Category Archives: General

Heavy is the head that wears the crown… jewels.

Sometimes, especially in the middle of winter, you need a bit of sparkle to see you through the darkest days.

I find such joy in a piece of costume jewelry, draped as a headband, almost like a crown.

I wear it like a weapon, channeling its crystalline powers, shooting off shards of reflected light from the almost-diamonds like so many magical bullets.

Not even semi-precious stones, their worth does not translate to money or value, but some things carry greater worth in the way they change one’s perception.

If you believe you’re a queen, no one can take that away.

Royalty is not always God-given.

Grab your own.

Not even Zac Efron in a Speedo will get me to see a ‘Baywatch’ movie, so I’ll just wait for the clips and screen-caps. Besides, everyone likes Zac Efron naked so much better. Or at least, as naked as Zac Efron gets here.

Let’s be honest, I had nothing to do with the Super Bowl, no matter how many jockstrap photos I might take. (Search the Archives if you want to see, I’m too tired to link them up for you. Just search “jockstrap” in the helpful “Search feature at the bottom of this page.) At the time of this writing, I’m actually watching the game, and by that I mean waiting for Lady Gaga to perform. (UPDATE: But wow what a game – after checking out early in the 3rd quarter (inning?) I returned to watch a nail-biter of an ending. Congrats to the Pats – enjoy the featured pic of Julian Edelman.) On with the recap…

The week began with an ending, as January wound to a welcome close.

Before the month ended, however, we celebrated the 14th anniversary of this very website.

It was a rather weak week, because I was dealing with numerous maladies. But we did the best we could do.

As we stumble along…

Ice ice baby…

An annoying arrival.

A soup for a winter day.

Stiff is the new hard.

A winter poem.

The bloody awakening.

A 25th anniversary.

Dreaming of Broadway.

The brilliance of Betty Buckley.

The Super Bowl brought out the jockstrap in certain guys.

Hunks of the Day included Bob Harper, Andy Mientus, Brian Justin Crum, Garrett Swann, Danny Cipriani, Sakis Rouvas and Michael Xavier.

 For some strange reason, Madonna once playfully suggested that as the title for her ‘Hard Candy’ album (another criminally-under-rated gem of hip-pop). It has absolutely nothing to do with this post, other than the stiff reference for my neck. I awoke last week feeling like I had slept the wrong way, and as the day wore on, my neck grew worse. Eventually I gave in to my first session of physical therapy, but the exercises given to me (which I performed religiously every two hours) only ended up making my neck feel awful, to the point where I could barely rise out of my work chair.

By lunch, I was almost in tears, and the tension of that added to the stress that probably started this whole wretched event in the first place. I walked over to my new favorite place, Stacks Espresso Bar, and had a decaf Americano. (Caffeine is the absolute last thing I need.) I sat there and heard one of those voices whispering in my ear:

Relax… relax…

Maybe it was not so much a voice in my head, but a wish and a prayer that I was imploring for myself. I paused, and remembered what it was like to enjoy the moment. An excellent cup of Americano sat before me, exquisitely rendered and better than anything at Starbucks. I sipped at its warmth, while the wind ran down the street outside the window. Puddles and dirty snow lined the sidewalk, as other people on their lunch break hurried past. Winter was passing too.

Not soon enough…

While it’s certainly cold enough for it, it’s not as wet as most winters tend to be, and I’m not mad about it. Kira and I were loosely tossing around the idea of going skiing this year (at her insistence), and decided we would look into some resorts. (After my first, and last, skiing fiasco in the late 80’s, I’ve rather gone off the sport – but that’s another Suzie cruelty story that will need to be told another time, and not in the flimsy mid-day post.) I promised Kira I would support her 100%, from the cozy perch of a fireside lounge, with a Manhattan in my hand and a cashmere scarf around my neck.

Oh February, you wretched thing, please have some happy surprises stored in your cold heart. And I don’t mean Valentine’s Day either (though I will update my Amazon Wish list for those looking to appease my romantic nature, ahem). It’s time to get those doilies out and make out some Valentine’s Day cards. It’s also time to hunker down and make some soup. On this first day of the month, I offer a messy post of miscellany for Februarys past.

Random shit like jockstraps, Superbowls, Shameless movies, Beckham’s bulge and oh so much more. Narcissus, nests, nudity, & new bedding. More incongruous stuff like male models, Tibetan singing bowls, and manic Mondays. (I can’t even talk about all the zaniness of February 2015, and neither should you.) But do revisit last year’s February mayhem, with some Naked Madonna, ruinous beauty, Anderson Cooper and brotherly love.

PS – February is National Bird Feeding Month. How ridiculous.

Earlier this month, and completely forgotten by me, we celebrated (or rather didn’t celebrate) the unheralded 14th anniversary of this website. ALANILAGAN.com premiered in January of 2003, which makes it one of the oldest personal blogs out there. If we compute the age of blogs in the same manner in which we compute the human age of dogs, this little space would be a whopping 98 years old, which, given my stiff neck, feels about right. I take a small bit of pride in the fact that I’ve been doing this for far longer than most other bloggers, but it’s just a bit. The truth is that this is a labor of love, an outlet of creative expression that takes the place of a diary, a project, and an artistic gambit all at once. I’d be doing this with or without an audience, but from the responses I get, I’m very thankful we’re on this road together.

“It’s so much friendlier with two.”

