Co-worker, lecturing me: “You need to make better choices.â€
Me, in response: “You are the billboard for bad choices. That brace is a bad choice.â€
Co-worker, lecturing me: “You need to make better choices.â€
Me, in response: “You are the billboard for bad choices. That brace is a bad choice.â€
One of my favorite plants came into bloom last week: the cup plant. This year it’s making a grand show, thanks in part to last year’s preparation (lots of manure and water) and this year’s wet spring. I’ve also given them lots to drink as the air has gotten hotter and more dry, so they are rewarding us with enormous stalks (these rise to eight or nine feet, towering above my most strenuous reach) and a liberal sprinkling of flowers.
These are one of the happiest garden features we have, not only for the sunny disposition of their bright and cheery daisy flowers in pure yellow, but also for the neat cups their leaf axils form to collect water, allowing birds and butterflies to drink while visiting the flowers. The set-up is especially attractive to a regular crew of yellow finches, whose color mirrors that of the flower petals, eventually lending the impression that some of the blossoms themselves are detaching and taking flight. It’s a magical effect. The birds are especially fond of the seed-heads once they begin to ripen, often not waiting until they are fully formed before trying to pull them off.
I’m happy to have them take their fill ~ the minor drawback to the plant is that in location and conditions it likes, it will reseed and soon set up plants where you may not want them, so the early editing of the finches is a welcome bit of help. Based on the cup plant’s eventual immense size, it is not fit for most front-of-the-border positions, which is usually right where the seeds end up. Those are easily dispatched if caught early in their growth cycle, so it’s not very onerous ~ just requires an observant eye and some persistence. On good days I exhibit both.
It was on this evening, exactly nineteen years ago, that I met Andy in the quaint, old-fashioned, universally-destined way that people used to meet: at a gay bar. Back then that was how things worked, and if you didn’t happen to be in the right place at the right time, you might have missed out on what was to be written in the stars. In that respect, we lucked out, and ever since then every day has brought an abundance of adventures and riches that have only gotten more wonderful as the years tick quickly by.
In many ways, we’re still the same guys from that rainy Sunday evening at Oh Bar, just hoping for some peace and happiness and someone with which to share it, yet in other respects we are decidedly different. Both older, and hopefully a bit wiser, the years have taught us about each other, and ourselves in the process. There’s no one else I would rather take this journey with, no one who could be as supportive and protective of what we’ve created together. Sometimes – most times in fact – it’s the little things of getting through the day that comprise true love. Those little things gradually build into something more, if you let them. They become a tapestry of love, a blanket made of affection and kindness, with more good-will and appreciation building upon them, until after all these years we can look back with wonder at what a beautiful life we’ve made with each other.
I’ll keep it to that this year, because some years it’s better to be quiet about things, and then we’ll begin planning for #20 in 2020…
Pier 1 Imports and I have had a long and, until the incident recounted here, relatively happy history together. We go a long way back – all the way to roomfuls of wicker furniture (and a sturdy wooden armoire that we still use in Boston) and their fashion foray into gypsy-like garments and jewelry (I still have a patchwork velvet vest from their old Porter Square location). Throughout their various focuses over the years, the one thing that they have done better than almost everyone else is their selection of pillows. Instead of having the same things that every Pottery Barn or West Elm store has, they have always maintained a unique collection. Some of the more extravagant ones tend to be pricier than many other places, but are usually worth it. They also supplement those with regular sales that have kept me coming back over the years. That all changed a few days ago.
I was in the process of revamping our guest bedroom, as two of the pillows we had on the bed were finally done, and I was on the lookout for something to match or complement the duvet, which was a difficult paisley riot of soft salmon and a green that sat infuriatingly along the lines of celery and celadon, something to which most pillows failed at doing justice. After exhausting the Marshalls and TJ Maxx and Homegoods at local disposal, I remembered Pier 1 Imports and made the very short drive around the corner to their Wolf Road location, Store #0116.
