Another Summer Gone By: 2015 – 2

Our Summer of 2015 recap continues with August and September – two very eventful months as befitting these particular tick-tocks of time.

It was the summer that I headed out on The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star – my final tour. It began, as all good things do, with Madonna. Thus far it’s seen us through an opening, an entrance, a bunny hop, some Sunset Boulevard, some Joe Gillis, some Norma Desmond, some more Norma Desmond, and even more Norma Desmond. It’s gone to Boston, Cape Cod, Portland, Albany (!) and Seattle, with upcoming jaunts to Washington, New York, and maybe even London before it wraps. This is only the beginning.

It was a summer that saw at least one hottie in a Speedo.

Summer sees beans, not magic beans, but green beans.

Sail away with some summer music.

Summer finds a way in-between.

Summer also found me a publicist.

Summer is poetry.

The sweet scent of Hermes still reminds of the season.

This summer I finally met The Brits. The circle of friendship widens in happy form.

Another Brit, Tom Daley, was not in his Speedo as much as usual, but he did deign to stuff it here.

There were additional Hunks to keep it all hotter than hot: Bryce Thompson, Joe Zaso, Miles Teller, Steven Dehler, Luke Shaw, Ryan Phillippe, Jess Vill,  Sacha M’baye,  Warren Carlyle, Jonathan Duffy, Justin Willman & Jessie Godderz.

It was the summer I turned 40, with some planning, some navel-gazing, some breakdowns, some naked hilarity, some sea pals, and some decadence.

It was a summer of florals.

Introducing Iris Apfel: inspiration, muse, and oh so much more.

It was the summer Madonna launched her miraculous Rebel Heart Tour, and sang one of her best songs in years. (And this weekend Suzie and I hope to see it for ourselves!)

Sometimes summer brings about school memories, shameful or not.

And spewing of shame, there’s this horrid woman.

A jockstrap is fit for any season. As is a Speedo.

Summer is a time to read a classic.

My Dad shares my sign of the Virgo.

My birthday went both heralded and unheralded in myriad ways. It had its special dinners, its secret gardens, a roof-deck brunch, Tom Ford, birthday suits, and solitude. And then it was done.

Kafka & Murakami.

More Ben Cohen.

And still more Murakami.

Farewell Summer… until we meet again next year.

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Another Summer Gone By: 2015 – 1

Oh sweet beautiful season of summer, you always depart too soon. You know that by not lingering we will love you more, miss you more, want you more. The promise that you will be back doesn’t mean much once winter comes, but we’ll hold it dear until the spring. You have always returned, and a season of her word is ever noble.

This was a happy summer – the very last one of my 30’s – and I’d like to think I made the most of it. Poolside gatherings with friends and family formed the happiest memories, and the gardens had a banner year to back it all up (the elephant ears are big enough to hear the whole world). I didn’t want it to end… we never want summer to end, so here’s a look back, for those fall mornings when things get dark and cold. Bookmark it for when you need an escape; I know I will.

TREES SWAYING IN THE SUMMER BREEZE

SHOWING OFF THEIR SILVER LEAVES

AS WE WALKED BY

SOFT KISSES ON A SUMMER’S DAY

LAUGHING ALL OUR CARES AWAY

JUST YOU AND I

SWEET SLEEPY WARMTH OF SUMMER NIGHTS

GAZING AT THE DISTANT LIGHTS

IN THE STARRY SKY

This summer, like most summers, or any other season for that matter, was about Madonna and hot men.

It was a time for an Hermes fragrance by way of Mssr. Li.

It was the summer we celebrated the Supreme Court’s ruling on marriage equality, no matter what that ugly-on-the-inside Kim Davis is trying (and failing) to do.

It was the summer of sweet peas and Queen Ann’s lace and a stalwart little petunia braving the sidewalks of downtown Albany.

THEY SAY THAT ALL GOOD THINGS MUST END SOME DAY

AUTUMN LEAVES MUST FALL

BUT DON’T YOU KNOW THAT IT HURTS ME SO

TO SAY GOODBYE TO YOU

WISH YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO

NO, NO, NO, NO

 

AND WHEN THE RAIN

BEATS AGAINST MY WINDOW PANE

I’LL THINK OF SUMMER DAYS AGAIN

AND DREAM OF YOU

It was the summer in which Justin Bieber showed off his naked booty, even though most of us wish it had been Pietro Boselli.

