical take on the world, coming as it did from the point of view who regularly considered our microcosmic place in the universe. Eschewing fashion completely, and even cleanliness to a certain extent, he seemed perfectly content to merely exist, as if he knew the secret to living the best life wasn’t in making meaning of anything, but rather of realizing that there was no meaning in any of it, so why bother with the nonsense? Whenever I find myself getting bogged down in the details and minutiae of life, I think back to his wild hair and ratty garments, and I understand that our time here is too short to be bothered. Strange, coming from me. My whole life seems the antithesis of that. And it’s cool if you believe that.

I’m going to float up to those pinecones and ask them what they know, what they’ve seen. It’s more than me. It’s more than all of us. If I were them, I’d never tell.

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27
December
2019
Tags: Cocktails
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Sparkling Pom Jewels

Quietly passing the two-month mark of not having any alcohol, I’m pleasantly surprised at how uneventful and easy such a lifestyle shift has proven to be. I’ve lost some weight, I’ve felt the heaviness of relying on such a depressant lift, and I’ve saved more than a few pretty pennies switching out the liquor for the sparkling water. Luckily, there are more than enough alternatives to keep the libation menu varied and scintillating, and I’ve been exploring all sorts of seltzers and mixers to make the holidays sparkle.

Case in point is this pomegranate rosemary sparkler, which has an easy recipe that one can modify as one sees fit. It uses a big dash of pomegranate juice (cranberry will do as well) then gets a small dash of rosemary simple syrup (one part sugar to one part water, boiled for a few minutes with a few sprigs of rosemary, then cooled) and a heavy topping of pomegranate seltzer over ice. Garnish with some pomegranates and rosemary, and you have a holiday classic that looks as festive as it tastes.

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27
December
2019
Tags: General
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Frozen Lull

The icicle waits and watches the innocent below.

To melt itself into a dagger is an art.

Tricky thaws lead to sharp paws.

It will scratch your eyes out.

If it doesn’t impale you first.

It feels like all icicles are just waiting to strike.

Probably an unfair bit of intent and baggage to saddle on such an unwitting, if armed, entity.

Winter takes its prisoners regardless of their intent.

Ridged and rippled, the ice takes its form from the wind.

Like the waves of a pond.

In the hand, it is slippery.

Of course it is cold too.

A cold that burns.

A cold that cuts.

A cold that renders the heart still.

Its beauty matched by its inherent threat, ready to pierce at a moment’s notice, when it’s absolutely necessary.

When it’s time for battle.

When it’s time for war.

When it’s time…

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26
December
2019
Tags: Holiday
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Wrapping This Xmas Up

“I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents and the birch log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols at the piano promised never came to pass.” ~ Sylvia Plath

When Suzie asked me how Christmas had gone, I responded that I went through it like a stunned mullet. I’m not entirely sure what a stunned mullet is, but in what I believe was a ‘New Yorker’ profile on her, Liza Minelli once described coming off stage feeling like one, so I’ve always used that phrase whenever I feel shell-shocked. Not entirely sure what that means either. But when you spend a heightened holiday around people with whom you’ve shared a complex and primal relationship for twenty to forty-four years, you sometimes feel like a stunned mullet. I take it to mean someone or something that’s been shot with a stun gun or hit with some other method of blunt force trauma, and who’s just beginning to come to consciousness again.

The simile fits. The fog is lifting. The heart is heavy. And I’m tired.

Here are a few photos of Christmas 2019. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and when you’re channeling a Dickensian state of existence, you know you’re in trouble. 

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26
December
2019
Tags: Holiday
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Starry Florets & Canceling Christmas

What do most people do on the day after Christmas? 

I’m not an expert on most people so I have no idea. 

For me, it’s back to work, and I’m neither mad nor thrilled about it.

This holiday season has been one of transition. Not only in holiday traditions, but in life traditions. Shaken to the core with memories of the past looked at in a new light, I’m learning that change is vital and necessary, if painful and terrifying too. That’s taken precedence over any celebratory aspect of the season, so I’m happy to see Christmas and Thanksgiving and all the rest of it complete their long trajectories this year and slink into the past. Get this show over so I can begin again. 

Christmas has always been anti-climactic. Nothing ever measures up to expectations. That lesson was learned long ago, but every now and then I forget and slip into a hopeful mode of childish wonder, when I think this year might be magical, this year might be better. 

It never is.