As usual, I got distracted by the displays and ended up almost taking all their summer outdoor goods home with me, then I got my focus back and headed to the wall of pillows. I knew the colors and design of the bedspread, and I knew what would work. I made several passes of the wall, and the clearance section, and just as I was about to give up, the perfect accent pillow appeared as if by magic. It was marked down to $19.98, but I would have gladly paid full price because it would work out perfectly. The colors were the muted ones of the bedspread, the cream in it was just dark enough to match the underlying background of the design, and the pattern was strong enough to stand up to the swirls of paisley, but quiet enough to blend in with muffled harmony. It was as if the pillow gods had smiled upon me for one brief shining moment. I quickly brought it to the register but it wasn’t ringing in. (I’m from the retail days when you could actually override items and key in their correct price.) Just then, the manager was coming in from the back room, and when she saw what was going on she was more than pleased to announce that if it was a redline item they wouldn’t be able to sell it to me.
Now, I worked in retail for a number of years. I know how it works. There are rules, and there are customers. When the two don’t exactly align, a good manager works with the latter to achieve satisfaction on the part of a returning entity. She was not a good manager.
“I can’t sell it because if I sell it then a notification will go out and we’ll get in trouble for selling it,” she said with a smug smile. (I’m not sure how a notification would go off when it wouldn’t even ring in, but whatever.)
“Wait, you have an item on your salesfloor that is marked with a price on it, and you can’t sell it to a customer who wants to purchase it?” I asked, more than a little incredulous, but trying to be nice because I knew how some people with a tiny amount of power tend to abuse it, particularly in the retail world.
“Sorry, it’s redlined, I can’t sell it,” she said.
“Well, why was it out on the sales-floor if you can’t sell it?” I asked, watching the pillow slowly being taken away.
“Oh, I will be dealing with that too!” she said gleefully, and with that she whisked my perfect pillow into the back room, never to be seen again.
If the policy of Pier 1 Imports is not to sell their ‘redlined’ items, I understand. But when one finds its way to the salesfloor, and you have a customer willing to pay the full price on the ticket for it, I’m shocked that they would rather bring it back to the lost land of redlined pillows instead of making a sale. Where do those pillows go now? I’m guessing I would have paid more for that pillow than whatever other fate is about to befall it, and I would have a guest bedroom that I could tell people looked so perfect because of Pier 1 Imports.
Now the world and our guest bedroom visitors will be getting a very different story.
And Pier 1 Imports just lost a loyal customer.
UPDATE #1: Shortly after this post went live, someone from Pier 1 called me (as I had also sent the abbreviated story to their e-mail contact address). The woman apologized and said that in some instances they could not sell a redline item, and she asked if I had the item number so she could check. I told her I did not, but that the manager had checked and it was definitely redlined. She then asked if she could help me find an alternative. I thanked her and said I was capable of finding another pillow from elsewhere. So, I’d give them a point for reaching out, and take away a point for not offering a viable solution to a dumb, business-losing policy. In other words, this post stands.
UPDATE #2: Well, I’ll just let you read the e-mail for yourself.
UPDATE #3: Pier 1 called again, so maybe someone finally read the e-mail, or this long-winded never-ending post, and is taking this pillow PSA seriously. The representative said she was reading over what happened and that she didn’t think they had explained things well or done enough to remedy the situation. I said I thought it was explained fully: they destroyed their redlined items. She said she wanted to go over what redlined meant and that it was for items that shouldn’t be on the sales floor due to something being hazardous or wrong with them, such as illegal use of a copyrighted image or not meeting industry standards. So that makes the company look so much better. (What would something like that be doing on the sales floor in the first place??) I asked her to follow up with whatever issue that pillow had. I mean, if it was made with uranium I want to know in the event I need a Silkwood shower. She said it was nothing like that.
She’s sending a gift certificate in a couple of weeks. I’ll let you know how much bad publicity is worth these days when it arrives.