It was the summer I peered over the edge of 40, and examined it with a little fear, and a lot of hope.

I also paid homage to the naked chef, in my own naked way.

Other gentlemen removed their clothes as well, because summer is a time for heat.

Just ask the beautifully beefy Ben Cohen, or a Speedo-stuffed Steve Grand.

Moreover, check out the Hunk of the Day posts for Jon Kortajarena, Casey Lee Ross, Darius Ferdynand, Simon Dunn & Scotty Dynamo.

THEY SAY THAT ALL GOOD THINGS MUST END SOME DAY

AUTUMN LEAVES MUST FALL

BUT DON’T YOU KNOW THAT IT HURTS ME SO

TO SAY GOODBYE TO YOU

WISH YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO

NO, NO, NO, NO

 

It was the summer that my Final Tour began, and it was christened thusly.

It was the summer of survival, and not just where you bump and Grindr it.

It was the 15th summer I’ve spent with Andy

And my first with Diana Vreeland.

It was – and it will be again – a summer of sunsets.

AND WHEN THE RAIN

BEATS AGAINST MY WINDOW PANE

I’LL THINK OF SUMMER DAYS AGAIN

AND DREAM OF YOU

 

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Hanging On A Moment of Hope

It’s one of the sadder sights to see – these last few blooms of the season. They will linger well into October – and if the frosts are late and benign, perhaps even November. (One year I recall roses that were blooming in the first dusting of snow.) For now, I don’t want to even think of the f-word, so these photos of summer annuals at the tail-end of their glory will be posted for posterity, and in the hope that the sunny weather sticks around for as long as possible.

Most of the annuals have given up by now, trailing into leggy, spindly form, with perhaps a less showy, but somehow richer for it, showing before the fall takes them for good.

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Last Summer Recap

There will be a much more exhaustive summer recap encapsulating the entire season in a bit, but for now a look back at the final full week of the sunniness we’ve so far enjoyed. To be honest, I’m not really sure where I am right now – going back and forth from Maine to Seattle, Albany to Boston, and back again next weekend, makes for a tricky touring schedule, but onward we go! Hell, if Madonna can do it, so can I (and my entourage is far less in number).

My 40th birthday was still going on (and it will be all year, so you’re just going to have to deal with that) and one of my favorite Tom Ford Private Blends came out just in time for the celebration. I wore a special birthday suit for the inaugural spritzing. And then I wore nothing at all (birthday booty warning!)

A wedding video and some magic made Justin Willman a Hunk of the Day.

Kafka and Murakami made for excellent bedfellows, while providing no reason whatsoever for this extent of disrobing.

Andrew Christian model Timmy Thok and Mr. Pec-tacular himself, Jessie Godderz, were named Hunks of the Day.

Ben Cohen was gracious enough to send me a birthday Tweet, so I made him a birthday post.

A quick weekend in Portland, Maine was captured in a single post.

Ginger Eddie Eduardo made his Hunk of the Day debut, as did inked model Jordan Levine.

This week, provided I can manage it, The Delusional Grandeur Tour hits Seattle, Washington. Are you ready to ride with the whales?

 

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In Living Color & Murakami

“The world of the grotesque is the darkness within us. Well before Freud and Jung shined a light on the workings of the subconscious, this correlation between darkness and our subconscious, these two forms of darkness, was obvious to people. It wasn’t a metaphor, even. If you trace it back further, it wasn’t even a correlation. Until Edison invented the electric light, most of the world was totally covered in darkness. The physical darkness outside and the inner darkness of the soul were mixed together, with no boundary separating the two. They were directly linked.” – Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka On The Shore’

“But today things are different. The darkness in the outside world has vanished, but the darkness in our hearts remains, virtually unchanged. Just like an iceberg, what we label the ego or consciousness is, for the most part, sunk in darkness. And that estrangement sometimes creates a deep contradiction or confusion within us.” ~ Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka On The Shore’

“Artists are those who can evade the verbose.” ~ Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka On The Shore’