Oh there are happy holidays, and some Christmases are better than others, but all that goodwill and getting along lasts a night, maybe two. Then it’s over. Then the winter begins in earnest. Then it’s dark and cold and real and all the demons from the past return with a vengeance because you’ve tried to silence them with a false balm of peace and cheer. 

Having said that, there are ways to deal with the holidays, and this year I taught myself a few of them. Largely removing parties and big (and even little) get-togethers has markedly removed a great deal of stress from this busy time of the year. Next year I may pare it down even further. (For instance, I dragged out and put up all the Christmas decorations shortly after Thanksgiving, and no one besides Andy and me has seen any of them, so why even bother?) Next Christmas I may forego the decorating altogether. I may take a trip somewhere far away and get my time in with loved ones when we might actually be able to talk and connect. The hustle and bustle of the holidays makes authentic connection almost impossible. 

These are just ideas now, abstract notions likely dreamed up in the bitterness and disappointment of all that’s happened this season. Perhaps I’ll find a shred of Christmas hope when the fall rolls around again, when I’ve had some sun and summer to warm the heart from the outside in. Or perhaps this is it for Christmas. 

I won’t be sorry if that is so. 

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25
December
2019
Tags: Holiday
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Merry Christmas: A Retrospective

Near the end of a decade, Christmas 2019 will be remembered for its themes of change, growth, and letting go. With such seismic tremors comes certain unease and trepidation. May this Christmas Day be a moment of quelling such doubts and fears, and may it offer comfort and succor for anyone looking for peace. I know a number of people who have lost loved ones this year, some very close to the holidays, and for anyone missing someone, there are no words or exercises that will ease such pain. All we can do is honor and remember those we have lost, taking the lessons they taught and living in the way they would want us to live. 

For anyone else who may need a little Christmas spirit, for anyone who may be having a hard time finding their Christmas cheer (and I count myself among both those unhappy camps) I’m going to make a long list of holiday links  to remind us of the good and the bad and the beautiful of the holiday season. If we keep on painting Christmas as something pretty, perhaps it will one day turn true. Merry Christmas everyone. See you on the other side…

A Holiday Party ten years in the making. 

My favorite Christmas decoration, all humble simplicity. 

Put a Christmas record on. 

Twisted sleigh-ride.

A shocking holiday card. No way!

Little drummer disappointment. 

Holiday pants & revelry.

Christmas sundaes and brotherly love. 

Portals of magic.

Christmas massacre. There was blood. 

A Christmas rose.

A beautiful sight.

The 2nd Holiday Stroll!

Run Rudolph, run!

Victorian virgin.

Christmas for the children.

Into the fog.

The Cock & Bull.

Oh Christmas tree.

Sing out, Kris Kringle. 

An office Christmas party, the worst kind of party. 

A quick Christmas quote.

Sitting on Santa’s lap.

Back when we kept Christmas traditions alive. 

Christmas Eve test outfit.

My days as a Christmas child. 

A simple wish.

Don we now our gay apparel. {Now?}

Christmas Eve 2012.

In service of the holiday, a pomegranate sparkler. 

The Holiday Stroll: Part One and Part Two.

Tiffany’s does Christmas.

Shirtless Santas.

Light it up.

Classic Mariah Carey Christmas.

Another shirtless Santa.

Ghosts of Holiday Cards past.

Holiday Card 2013.

A Madonna holiday Masterpiece.

Cozy cock tradition.

Rose memories on a banister with pearls.

Family fun for the holidays. 

My favorite Christmas song.

In my arms, a Christmas bear.

Christmas Eve 2013.

Xmas Wizards.

Deco-world.

Silent snow, secret snow.

Holiday card countdown.

Holiday Card 2014: Let it snow, let it blow!

A funny Christmas tree adventure with my brother.

When Christmas goes dark and memories turn sorrowful.

The Holiday Stroll 2014.

Oh Holy Night.

A Christmas candle in the night. 

Bringing decorations back to Boston.

An early festive gathering.

This is OUTRAGEOUS!

Holiday Card 2015: Bring me the ax.

The Holiday Stroll 2015: Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

Steve Grand does Christmas.

The very first Boston Children’s Holiday Hour. 

If I gave you diamonds and pearls…

Cute Christmas packages.

Christmas by Annie Lennox.

In the Santa hour, I can feel your power.

When Christmas turns quiet.

The Holiday Stroll 2016.

Holiday tableaux. 

Silver and gold without all the silver.