UPDATE #4: The gift card arrived in the rather generous amount of $50. I say that with genuine appreciation, and a healthy dose of astonishment that instead of selling me a pillow for $19.98, they’d rather send me a $50 gift card. This is why I couldn’t run a business: that kind of math doesn’t make sense to me.
Continuing our extreme weather conjuring whenever we throw a party, this past Saturday was a scorcher in every sense of the word. Luckily we bounced guests and ourselves in between the pool and the air conditioning and all was well with the world. Let’s take a quick look back, because some of us need to get back in the pool to survive.
Ease into things with these #TinyThreads.
No teasing, just pleasing.
A hotel in Savanah: the DeSoto.
Yes, Mercury is still in retrograde. Hold onto your hats.
Preventing the ostriches from burning.
The New Project: Once Upon A Watercolor.
And a promotional interview from fantasyland: Part 1 and Part 2.
The first Madonna Timeline featuring something from Madame X: ‘Future’.
Keeping things even hotter were Hunks of the Day Charlie Taylor, Jacob Elordi, Rylan Clark-Neal, and Rafael Lemes.
Why can’t trail mixes actually be healthy?
Why are we pretending that M&Ms are good for anyone?
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
The first Madonna Timeline entry from the ‘Madame X’ opus, this is one of my least favorite cuts, and oddly enough one of the first pre-release singles chosen to prime the album. It follows in the reggae-influenced vibe of ‘Unapologetic Bitch’ but resolves the melodic shortcomings of that with a catchy-enough chorus.
It’s a rather dour statement, one that perhaps went with Madonna’s darker frame of mind during the creation of the ‘Madame X’ album. It’s also a collaboration with Quavo, and like most major stars of her caliber, collaborations too often end up deflating and diminishing the power of the individuals that comprise them.
Madonna apparently liked this song enough to use it at her infamous Eurovision performance, where Quavo joined her onstage. While all the ballyhoo seems to be about some missed ‘Like A Prayer‘ notes, the show was an impressive spectacle, and a hint of what might be to come on her Madame X theatre tour. Give me an armored Joan of Arc costume and I’m on board every time. As for ‘Future’, its best bit may be the ‘Don’t Tell Me‘ quote that comes during its transfixing bridge. The rest can bumble into the past.
SONG #152: ‘Future’ – Late Spring 2019
After a rainy and cold spring, summer slowly warmed up, and Alan returned his focus to the home and garden, where Andy patrolled the pool, and large swaths of ferns and grasses sprung up in verdant chartreuse splendor. The garden borders ran around the backyard in gracefully curving lines, and though it’s not big on space, it’s deceptively designed to draw the wanderer around corners and into shaded nooks. A towering stand of fountain grass hides a lavender lace-cap hydrangea, while the latter’s climbing cousin rambles over a worn wooden fence. Around another corner softened by a coral bark maple, a clump of lady’s fern elegantly lifts its red stems and green fronds over a carpet of sweet woodruff. A seven sons’ tree forms a canopy that joins the upper tiers of a maple, and one enters the little side yard as if going into a green tunnel. A newly-opened patch of evening primrose raises its cheery canary petals toward the sunlight, covering the base of a climbing pink sweet pea. Nearby, a clump of lavender provides a silvery backdrop for a roaming mound of lemon thyme in full white bloom. Pockets of mint are tucked in everywhere, its rampant invasiveness small price to pay for the luxury of its fresh scent wafting up whenever it is brushed. A bit of grapefruit mint offers variety and citrus effervescence.
This is the real-life setting for the fantasy-land version of ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ and on the sunny day of a visit to Andy and Alan’s, it’s a fitting scene, one that finds the maker himself presiding in a flowing pair of colorful palazzo pants and a sheer caftan. It is exactly how one might imagine Alan flouncing about in the summer, and it surpasses expectations for sheer blatant campiness. A necklace encrusted with sparkling faux-jewels hangs around his neck, and he can’t decide whether to keep the large bright orange hat with a fuchsia bow on his head, or hold it in his hands. One is unsure whether this is for show, or if he’s out there like this every day. Both would be believable, though close friends would vouch for the latter. When it is suggested that he pose by the pool for a picture, he scoffs. Different world, different era.