“Freedom and the emancipation of the ego were synonymous. And art, music in particular, was at the forefront of all this… Eccentricity was seen as almost the ideal lifestyle. The age of Romanticism, they called it. Though I’m sure living like that was pretty hard on them at times.” ~ Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka On The Shore’

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Arty Sojourn to Portland, Maine

Our first time in Portland, Maine was such a treat that we’ve been looking for an excuse to return ever since. That came in the form of ‘Iris’ – the latest, and last, Maysles documentary on fashion darling Iris Apfel. It was playing at the Portland Museum of Art on the last day of August, so we made the trip and turned it into a late summer weekend vacation.

We met up with our friends Eric and Lonnie, who brought us around to several fun spots and a delicious dinner in a building that Eric used to work in (long before it was a fab restaurant). Portland is filled with charm, and a rich restaurant scene – both of which provided ample enjoyment.

We toured the Art Museum before the movie, a bright space that spanned several levels. Adjoining a historic home, it’s a perfect respite (like most Art Museums that find themselves less than bustling on a beautiful summer day – much preferred to crowds) and a lovely destination in its own right. On this day, a collection of pieces hand-selected and sent in by various museums of Maine was on display – a Greatest Hits of sorts – so we did that first, then made our way through the other floors.

The movie was lovely – and it solidified my adulation of Ms. Apfel as a unique individual who made her personal style into its own work of art (in addition to a bazillion other career endeavors that make most of us look lazy as a clam, if clams are even lazy).

We enjoyed a few cocktails at Vena’s Fizz House, which was originally an alcohol-free place that specialized in fizzy drinks. It has since gained a liquor license, and offers some of the most unique and delectable libations I’ve encountered in quite some time. An extensive selection of bitters, and some scintillating shrubs were on hand for herbal concoctions that rested just right upon my palette. (Any place that uses ice spheres knows what’s up.)

Rightly renowned for its food, Portland is even offering fine dining in many of its hotels. Case in point was Union Restaurant, housed in the charming Press Hotel. The photos here show a meal that was practically perfect in every way. I can’t do the butter braised lobster dish justice with photos or description, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. It’s diabolically good.

As always, it was over much too soon, and we departed wanting more. That’s the best way to do a vacation. It was also an official stop of The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star, and we’re still only in the first leg. Up next will be my Seattle excursion, and then next weekend I’ll return to Boston for that OTHER tour… and I’m not talking Taylor.

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A Big, Belated B-day Wish for Ben

We missed a very big birthday here a few days ago, and I feel terribly about it because the recipient was gracious enough to offer me a birthday feet when I begged for it. This is my homage to Ben Cohen to make up for it, and to wish him a very Happy, if belated, Birthday! He turned 37 years young on Monday, just a few weeks (ok, and several years) after me.

Mr. Cohen, as a devastatingly handsome straight ally and rugby star, has garnered quite a few posts over the years, and here’s another notch on that bedpost in honor of his birthday. To my disappointed knowledge, Ben Cohen has never done any serious nudity, but he’s been kind enough to offer glimpses of what he’s got in several calendar and underwear shoots, so I’m not complaining. Just cajoling. Nudging. Hinting. Ben Cohen’s full monty would be a lovely Christmas gift idea. Ben Cohen’s naked butt might be even better. Whichever he may deign to do in the near or far future, we’ll love it all.

In the meantime, for other sorts of revelations, I’ll be checking out his recently-released autobiography, ‘Carry Me Home’. He’s got several moving stories, and lots of inspiration, not to mention the fact that he’s simply a good guy. Sounds simple, but they’re getting to be a rare breed. Thank you, Ben, for being an ally, a hero, and a force of hope for a better world.

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Kafka-esque, by way of Murakami

“The man’s features weren’t as unusual as his clothes. He was somewhere between young and old, handsome and ugly. His eyebrows were sharp and thick, and his cheeks had a healthy glow… Below narrowed eyes, a cold smile played at his lips. The kind of face it was hard to remember, especially since it was his unusual clothes that caught the eye. Put another set of clothes on him and you might not even recognize the man.” – Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka on the Shore’ 

“I know I’m a little different from everyone else, but I’m still a human being. That’s what I’d like you to realize. I’m just a regular person, not some monster. I feel the same things everyone else does, act the same way. Sometimes, though, that small difference feels like an abyss. But I guess there’s not much I can do about it…

I wanted to tell you all this as soon as I could, directly, rather than have you hear it from someone else. So I guess today was a good opportunity. It wasn’t such a pleasant experience, though, was it?

