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Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Recovery Recap

At the tail end (God-willing) of a wretched bout with Flu B (cause it knocks you on your booty), I’m in no mood to do a big intro to this recap of a rather lackluster week of posts. Not to worry, good things are brewing here, so come back later this week for the usual excitement and scintillation. On with the last week of sick shit:

The Adam Lambert treat.

Losing hope

Fizzy wizzy makes me dizzy.

Super staunch news!

Hints of nudity, if you follow the links.

Flu B, baby!

Hunks of the Day included: Lewis TanThomas Wade Nicholls, Blake Mitchell & Jwan Yosef

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Sick Delirium

When you’ve been cooped up in your house stricken with the flu for seven days straight, we’ll see what sort of antics you get up to in the name of staving off boredom. For me, it was photographing the bulk of my Tom Ford Private Blend Collection backed by color-coordinated scarves as the background. Beginning with the California charm of ‘Lavender Palm’ through his most recent ‘Fucking Fabulous‘, it was an Instagram 16-part extravaganza, and I didn’t even get to feature all of them. (Give me a break, I got tuckered out before I could find appropriate scarves for ‘Oud Wood‘, ‘Tuscan Leather‘ and ‘Vert D’Encens‘.)

This is one killer flu, and if you’re sick of hearing me talk about it, you can imagine how sick of being sick I am. At the moment I’m in a stretch of hot sweats, fanning myself with a Sephora envelope while balancing this lap-top on my knees. It’s glamorous as fuck. 

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Sicko

Greetings! Welcome to Day 6 of my Flu B Extravaganza! Today’s exercise in delirium is brought to you by Congestion & Snot Shots! After a few days of the bone-rattling chills quickly followed by hot-flashes to rival the worst that have ever shaken my office of female co-workers, my flu is hopefully shaking off the fever and moving into the snot-fest of sneezing, coughing and mounting sinus pressure. I’m not sure which is worse or when this bullshit will end. I do know that I don’t think I can stand much more soup and fluid and DayQuil and NyQuil and ibuprofen and Saltines. 

I have been very good about staying hydrated – regular stops in the kitchen to grab a glass of water or decaf green tea, followed by all the required stops in the bathroom to piss it all out. My joints hurt too much to juice an orange, so Andy has been good enough to do that and provide me with fresh OJ using the oranges that Mom delivered. I did manage to carve up a grapefruit, so I’m fully fortified with Vitamin C. 

And still I wait for the flu to limp away…

 

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This Would Be Me

Thus far, I’ve only had one memorable run-in with the police while working on ‘The Circus Project’ (I was naked and standing on a busted-up excavator, which you should totally find on this project page). And then there was the time I got locked in a cemetery while I was in drag (and without a change of clothes). Those are far worse than this story, but I enjoyed it anyway

These things happen. 

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Return to the Gardens

This is the most exciting news Andy and I have heard in a long time: a new ‘Grey Gardens‘ movie is on the horizon! As most fans know, the original seed that brought us those beautiful gardens was planted when another movie was in the planning stages. Peter Beard, Andy Warhol and Lee Radziwill were working on that one, and the footage for ‘That Summer’ looks to be culled from that film-that-never-was. It includes the first glimpses of Big and Little Edie Beale. Swedish filmmaker Göran Hugo Olson has turned all of it into a new movie, and we can’t wait to see it. 

The trailer begins in promising form: “Everything was perfect in those days…”

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Fizz Me

I’m not going to post the recipe for this Ramos Gin Fizz (check out this post for that) but I do want to put up the photo of this Easter treat because I like the way the scarf adds to its presentation. It’s also the perfect morning post (even if it’s better for a Sunday brunch) because it contains an egg white and some heavy cream, both of which personify a good morning. 

It’s been a while since we’ve hosted a brunch. Must rectify that soon…

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Hard to Find Hope

At the time of this writing, I am fighting off some sort of flu thing that has me simultaneously going through frigid bone-rattling chills and sweat-dripping hot flashes within five minutes of each other. There’s also the body aches and pains that accompany it all, which is super fun. All the NyQuil and DayQuil has me feeling a bit trippy too, so bear with this brunt of a post. See, I don’t even think that’s correct but I can’t be bothered to check. That’s not the point of this post anyway. 