A few months ago Alan purchased his first selfie-stick, and in the days since he’s used it only two times – the last one being on an anniversary weekend in Boston with Andy for a couple of shots before they went out to dinner. (“I’m not sure who tired of it first, me or Andy.”) It’s a rather shocking shift in priorities, anda telling testament to how far removed he is from the vainglorious self-obsession of modern social media, as well as his own well-documented past. (Truth be told, Ilagan has been taking selfies since his first Polaroid in 1986; there are boxes and boxes of evidence, and a sky-high pile of photo albums to back this up. If he proclaims to be tired of it, there’s no reason not to believe it; witness the steady decline and dearth of self-taken shirtless poses on his website for additional proof.)
These days his artistic output has been moving farther and farther from his own keen visage, a slow panning-out from the macro-view of introspection that he was stuck in for years to an outward-looking view of the world around him. Such movement from self-involvement bordering on self-obsession to someone looking out at the world is the sort of slow transition that can only be seen when you look back over his output for the past few years. It’s there in the evolution of projects – where once you couldn’t escape the repetitive parade of ass-shots now stands a stretch of blog posts that haven’t featured Alan in the altogether for quite some time. The bulk of his last project ‘PVRTD’ found him receding into the black-and-white background of most of his shots, if he was featured at all; ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ doesn’t show him, his visage, or any symbolic stand-in whatsoever. There’s a certain freedom that comes from not tying yourself into your artistic output.
‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ is strikingly simple in concept. It’s a non-story that takes place in a single day – in fact, the single garden party of a day – and is mostly just a parade of the children in Ilagan’s life, and a minor flower allegory thrown in for artistic weight. A love-letter mostly to the parents of said children, it is also a sweet children’s tale – nothing much happens, no dangers or tensions present themselves, and at the end is the promise of a holiday sequel. From The Flower Party he’s throwing this summer to the annual Children’s Holiday Hour he holds in Boston each December, his recent work is a whimsical ode to childhood, the wonder and rawness to which Ilagan returns in his own watercolor works, which form the backdrop to the story.
He didn’t set out to paint the backgrounds themselves; Ilagan originally purchased a few collections of stock watercolor images featuring flowers and leaves and the like, but he was looking for something more abstract so as not to take away too much from the rhyme scheme he envisioned writing. He spent the last winter immersed in the experimental return to a favorite childhood past-time.
Perhaps slightly irksome to him, it’s typically been Ilagan’s family-friendly work that has garnered the highest praise of his creative endeavors. ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ is no exception – several friends have remarked it is their favorite thing he’s ever done. “Something like ‘PVRTD’ will always be more thrilling and exciting to me than the lighter fare, because I’m more attracted to the darker themes when creating artistic work. ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ is a different kind of challenge, requiring a lighter touch, which is more difficult in some ways.” It also required more editing and revisions than he’s ever done before. “The older I get, the more I realize that so much of a first draft of anything is just practice garbage. I used to be very concise and deliberate in what I put down in writing – now it’s mostly a sketch and the final version often ends up being something completely different, and hopefully better, than the initial, raw entry.”
It was, even by his own storied elevation of weirdness, a peculiar position in which to find himself. There, sitting on a stool in the center of his Boston condo, was Alan Ilagan, dressed in an outfit of rose-gold sequins and surrounded by nine children, two of whom had scuttled onto each knee. Forget peculiar, this was shockingly unprecedented, and people suddenly whipped out their cel phones to capture a moment that would surely never come again anytime soon. By most previous indications, it should have been highly uncomfortable, yet contrary to history he looked, at quick glance, uncannily at home. A sparkling pied-piper with a crown of golden laurels atop his head and a string of ostrich feathers and gold beads dangling from his neck. How could the kids not be entranced by such a visage? How could we not have seen this before? It was at this exact moment, according to future folklore, that Alan decided to make his new project a family and kid-friendly affair.
