Category Archives: General

You have exactly one week before my birthday arrives. Hopefully you’ve already picked out your gifts. (And remember, the Tom Ford Rive d’Ambre has already been procured, and I’ve excised the two Hermes selections from the list as they were not quite what I expected. In fact, there’s only one Tom Ford scent I want (and I want it really badly): Plum Japonais. As for birthday plans, I finally have one. Initially, I wanted to fly West – it’s been a few years since I’ve been to San Francisco, so that was my first choice. I also considered San Diego and Seattle, since I haven’t been to either since the 90’s. In the end, though, costs proved prohibitive. And since we did the Boston/Provincetown trip for last year’s birthday, I’m keeping it simple and close to home. Not every year can be a banner year, and quiet birthdays are sometimes more sweet. Especially when Tom Ford is involved.

As for the actual plans, I’m thinking of heading to a garden, an outlet, and a dinner – and I’ll have the details and photos after it’s done. In the meantime, have a look back at last year’s birthday fun in Boston and Provincetown.

It drops into the yard and alights upon the cup plant, forgoing the butterfly bush oddly enough, or maybe it hasn’t noticed it across the yard. High in the air, at least a foot taller than me, it rides the gently undulating stalks. The afternoon sun squints through the pine trees as the monarch feasts upon the nectar of the lemon-hued flowers. A cicada beats in the distance. The sounds and the scenes of summer. It is not quite done with us yet. It is reminding me to slow down. I do pause there, holding the sight, watching the butterfly work.

They travel thousands of miles – all the way from Mexico I’ve read – and they’ll continue on through Maine. We’ll see them there in October, a riot of striped orange on magenta cosmos or deep purple asters, swarming the gardens by the shore. Against a bright blue sky, they flit and flutter, assured of their magnificence, deceptively cloaked in the most frail-seeming of flashy outfits, but such armor has brought them all the way across the continent.

Vestiges of the caterpillar remain, because you can never completely shed your past, no matter how far you fly, no matter what costume you wear.

This is all that remains of a once lush and robust pot of sweet potato vines. In one night, a groundhog stripped every last leaf from what had once been dense and gorgeous growth. At first I suspected a rabbit – they are notorious for decimating a garden in one fell swoop, but it seems the groundhog is a far worse menace. Andy saw the culprit chewing on a bush in the front yard, and it looked like the thing had been trying to burrow under the fence. Somehow, it had gotten in during the night, and feasted upon this poor sweet potato.

The next night, after I had put the pots close to the house and on pedestals, Andy saw the beast climbing onto a bench beside a plant, practically looking in the house. Andy peered out and the creature didn’t budge. (I had read that putting up a mirror would be enough to deter them, as they were supposedly scared and skittish. Not so – at least not this rabid, bold escapee from hell.) Andy barged out the door and scared him off, but it took more than a stupid mirror. (And who in the hell is scared of a mirror? Humans aren’t the only vain ones on this earth.)

The next day I spotted the animal in the garden by the pool, munching on morning glories. I opened the door and clapped my hands and it took off. A few minutes later it was back, spotted by Andy, who promptly threw a shoe at it. ‘This is what it has come to,’ I thought. At least I hated those shoes.

I read that fox urine works as a deterrent, but if I can’t get my own niece and nephew to pee on cue, a fox sure as fuck isn’t going to do so. I read too that human urine worked to keep them away, but peeing all over the patio just felt wrong. A number of people suggested just shooting the thing, but according to Andy we’re not allowed to use firearms in the backyard (he may have just been making that up to deter me. Not all beasts crawl on four legs.) I couldn’t bring myself to shoot anything anyway, so for now we’re just staying vigilant, keeping the potted sweet potatoes up in the air and close to the house. The next step would be a trap, and if another patch of flat-leaf parsley gets stripped we may go that route – but once it’s in the trap, what do you do? I don’t think it’s legal to release them anywhere else… not that legality has ever been a concern of mine. Hopefully the thing will see this post and know enough to stay away. Hey, if it worked on Starbucks it could work on the groundhog. The squeaky wheel gets the grease.

We’re in some bar/restaurant in the Lower East Side. They make some mean tequila drinks here, and how we ended up on tequila after all those Manhattans, I’ll never know. It is January or February, and I left my favorite scarf in the taxi, but I won’t discover that until later. The bar glows, warm and bright in the middle of the night, and my friend Chris is shooting the shit next to me. My cocktail is cool, but spicy hot, and we’re reminiscing of warmer climes, of a vacation in Puerto Rico, the beaches of San Juan, anything to get through the chill of a New York winter night. An incongruous glass of cognac, a $300 bar tab for two, a waitress named Yahaira, and loads of dookey love. The nonsensical meaningless in-jokes of a friendship going on two decades.