We’ve had a rough start to spring, if it can even be called that, and it’s hard to find hope in all this brown and gray and frozen earth. But the other day I found the smallest little balls of promise on the weeping larch, and if a crying shrub can produce a happy bit of hope, then maybe we can all find the same. In these photos, tightly coiled and ready to pop open, is the start of the season. It’s taken too long.

 

 

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Early Afternoon Adam Lambert Treat

The world could use a little more Adam Lambert, especially in the middle of a lackluster day. Mr. Lambert has been here before in memorable form, and is set to be featured again now that were doing Dazzlers. 

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A Donut-Dipped Recap

Fresh off a fun-filled weekend in Boston, this recap will have to hold you over until the tales of that adventure get written and posted by Thursday. In the meantime, check out everything that has happened int he last week, and pray for warmth because no one can take any more winter weather. 

Cristiano Ronaldo stripped to his skivvies. 

A sensation: the Aviation

Todrick Hall was the lone Hunk of the Day for the week. 

Just put tulips together and blow. 

Spring on Broadway with two of my favorite people. 

Easter peek-a-boo.

Hope & Debris. 

Family Easter fun.

Little Easter extras

Date night with Andy in Saratoga.

Scarlet flashes.

This post recounted some very crappy service at the Albany Melting Pot restaurant

If you have a chance, check out a live ‘Cigarettes After Sex’ show because it’s just too dreamy. 

The Donut Dip

 

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Doing The Donut Dip

Ever since I mooned a man in the parking lot of Dan-Dee Donuts in Amsterdam when I was eight or nine years old, doughnuts have held a special place in my heart. That said, I don’t often (or ever) go out of my way to get one of the fried rings of golden goodness. However, Suzie asked if we could make a stop at one of her husband’s favorite doughnut places – The Donut Dip – in Springfield while on our way back from Boston. 

Happily, it was well worth the little detour. We arrived to a small parking section packed with cars, and the small storefront was filled with people, but they were quick and efficient and there wasn’t much of a wait. Established in 1957 and owned by the same family ever since, this was a pleasant throwback to a more innocent time. The perfect way to accentuate a Sunday morning. 

I opted for a toasted coconut doughnut, and a small decaf. The doughnut was delightful; the coffee left something to be desired. I suppose that’s the way it should be. All in all, this was a nice little unexpected excursion to close out a fun weekend in Boston. That whole tale is yet to come… 

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Brave First Delicate Soldiers

Suzie and I were in Boston this weekend for the ‘Cigarettes After Sex’ concert, but spring, alas, was not. We drove through a snowstorm in the Berkshires (always a fun place to be when it’s snowing) and dealt with a snowy/rainy entrance into a city that found its daffodils valiantly trying to stick their heads upward to the sky. Everything is behind this year because it’s been so cold, but Boston’s making a beginning in spite of it all. 

More exciting were the first glimpse of cherry blossoms – those iconic harbingers of spring and hope, here set off against a sky that wanted so badly to be blue. Will we ever have warm weather again? I’m beginning to wonder… Monday morning demands something better. 

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When the After is Better than the Sex

Review: Cigarettes After Sex at Paradise Rock Club, Boston, MA – April 6, 2018

Outside, a cold almost-rainy night kept spring at bay. The tattered body of that season which refused to return hung like a shredded shroud gently waving in the wind. Into this evening, a smoky stage coalesced as the quartet that comprises Cigarettes After Sex sent a melancholy musical missive into the air, and the sold-out crowd at Paradise Rock Club embraced the group for the only Boston stop on their current tour.