There’s not much fanfare traditionally made over 14 years, and I’m fine with that. Perhaps next year we’ll do something bigger. For now, it will be enough to get through this morning post without boring myself to tears. If I think back to my own fourteen-year-old moment, we’re in for a wild and wonderful ride.

It arrives tomorrow, but here’s a quick look back at another January or four before this one departs. (I don’t know anyone who’s sorry to see it go.)

January 2012 found a mixed bag of familiar places and faces, including Madonna, New York City, and straight allies.

January 2013 brought us to Washington, DC (long before the swamp moved in), family and friends, some nakedness, and some more Madonna.

January 2014 lifted us out of a kitchen renovation, thanks to Andy and some other friends.

January 2015 displayed an onslaught of Hunks, trickery, and Tom Ford.

And last January took us back to Boston, candlelight, and beauty.

Ho-hum, tweedle-dee-dum, it’s another damn Monday, and another damn weekly recap, mostly because who wants to face the start of another work week when we can look back for a moment and I’ve in the glorious past? I don’t give a hoot, you’re getting a recap regardless. See, when I’m tired and uninspired, I get silly and stupid. Deal with it, or move on. On with the doings of the past week!

Tyson Beckford got naked in motion, because there’s nothing better than a nude male GIF.

I got naked on Instagram because I like a big… following.

I also had a big stiff one that lasted way longer than necessary.

Poof! Be gone.

Music for mobsters.

A visitor in the night.

Back on the road, and naked again.

You broke the boy in me, but you won’t break the man.

Flower Bomb Balm: Part Three, Part Four, and Part Five.

Fill in the missing Hunk.

Acts of love and defiance.

The Hunks of the Day took a trip around the globe, including such luminaries as Adam Rippon, Paolo Amores, Gabriel Loureiro, Anatoly Goncharov, Dylan Sprayberry, & Ryan Stack.

Sometimes love can be the most defiant move you make.

Making up for the missing Hunk of Yesterday, here is a brief collection of previous Hunks striking brand new poses. Hey, it’s Sunday, a time for shirtlessness and laziness – and a time to come home. Enjoy the guy candy/eye candy/man candy/David Gandy moment.

Chris Pratt got naked the last time he appeared here, and prior to that he was also a Hunk of the Day.

Simon Dunn is always a joy to behold, as evidenced by this post. Or this post. Or this post. Well, you get the idea.

Austin Armacost has made a career off his ass alone, and here’s why. You want another one? Bam.

Tom Daley is such a hit here that he has his own category. Click it and flick it.

Ashley Parker Angel has certainly been sent from above; his body is simply heavenly. (Sorry, but hotness precedes cheesiness.)

And finally, Adam Gumula is even better when doubled.

The footprints led away from our front door, then down the path to the driveway. A fresh coat of snow allowed for them to be seen clearly, and the impressions were strange, as each ‘finger’ was clearly delineated, and longer than that of a cat or a squirrel. An opossum perhaps? Maybe one of those bandits – a raccoon?

I don’t know, but it’s both a comfort and a terror to think of what goes on here after I’m asleep.

Meant to evoke the political bickering on Twitter, this is an art installation that shows two clouds in battle. The end result is always the same.

It wasn’t as bad as this, but it was enough to keep me out of work for a day. Just another sign of my advancing age, I must have slept the wrong way on my neck the other night, as I am in deep pain right now, unable to turn my head without moving my entire body. Cue Mr. Roboto.

It started slowly, as the worst ones always do. I awoke feeling a little off, with just a slight soreness in my neck and shoulder area. I’d been actively taking it easy these past few days (there’s effort to that, I swear) so I knew there wasn’t an instance of overdoing anything. (Underdoing, perhaps.) As the day progressed, so did the pain, but at this point in my life, after several back episodes, I know how to carry myself to prevent further injury. Engage the stomach muscles, bend at the knees, go smooth and fluidly, and don’t force or make sudden jerky movements. Still, the pain in my neck grew. By nightfall, it was in full spasm, just as the ice storm began.

I like being inside during such a thing. The crackling of ice pellets against the skylight and windows is a soothing sound. Curled up with a book and a cup of tea, beneath a soft blanket and cradled by a conversation couch, I usually find peace and comfort as the wind rages outside. On this night, I could not get comfortable, no matter how I contorted my position. After asking Andy if we had a heating pad (we don’t) I did the next best thing and hopped in a very hot shower, where I let the water hit the sore spot and do its best to relax all my rigidness. The effect was minor at best, and I rolled myself carefully into bed with the hope that sleep would work its own magic.

At 3:42 AM my neck woke me up – the first time I’ve ever been awakened by pain. It’s as awful as it sounds. I managed to sit up on the edge of the bed and let out a whimper like some injured animal. I don’t cry easily (well, except for flash mobs) but I almost did. Stress, tension, and exhaustion can fell the mightiest non-crier, and I thought I was about to go down. Andy reminded me of the prescription for pain pills when my back went out a few years ago, and though it had expired in 2015, I took one, figuring it couldn’t hurt. The instructions said to take it with a lot of water and not to lie down for ten minutes. Great.

I walked out of the bathroom light and down the dim hallway. In the living room, the sound of ice falling down was still soothingly playing along the windows and roof. I wouldn’t be able to go into work, but there are worse things than being stuck home in the midst of an ice storm. Two birds with one stone, and all that. I thought about what might be causing my neck such stress – that’s where tension builds and collects until something like this happens. I leaned against the wall to support myself, and waited the full ten minutes before climbing carefully back into bed.