Golden-hued holiday riches.

A holiday dinner mainstay: the famous Jello-mold.

The world is run by Mrs. Claus. 

The Holiday Card 2016: Trigger Warning (for real).

A Christmas carpool with James Corden and Mariah Carey.

The Ilagan Christmas tree tradition, intact in 2016.

The Ilagan twins have always been hams.

Christmas carolers of questionable taste.

Butt-flap booty suit, in red.

Winter river.

How Madonna ties into my holidays.

The 2nd Boston Children’s Holiday Hour.

In the bleak Christmas aftermath.

Naked but for my Christmas balls.

A happier Christmas Eve.

A happier Christmas Day.

A Christmas song, some might say The Christmas Song.

One of my favorite Christmas memories: a highball with Andy’s Mom. 

Here we come a strollin’…

The Holiday Stroll 2017.

The Holiday Card 2017: elegance & simplicity.

We didn’t know it then, but this would be our last fully-intact Christmas tree tradition. 

A retro holiday punch with extra pizzazz.

The 3rd Boston Children’s Holiday Hour: Part One and Part Two.

In the wake of Christmas children.

Dreams of retail Christmases past.

Tom Daley under the mistletoe.

All the world in a single ornament.

Christmas Eve 2017.

A Holiday Card Recap: Part One and Part Two.

The Holiday Card 2018: PVRTD.

Holiday Structure.

A refined holiday libation.

The Holiday Stroll 2018: Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

Preparing for a tree cutting.

All I wanted for Christmas last year was a fruitcake. (I’m done with them now.)

The year we grew our own Christmas tree. (And why we won’t do it again.)

Beautiful boxes and a glorious gift idea.

The heart of a Christmas tree.

Christmas reality check: sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it really sucks.

Some levity.

I could not be prepared. 

A few favorite Christmas movies.

The secret Russian Christmas tea recipe at long last revealed. (Hint: Tang!)

The 4th Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, better known as ‘The Kids Who Saved Christmas’ – Part One & Part Two.

Making a Christmas entrance the only way I know how.

A most magical night.

The day after Christmas is often better than the damn day itself. 

I’m starting to experience PHSD: Post Holiday Stress Disorder.

A shimmering holiday fragrance mash-up, Tom Ford style.

A Filipino holiday feast for my father. 

Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy and Woodstock.

Holiday Go-to-Hell Pants.

The exquisite irony of sugar and booze this year.

Holiday beauty by the Beekman Boys.

The Holiday Card 2019: let’s get baked!

How to keep the holidays fresh? No, really, I’m asking.

These are but two of my favorite things.

When sadness and loss seep into the Christmas season.

Holiday melancholy.

The happy birth of our Holiday Strolls.

I held out such high hopes for this, so you can guess how it turned out. 

A mixed bag of Christmas cookies.

The newest holiday tradition: Hambone Holiday Hullabaloo.

The Holiday Stroll 2019.

Once upon the most wonderful night of the year.

And proof that the Christmas spirit is still alive in the smallest of ways, we end with this year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour: Part One and Part Two.

 

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25
December
2019
Tags: Boston, Family, Holiday
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A Children’s Holiday Weekend in Boston – Part Two

The 2019 Boston Children’s Holiday Hour took place under the shadows of the missing. Alissa was no longer with us, and Kristen and Anu’s families weren’t able to make it. However, we welcomed Tommy and Janet and their kids for the first time, along with Suzie’s family and a late last-minute appearance by Chris. All in all, some of my favorite people for one of my favorite new traditions, perhaps the last of its kind. Change was in the air this year, for better and worse. 

Suzie arrived extra-early, which was a bonus, as the twins were already antsy to begin the festivities and the preparatory exercises. Emi cut the cheese and everybody laughed. Noah did a few dishes. We all partook of the charcuterie board, and the mandarin oranges, and eventually the chocolate milk that Tommy put on, scalding hot water and all. (Cut to a bunch of kids putting ice on their tongues in dramatic, histrionic form.)

There were games in place of crafts, which worked out quite well. Thank God someone knows about kids because I truly don’t. And thank God for Janet, who saved a chair after hot chocolate spilled all over the antique table and ran onto the fabric of the chair. Much as I did when a candle went flying a few years ago, splashing wax all over the carpet and a curtain panel, I remained remarkably detached from the whole fiasco. It’s always a good lesson in easing up on my perfectionist nature. Kids have a knack of leading these lessons. 