Drummer Jacob Tomsky was good enough to say a quick hello before the show started, and as he pointed to the place where the microphone stood he said, “Watch that space. It’s brilliant what he does,” and he was absolutely correct. Greg Gonzalez, the quietly-intense lead singer and founder of the band, exudes a Zen-like calm, then holds the audience completely rapt from the first words he gently coos. His vocals can sound deceptively female, and Gonzalez himself has cited Julee Cruise and Connie Francis as singers whose sound he has occasionally emulated. The band as a whole betrays an almost-shy stage presence, putting the music first, letting the melodies and the lyrics speak and act out the emotional stage-craft that seduces the soul and bruises the heart.

Early in the set they showcased their 2015 cover of ‘Keep On Loving You’ giving the REO Speedwagon hit a transformative and almost unrecognizable reinvention, allowing its plaintive promises to come into crystalline focus. The rest of the evening consisted mostly of songs from their wondrous 2017 eponymous album, and that’s precisely what this crowd wanted from them.

The juxtaposition of the sweet melodies and acrid lyrics of ‘Young & Dumb’ read more powerfully in person, the words given delicate treatment in the tender delivery of Gonzalez. He holds them with such precision you almost forget the bite of a gloriously seething senorita known as the ‘patron saint of sucking cock.’

Keeping time in super-human metronomic fashion was Tomsky, who managed to take the sparse beats of a gorgeous song like ‘Opera House’ and propel it forward just as he teased and kept pulling back, lending a tension that perfectly rendered the brittle and earnest lyrics: “If I abandoned love I’d be a man without dreams/ I’d rather be out there staring death right between its eyes now.”

By the end of the evening, as Gonzalez moves across the stage for perhaps only the third or fourth time, they have conjured an amorphous phantom of a character with their haunting music. More than a mood – though moods are important – and more than a feeling, this is meditative music, the spare lyrics providing a poetic panoply of ambivalence, desire, bitterness, longing, and, yes, love.

An exquisite finale of the fan-favorite ‘Apocalypse’ had many singing along, and we demanded an encore. They obliged, bringing a rare set of brief smiles across the band as they returned. Gonzalez’s delicate voice caresses ‘Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby’ ~ “When we’re laughing in the microphone and singing/ With our sunglasses on to our favorite songs” and he brings the room into one. Together, we sway in the dark, and I’m reminded of the transcendent experience that some bands can craft with a cohesive set-list, a transfixing focus and four musicians on top of their game.

The mesmerizing performance enthralled the audience, casting its spell with the lush melodic grooves of dreamy pop effectively staged with an economical use of lighting and shadows that mirrored the hide-and-seek emotions of the music. It revealed as it concealed, the way many of the lyrics could be read as genuine, earnest love or double-edged razor-sharp derision.

As quickly and unobtrusively as they arrived, they were gone, dissipating like the most fragile of smoke rings, but what they left behind – a mood, an evocation, a magical moment – kept haunting those of us lucky enough to have listened.

Shows are selling out quickly all over the world, so check out their schedule and get your tickets before they’re gone.  (Last US performance is May 1 in Phoenix, Arizona before they head to Europe.)

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Melting into a pool of crappy service

This is not about the food at the Melting Pot in Albany, NY. I tried that a few years ago and the overpriced under-servings were not worth their own write-up. But when service and attitude are in such poor form when I stopped by for a drink the other night, it merits a moment of mention. I stopped in for a cocktail after the bar scene at the Standard was too crowded; the bar at the Melting Pot was happily empty, and only two tables next to the bar were occupied. As I sat down, the bartender was coming around the corner and dismissively said she’d be back in a minute. After a few minutes she returned and asked what I wanted.

“Do you have Campari?” I inquired, contemplating a negroni.

“No,” came the quick and curt reply.

“Ok, how about a Hendrick’s martini, very dry, with a twist?”

She gave a nod and began measuring out the gin. When she began measuring the vermouth, I already saw that it was too much for a very dry martini. I repeated that I wanted it very dry and that was too much.

“Well an ounce is standard and I was pouring half an ounce,” she said with a discernible attitude. (Listen, I know attitude. I can give it, I get it, and I know it well. She had an attitude.) One can go two routes at such a point: give it back or diffuse. Feeling generous, I attempted the latter. Trying to engage and get her to smile, I said I really wanted just a drop or two. She hadn’t yet poured the vermouth into the shaker, but she dumped out both in the sink and said she could start again. I didn’t know why she wasted all that perfectly good gin, but that’s the Melting Pot’s issue, not mine, even if I hate to see decent gin wasted in such an unnecessary and flagrant manner.