Afterward, a couple of slices of pizza, with a side of ranch dressing for Chris. ‘That’s so gross,” I tell him, before busting up in laughter. He shrugs and eats it down. The hours are young – only one or two – but it might as well be mid-day. We’ll take it now and sleep it all off later. We’re still young enough to do that, still unattached enough to get away with it. We walk a couple of blocks. Robert Pattinson spills out from some hole-in-the-wall, alone and seemingly unrecognized, but I feel foolish telling him what a good job he did in ‘Harry Potter’, so I simply stare a bit and move on. Chris has no clue who he is anyway.

It’s been a good night, but we’re out of money, and running out of energy. Maybe we’re not young enough anymore.

It seems a recap or two has escaped me in the early days of August, mostly because I’ve been out of town and busy with, well, real life. But when the goldenrod starts blooming by the roadside, and the nights begin to cool down into the 60’s, it’s a reminder of the passage of time. Fall will be upon us next month, and in anticipation of that I’ll work a little harder to get back into the swing of things. Onto the past few weeks, and what you’ve missed if you were out enjoying the summer days.

Our summer vacation was in Maine – it started with some magnificent food in Portland, a moving marriage ceremony,  and even more food. Andy and I both fell under the spell of Portland, and vowed to return.  From there we went to Ogunquit, where we were greeted with flowers exploding around every corner. Of course, there was some amazing food there too, and we got a beautiful day at the beach before the moon turned everything upside down, and I walked the Marginal Way at midnight.  A parting glance at Stonewall Kitchen left us with the memory of beauty.

For the most part, I’m a law-abiding citizen, which is why I was shocked when I got thrown out of Starbucks.

It’s important to smell good, even – and especially – in bed.

Be careful what you wish for.

Not all cocktails are winners, because not all bourbons are created the same.

The poached egg. It works wonders.

There were Hunks galore, with the shirtless likes of Tom Daley, Ben Hunt, Nick Jonas, James Deen, Matthieu Charneau, a Tom Ford model, and a bunch of classic Speedo shots.

Wow, I must have graduated from high school when I was five.

Boston maintained its magic and mystery.

There is no better balm for the soul than good friends, old and new. I didn’t want it to end.

This birthday wish list already needs to be modified, as I couldn’t resist purchasing Tom Ford’s Rive d’Ambre during a tax-free Massachusetts weekend, and the two Hermes scents didn’t quite pass muster.

You’ve got style, that’s what all the girls say.

And thanks to you, yes you, this site just hit a milestone.

Its wings were torn, far less than perfect. I could tell from a distance, and hesitated even getting my camera. But it stayed on the butterfly bush, carefully pulling out its nectar, going about its business, and not minding a little human accompaniment. I hurriedly went inside to get the camera and came back out to grab a few shots. At first I wondered why I was bothering. The goal of most nature photographs is a glimpse of perfection and beauty. Why document the tattered and torn? But then I felt an affinity to this magnificent creature, the Grizabella of the butterfly world, who seemed perfectly content to flutter about, posing in its less-than-stellar state, and I loved it all the more because of it.

We are so quick to tear things apart when they fail to be what we want them to be. Who knows what this creature has gone through to reach such a state? Who knows the trials and tribulations of what it’s like to have your wings torn to shreds? And who has surrendered a perfect beauty to something other, and had to go on tending to life, procuring nectar, soaring to survive? Not me. I’ve been lucky in that respect. This butterfly, I think, is the most beautiful butterfly of the summer.

Saying good-bye to friends, even friends whom I’m intending to see in a few weeks, is always a sad time. Especially when it’s at the end of one of those weekends that comes together so perfectly. Such was the case when JoAnn, Peaches, Kim, and Ali left us last Sunday. As is tradition, JoAnn made a nice brunch spread of eggs and bacon, while I roasted some potatoes. Ali brought the sweet breads, Kim did a few dishes, and Peaches taught me a killer Bloody Mary mix.

As much as I love a decent dinner, brunch has always been where it’s at. But even better than brunch is the gathering of friends old and new, on a summer weekend in early August, when all seems right with the world. Those moments don’t come along often enough.

Luckily, there will be more – here, and in Boston, and on the Cape – and the best part of having good friends is that they’re always present somehow.

Last weekend we had some friends from Cape Cod up for a little summer gathering. It began with a batch of lavender cocktails, moved into a decent ros̩, and ended up with a bunch of daisy chains. We went easy on the first night Рwhich may have been a first for us (some are still reeling from an Amber Jewel evening where we never quite moved beyond the living room for seven hours of emotional roller-coasters). This was a far cry from that, and a nice entry into the weekend.

Summer days with good friends – is there a more perfect balm upon any wound? JoAnn and Ali have been in our circle for years, and whenever they visit it’s like time spent with long-lost family. It’s easy and it clicks.

As dinner was done, and the day gave way to night, the backyard patio glowed with candlelight. Early August sometimes gets lost in the summer shuffle. We embraced the evening, the time together, and talked of things old and new.

The last full month of summer was upon us. It was in the air. A shimmering beauty drifted among the flickering candles, a night breeze carried over the pool. Colorful curtains billowed gently, offering hints of the garden growing dimmer.