There were many happy moments, most of which revolved around Tommy and Janet, whom I haven’t been lucky enough to see in Boston in many, many years. This was a good reunion, and the next generation was already stepping up to the plate. 

By the time we had finished an order of pizza and Thai food, Chris rolled into town for the night, joining in the bonhomie and bringing the Cornell Crew into the majority. The twins taught him a new card game that they had just learned from Suzie, and new friendships were made. It’s the best thing that can happen at a Children’s Holiday Hour. 

The next morning came with the let-down of having to depart. I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted, as Chris and I had much to discuss when the twins went to bed. The last time we had been together in the condo, Alissa had been with us. A note she had left was still on the fireplace mantle, a ghostly whisper of raw loss, a searing jolt reminding us of her absence. There she had stood, there she had sat, there we had hugged, there we had said goodbye until the next time. A heaviness had set in, and we each felt a little lonelier. 

Luckily there was little time to dwell, as twins will not sit still for long. I paused in the remembrance, still not quite ready to process anything, and allowed myself to get pulled into the mundane matters of the day, the only way to move forward. One tiny step of getting the twins into their winter hats, and going from there. 

We headed to brunch at Boston Chops, where Noah bravely tried Eggs Benedict for the first time, and Emi had the fired chicken and biscuits. At nine years old, they knew how to behave at a restaurant, and had been pretty good for the whole weekend. I don’t know if this is a tradition we’ll get around to doing again – after five years most of the original children aren’t even children anymore – and that’s too far away to predict or think too much about. For the moment, we bounded back toward the condo, pausing in a few stores and stopping to pick up a piece of chocolate and a lollipop at the candy store. 

This was the province of children.

This was the province of Christmas.

This was the province of learning to let things go. 

We had a quick and uneventful ride home – the best possible thing to hope for at this late stage of the weekend, and they asked if we could have one more cup of hot chocolate with Uncle Andy, heavy on the whipped cream. I couldn’t refuse. 

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24
December
2019
Tags: Boston, Family, Holiday
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A Children’s Holiday Weekend in Boston – Part One

It began with this stern but friendly warning from me to the twins on how we would best get through our first weekend away together: “Ok, listen. I need you to behave and stay close. If I lose even one of you this weekend, I’ll get in trouble.”

Happily, they heeded the warning and we made for a more-or-less agreeable Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, one that took up the whole weekend and worked to heal some of the hurt from the previous month or so. Andy’s absence cast a pall over all the proceedings, lending shadow to my mood, but children have no need of moods, nor much care to be concerned. I took that lead and did my best to shirk it off. I’ve become quite adept at compartmentalizing the various pieces of emotional baggage I’ve been accruing these past few months. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

We traveled in the afternoon, once the twins got out of school. On the day before the shortest day of the year, we drove to the east, and by the time we arrived in Boston, the light had drained from the sky. Warmth was absent too. Still, Boston was lit from all the holiday cheer, and Christmas scenes led our way to dinner. The chocolate fantasy world of Max Brenner seemed the best choice for our entry meal, and it was listed on a kid-friendly dining guide for those of us in need of such guidance.

Following dinner we picked up a few supplies, and dessert, at Eataly, where we found a $2000 block of cheese that Noah just had to touch, after which he complained about the smell on his hands until we got back to the condo. After telling us ten times to remind him to wash his hands when he got back, he managed to remember himself.

That night, we cuddled on the bed and watched ‘Mary Poppins Returns‘ – who provided the inspiration I would use to guide us on our way. When in doubt, channel Mary Poppins: stern and a little blunt, cold but caring, stiff upper lip and all that sort of thing. When the movie was finally done it was almost midnight – a late night even by my standards, but I don’t get to see them much, and when at last I gave them their goodnight hugs, we were all fast asleep within minutes.

The chill remained in the air the next morning, but the condo was cozy and there were windows of sunlight in between the clouds. We stayed close, with a quick breakfast at the counter of Charlie’s, before venturing out again. In an attempt to stay warm, we walked through the Copley Mall into the Prudential Center, then across Boylston for some hot chocolate at Starbucks. Fortified by that, and a trio of mint mocha samples (wait, are children supposed to have coffee?) we went back out for a mini holiday stroll of sorts, pausing in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental and sitting by the fire for a spirited few rounds of ‘I Spy’ then playing with their menagerie of stuffed animals. Emi gave us a math lesson on the little chalkboard, and both of the kids colored in a couple of Christmas tree magnets on hand.