Only people who’ve been discriminated against can really know how much it hurts. Each person feels the pain in his own way, each has his own scars. So I think I’m as concerned about fairness and justice as anybody. But what disgusts me even more are people who have no imagination. The kind T.S. Eliot calls hollow men. People who fill up that lack of imagination with heartless bits of straw, not even aware of what they’re doing. Callous people who throw a lot of empty words at you, trying to force you to do what you don’t want to do…

Gays, lesbians, straights, feminists, fascist pigs, communists, Hare Krishnas – none of them bother me. I don’t care what banner they raise. But what I can’t stand are hollow people. When I’m with them I just can’t bear it, and wind up saying things I shouldn’t…

Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe. Of course it’s important to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue to thrive. They’re a lost cause, and I don’t want anyone like that coming in here.” – Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka on the Shore’

“I wish I could just laugh off people like that, but I can’t.” – Haruki Murakami, ‘Kafka on the Shore’

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Birthday Out-takes

Here are some extra photos that didn’t quite find their way into the 40th birthday narrative from Boston. I’m vaingloriously including them on the ego-driven assumption that if you’re visiting a website named ‘ALANILAGAN.com’ you are slightly interested in such stuff. If not, what the hell are you doing here? Be gone before somebody drops a house on you.

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Last Night in Boston, 1st Night of 40

A delicious dinner at Mistral was how I chose to spend the first evening of my 40th year, and it was as perfect as I remember it. The last time we were lucky enough to break bread in that beautiful space was on our wedding day. It retains a special place in my heart, and so it was where we spent my birthday evening.

After stuffing ourselves with all manner of good things, we walked off a small bit of the meal the few large blocks it took to return to the Lenox Hotel, and our last night in the luxurious Judy Garland Suite.

I may have had the toughest time saying goodbye to the fair suite named after Ms. Garland, as it had given us a delightful home away from (and within) home (but with far better service and window treatments).

For everyone who thought (hoped) that 40 would tame me, this is for you.

Come 40, 50, or 60, I’m always going to be cheeky.

The morning-after dawned in bright fashion, and a few last glimpses of the place where I turned 40 were all that remained.

Many thanks to the Lenox Hotel, for making it so special.

Now, onto Life After 40.

Come along, if you dare.

We’ve only just begun…

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Alone at 40

At every milestone event in my life, it somehow happens, whether by chance or conspiracy, that I find myself alone for a few moments. Sometimes the moment is intentionally orchestrated, as was the case with this window of time on my 40th birthday, whereby I made my way to the Boston Public Garden and took a quick tour through the waning afternoon beauty.

For some reason, Boston always seems prettiest when viewed from the Public Garden. Whether it’s surrounded by the verdant ripe green of summer, or the bare-limbed stark gray of winter, the Garden frames the city in a majestic manner that no other standpoint affords.

A line-up of fowl stood sentinel on the shore of the pond leading up to the footbridge. They took in the afternoon sun as it slanted through the drapes of a willow tree.

Of all the times to be in the Garden, this may be one of the most magical. The early morning sunlight is also a thing of beauty, but there’s something richer about the light just before it goes.

After the ducks and the geese, there was one special friend dressed in white that I longed to see.

A birthday greeting, perhaps, from an old friend.

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A Silly Birthday Suit

A few years ago I celebrated a birthday in Boston (maybe #34 or 35) and after cocktails at the Fairmont Copley with Andy, I treated myself to a pair of silk pajamas from Anthropologie. They remain, to this day, the most expensive pajamas I own, and I still wear them on special occasions. This year, marking my 40th, I went the same route and found these ridiculous pants at the same place. I can make more use of these, however, as they work well for poolside lounging, which this week looks to afford as well.