We held onto it for as long as we could, before the mosquitoes pushed us inside and the night went black.

Stop what is going through your head right now. Do not do the math. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Somehow, it was my 20th High School reunion last weekend, and though I couldn’t make the actual sit-down dinner on Saturday, we did manage to make it to the Friday night cocktail hour meet-and-greet at the Recovery Room in Amsterdam, NY. (And let’s face it, I’m more of the cocktail hour guy than the buffet dude.)

Two of my best friends from high school – who remain so to this day – stopped by my parents’ home, where we said hello and did some pre-gaming. Ann and Suzie joined Andy and I, along with my parents, my brother, and the twins for some reminiscing before we made our way to the Recovery Room.

Once there, I saw faces familiar and forgotten. FaceBook has made it slightly less surreal to see old schoolmates from two decades ago, but it’s still strange. In so many ways, I thought I would always feel like the kid I was in high school, and at our tenth reunion I felt that way a bit, but no more. The last ten years, which were in large part much more stable than the ten years before that, have changed me in ways that resonate more deeply when compared with my high school self. In the past, I cared a lot more what others thought (even if it wasn’t much, it was still more). This time around I simply enjoyed the moment, listening to what people were doing in their lives, laughing at what we had once done in the past, and discussing where we still wanted to go.

Of course with a support system like Ann and Suzie, it’s impossible not to have a good time. And for the next milestone number that rolls around we may just ditch the formal festivities and do our own reunion small and sweet. That’s all it’s really about anyway.

As for my classmates, most of them have only improved with age (or the ones that didn’t never made it to the meet and greet). Until the 25th, go Rams!

On the rise… and about to wreak havoc…

Tale to be told…

The stats of www.ALANILAGAN.com are not something with which I concern myself all that much. As you can see, I don’t sell advertising, I don’t make a living off this site, and if I wanted to I could shut this whole thing down tomorrow and be all right with it. When I began this endeavor over ten years ago (personal websites age more quickly than dogs, or even gay men) I did it for myself – as a repository of some written work and photographs (and Projects). To this day, that’s still what it encompasses.

When I got back from vacation, however, I glanced through the stats, and noticed that this site has enjoyed a banner month. Unlike most mainstream places, this corner of the web gets pretty much steady traffic regardless of season or day of the week (partly because there is a post – and usually three – every single day). In fact, on weekends and holidays, my traffic tends to increase. (This site is ridiculously banned from many work places, so I don’t enjoy the bump of workday boredom.) But it’s not something to which I’ve ever catered, with the possible exception of a naked hunk here or there. I hadn’t noticed how close we were to reaching a milestone until Sunday, when this little website reached ten million hits for the month of July. It’s far from a big number, but for a personal site it’s not that shabby.

For that, I have no one to thank but you – yes, you – the person reading this right now. Odds are we have not yet had the pleasure of meeting (I’ve only had the fortune to meet a few people from the online world), but please know that the simple fact of you visiting here means more than most of my closest friends sometimes mean (honestly, I could give you a long list of people I love dearly who won’t read a single word of this because they never come here). So for you, the ones reading this now, I offer my heartfelt thanks.

And though I don’t much like to look back, here’s a little retrospective of some of my favorite topics from the past – in honor of ten years of doing this, and a month of ten million hits. You’ll see the main themes of this site – and perhaps divine some new themes to come.

There’s nothing I love better than a properly crafted cocktail.

Unless it’s a properly cut pair of underwear.

Or my ass, which has fueled more hits than… oh, forget it. It’s written itself.

But it really comes down to family and friends, and there’s no denying that both have informed and inspired this site in ways that deepen and explore where I come from, and where I’d like to go. There’s no denying or separating them from me – and I wouldn’t have it any other way. (This includes my elusive husband Andy, who has only recently been more forthcoming about appearing in pictures, much to everyone’s delight.)

The role of beauty in the world is often underestimated. I see it in our gardens, and in the blooming of a flower. I hear it in a song, or listen to it in a musical, or taste it in the simple serving of a meal. It’s there in the fragrance someone wears, or the clothing on their back. Beauty is always around, if you know how to look for it.

Of course, special mention must be made of my main creative muse – still going strong after thirty years (would that this site lasts as long) – who is, and always will be, Madonna. From her epic songs to her lesser-known ones, long may she reign.

A multitude of thanks must also be extended to the naked men who keep this site going when I’m galavanting on vacation or in Boston or simply too lazy to come up with anything beyond shirtless guy candy, so here’s to The Hunks. (Especially those who dare to don a Speedo.)

Finally, if it weren’t for all the places I get to visit (Ogunquit, Boston, Cape Cod, Las Vegas, London, San Francisco, Washington), I wouldn’t have a chance to enjoy coming back here at the end of it all.

Here’s to us… and most especially, here’s to you. Let’s make the rest of the journey together.