We did a little shopping on Newbury Street, finding a couple of gifts for their Dad and Lola, then we stopped at one more fireside lobby – the Lenox Hotel, where they got to spin a couple of dreidels. Noah wanted to head back to the condo before the party, so we made our way from whence we came. It was time to prepare for the Boston Children’s Holiday Hour in proper.

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24
December
2019
Tags: Holiday
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Once Upon The Most Wonderful Night of the Year

When all the build-up of the Christmas season was almost through, when the anticipation and rush of that celebratory day of birth had almost arrived, there were a few magical hours of peace, calm and stillness that constituted Christmas Eve. It held a power and sway to quell the most riotous and violent emotional upheavals, it had a way of healing and knocking some sense into us, if only for an evening. It was, in simplest terms, the most magical night of the year. For my entire recalled life, I’ve spent it in my childhood home, no matter what might be going on. We’ve had years where no one was speaking, where people were pissed, where kids got into trouble, yet we always made it through. It is the single tradition we’ve managed to keep alive in the Ilagan home, and Andy and I have come to rely on it as one of the only traditions we’ve retained over the years. He made the decision to join us a few months after we met, and hasn’t missed one since. That was nineteen years ago. I’ve been doing it for forty-three years.

What we did on all those Christmas Eves depended on the year, and over time our traditions evolved and changed as we did. My earliest memories are of leaving cookies and milk for Santa, then being carried up in our sleeper pajamas even when our minds were too excited to sleep. My brother and I would sit up in bed and look out the window, scanning the dark sky for any sign of Rudolph’s red nose, straining to hear any hooves or bells on the roof. A few years later, we would sit and watch the Melodies of Christmas, then when I ended up being in the Empire State Youth Orchestra I would duck out and upstairs so I wouldn’t have to see myself on the screen. We were teenagers at that point, and going through all the turmoil and emotional mayhem that it entails, but on Christmas Eve we suspended our surly behavior and came together for a few short hours in honor of the season.

When I went away to college, I had a few brief windows to see my old friends, so we would have our Christmas Eve dinner, open our gifts, then make the stops at various friends’ houses. Even when Andy and I had our own home, we would still make Christmas Eve at my parents’ the main priority. When the twins arrived it was a return to the wonder and magic of the season, and I still remember the year after which they first learned to walk (and run) in which they charged the length of the house, jumped off a single step into my arms, and I lifted them high into the air and they flew.

For all of those Christmas Eves, there was always a single moment in which I found myself alone, usually in the dim living room where the Christmas tree lit up the darkness but still fostered all the shadows. I would sit there and live in the magic of the moment, something I could do much easier in my younger years. I don’t know if I ever really believed in Santa, but I believed in the spirit of the season. There was magic enough in that.

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23
December
2019
Tags: General
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The Recap Before Xmas Mayhem

This is the week it all happens, and on a Wednesday no fucking less. It reminds me of Antonio Banderas and his ex-wife: that’s one of life’s little fuck-overs. Dick-size notwithstanding, we continue on with a recap that doesn’t feel very much like Christmas with all this cock and fuck talk, but what did you expect? Are you new? On with the recap…

This post got fucked up big time. 

A trio of divas, none of which I got to see.

Berrylicious.

Get a load of this Woody.

Sometimes it’s good to go from hard to soft.

A pink car Christmas.

The Holiday Hambone Hullabaloo.

A song for gazing at the stars from the gutter.

One of the lone bright spots in this holiday season was my Holiday Stroll with Kira. I expanded it into several parts because I didn’t want it to end. See Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and the Last Part. 

These holiday hunks got undressed for your viewing pleasure.

Bred of the ginger.

Hunks of the Day included Simu Liu, Adam Scott, Josh Allen, Kumail Nanjiani, and Mike Chabot.

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23
December
2019
Tags: General
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You Do Christmas Your Way, I’ll Do It His

This holiday season has more switch-ups in it than any in recent memory, and I’m on board for all the changes. That’s a startling change-of-pace for this Virgo, who up until now did his best to hold desperately onto tradition and history. Throwing those albatrosses to the wind and mixing metaphors with wild abandon, I’m trying out the new and saying to hell with the old. Hence this gingerbre(a)d man, who is bringing out the be(a)st in me. You’re gonna hear me growl. (Come back tonight for a fun recap of the wretched week!)

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