On my birthday, however, they served to characterize the day with a bit of whimsy, crafting a luxurious outfit in which one could indulgently lounge around a hotel suite and bask in the first moments of being a 40-year-old.

Give me a chance to pose and strut and act all sorts of undeservedly glamorous, and I’ll take it. It was my birthday, and I would act ridiculous if I wanted.

Kick your shoes off and join me. It’s going to be one wild ride

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Tom Ford By Boston & Venice

As if by divine intervention, the latest Tom Ford Private Blend was available just in the nick of time for my birthday this year, so on the actual day, Andy and I made our way to Saks to find the newest release, ‘Venetian Bergamot’. I was ready to buy it sight unseen, given my love for bergamot and Tom Ford, but I was lucky enough to get a sample beforehand and it was just as luscious as expected.

‘Venetian Bergamot’ is definitely a summer fragrance, but one that can linger through the hotter days of fall. In that respect, it’s a stellar bridge cologne, and one that works in many moods or seasons. In addition to the gorgeous bergamot, there are delicious notes of black and pink pepper, ginger, ylang ylang, magnolia, gardenia accord, cedar, pepperwood, sandalwood, tonka bean, amber and cashmere accord.

For me, the dry down is quite reminiscent of the beautiful ‘Champaca Absolut’ – one of the Private Blends I’ve teetered on the edge of purchasing, but always pulled back because it slides just too far into the floral side of things for my liking. ‘Venetian Bergamot’ solves that problem perfectly, veering into the woody realm rather than the floral scene, and I absolutely adore it. It leads stunningly well into the August/September frags of Rive D’Ambre and Plum Japonais, and now it will always bring back memories of my 40th in Boston.

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Coitus Interruptus: A Recap

We interrupt the 40th Birthday journey with this quick recap, coming later in the day than is usual because I felt like switching things up a bit. It’s taking me a little while to catch up on things here – trips to Portland, Maine and Seattle, Washington are both forthcoming – and right now we are in the midst of my Boston birthday weekend, so there are good things to come. It’s also best to keep people guessing as to where I am. (It deters would-be thieves, not that there are any with a retired police officer guarding the goods. Forewarned is fair-warned.) On with the recap!

In the event that you’re in need of a great read, and have not yet experienced this one, I fell instantly in love with ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’.

This is one of the last times I get to say, “It’s still summer,” this year. I’m crying too.

Madonna is back, and better than ever.

It takes balls to wear a Speedo.

My Dad was born on 9/11, many years before that date had such significance, so here was my belated homage to him.

As mentioned above, I’m finally getting around to describing my 40th birthday weekend. An early dinner at Douzo, an almost-secret garden before a massage, and this most glorious brunch at the Taj.

The only place in which I wanted to turn 40 was the Judy Garland Suite.

Or under the sea.

And there is more to come after this recap… so stay tuned.

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A Birthday Spent Under the Sea

One of the very first trips I remember taking as a child was a bus excursion to Boston. Suzie was there, as were our mothers, and we toured the New England aquarium, which is probably part of the reason I became so enamored of sea life and aquariums. (And Chinese paper yo-yos, which were on sale in one of the bull markets outside of the aquarium.)

For my 40th birthday, I returned to the aquarium, as much for nostalgia as for my continued interest in everything under the sea. From sea turtles to sea horses, porcupine fish to penguins, it was exactly as I remembered it. True, it hasn’t changed much over the years, but there’s something comforting in that too.

The smell alone reminds me of childhood, the sound of squawking sea birds rekindling the awe and wonder upon the realization of how varied and interesting the life on this earth can be. Since that first visit the ocean has called to me, and in various ways I’ve tried to answer her – in saltwater and reef aquariums, in visits to the coastal terrain of Maine and Florida, in documentaries on whales and sharks and sea life.

Some primal mystery has kept me intrigued by that boundless expanse of salt water that touches all land in some way. A deep undulating rhythm of tides, a hypnotic pull of currents, conspire to confuse in dizzying, rapturous sensation. If you’ve ever stood on the edge of the ocean and felt the sand slowly pull you deeper, in conjunction with the spinning tug of the tide, you know this delicious wooziness.

It reminds me that everything is connected. Water and sand, light and air, humans and animals.

And always, always, the penguins.

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