She started again and slammed a fistful of ice into the shaker, some of which overshot and spilled right in front of me. No apology, no acknowledgment, no oops whatsoever, just stone-cold attitude. Not a big deal, but the ice would remain there until it melted.

Here’s the thing: I know people have bad days. I’ve had them. We’ve all had them. But in the service industry you learn to at least make an effort to mask it or treat people decently. This young woman just didn’t care. She was in a bad mood and she was not having anything. Not even simple human decency. That’s what was disappointing.

She placed a dirty martini glass on a napkin in front of me and poured the drink. It looked like a bit of dried pimento was stuck to the base (see accompanying photo) but she remembered the twist and plopped it into the drink. I didn’t bother asking for a new one because at that point it might well have sent her over the edge. She soon went back to eating a plate of pretzels and dipping them in a sauce assembled on the back of the bar, which happened to be right in front of me. Pet peeve: bartenders who eat at the bar while they’re working.

Another guy sat down at the bar and apparently was a friend of hers, as she picked up a bottle of beer and put it in front of him without being asked. “I’ve only been here one hour and everybody has already pissed me off,” she explained to him. At least it wasn’t personal.

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Scarlet Bathing

A flash of red swooped down into the dirty covered pool of early spring. Reflected in the dark water, his red feathers reflected the glorious afternoon sun – all too scant and fleeting this year. Perched on the edge of the pool, he walked in jerky spurts of motion before dipping down into the water and taking a quick bath. (It made for difficulty in finding focus, but the color is unmistakable.)

While the return of the robins is more indicative of spring’s arrival, this little show of upkeep from the cardinal was a happy scene to witness too. Cardinals hold a special place in our hearts, no matter what the season. Watching this one splash about, dunking his head quickly under the water and shaking it off, made me smile. Soon, the pool will be open. Spring will unfurl its sweet splendor. The earth will come back to life in shades of chartreuse – the perfect backdrop for a red bird.

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Saratoga Date Night

It’s getting more and more rare to have a date night with Andy, as we are usually with a few other people when going out for dinner, but every once in a while we get to enjoy the company of ourselves as we did a couple of weeks ago in Saratoga. I’d gotten us tickets to a show, but we carved out some time beforehand for shopping and dinner and cocktails. Saratoga is somehow more quaint in the off-season, when there are no lines or waits, but ample parking.

We started at one end of Broadway and worked our way through the shops. I found some basil oil and fennel salt; Andy found some healing crystals. The day was crisp, but there was always another store into which we could briefly enter and warm our hands and feet. We need to bring back that almost-tradition of a holiday movie here, something that didn’t happen this past season.

When our shopping was done, we sidled up to the bar at Morrissey’s in the Adelphi Hotel. They knew their way around Andy’s Hemingway daiquiri, coming as close as we’ve gotten to his preferred original at The Hawthorne in Boston. (We’ll stop there for our anniversary next month.) As we relaxed into the afternoon, I looked around the space. A rowdy group of women sat at one end of the bar – they’d clearly been there for a while. Two gentlemen to my left were decked out in suits and finishing a business day. We made room for a couple who stopped in for a drink. I looked behind me and saw a similar scene across the way. A cozy-looking bar mimicked the one we were in, but it somehow looked more inviting. I tried to see if there were more available seats there in the event that we had enough time before dinner.

As I strained my neck to see more of this enticing scene across the hall, I realized it wasn’t a window I was peering through, it was a mirror. The warm and inviting tableaux was the one in which Andy and I were already sitting, enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail and watching the world around us. I needn’t have looked beyond my own seat. A little life-lesson over a Last Word.

Dinner at Salt & Char lived up to its name (but you’ll have to find my TripAdvisor account to read that review in the near future). The night was frigid, even if it was technically spring, but the company kept me warm.

We’ll have to do it again soon.

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