A couple of seasons later, Ilagan recalls that holiday kids’ party with fondness and alacrity. “It wasn’t quite that nifty and neat,” he declares, imperiously commanding a sumptuous banquette in a quiet side-room off the Oak Bar at Boston’s Fairmont Hotel. A few months had passed since that Children’s Holiday Hour (his fourth, in case you’ve missed any of the online recaps). He’s in Boston for more children’s activities: in town are Alan’s niece Emi as well as Skip and Sherri’s kids Mia and Jack. He has just made the rounds and spent some time with all three of them, but has returned with his friend Kira for a rare splurge at the Fairmont. Decked out in a polka-dot blouse with pearls for buttons (“please note the pussy bow” he drawls) and a pair of slim black jeans with tuxedo stripes in black sequins – part clown, part club kid – he cuts a figure that would clearly appeal to those still wowed by wonder. In some ways it’s surprising that kids haven’t flocked to him all this time. Then again, maybe they have; it makes complete sense.
His first gift to most of the children in his life was a miniature disco ball. It fascinated them with its sparkle and motion, and was a surprise delight to a generation that would soon give themselves over to their social-zapping cel phones. And while his gifts to children were merely testament to his friendships with their parents, his over-the-top style became a source of fascination even when he wasn’t trying to impress. In some ways, we should have seen this child-friendly twist coming.
He’s always been a living disco ball, spinning and throwing off his own sparkle and light, content to shine even if no one is watching or dancing along. That surprisingly-introverted show-off has in recent years slowly but deliberately been removing his own image from his work. “After thirty years of non-stop documentation, I’m sick of posing for pictures!” he exclaims, and you won’t find him clamoring for a selfie anytime soon, and most definitely not in public. These days his focus has shifted. Whereas his early projects served to document his life in diary-like fashion, he’s gradually shifted the gaze elsewhere, using his blog as a personal journal and his projects as an artistic playground. It’s a healthier side-step from the role of tortured artist. It also means he is slightly removed from his creative output, which makes things much more fun.
Even as he was creating one of his darkest works, ‘PVRTD’ he managed to find time to have fun with his friends. “That was… necessary,” he says slowly, emphasizing the ‘necessary’ before adding, “to keep all the darkness at bay.” He follows up with a quick laugh at the drama of it all. In person, he is much lighter than his more serious projects would suggest, another step away from the emotionally-charged creator he’s embodied in the past. In some ways, it’s an extension of his blog, something that has largely taken the place of his projects as a creative outlet. That doesn’t mean he’s done with the more formal design of those projects: his latest, the whimsical rhyme and paint work ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ is his second project in less than a year, spawned in the immediate aftermath of ‘PVRTD’. There are whispers of a companion piece in the works for the holidays, which would make this the most prolific stretch of artistic creation since he was at Brandeis in the 90’s. ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ recalls the quick turnaround and relative simplicity of those early days of artistic expression.
Back then he would sometimes churn out a project a month, mailing them out the old-fashioned way when stamps were only thirty cents and the fanciest print job he could afford came courtesy of the library copy machines. While the production value has gone way up, the passion and drive to create and share – the main heartbeat and pulse of an artist, has remained as vibrant as ever.
As he winds down for the evening at the Fairmont (cutting things short with a polite “I never get to go upstairs to a room here so indulge me until next time!”) he and Kira make a hasty exit, escaping just before the stroke of midnight. Something of a fairytale has suddenly descended over the night – a magical stretch of the imagination or the very real whimsy of his new project? ~ it’s gleefully impossible to tell the difference…
Conceived in the ash-strewn aftermath of 2018’s incendiary ‘PVRTD’ project, ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ is a project marking off a multitude of firsts. First among them is a foray into watercolor painting. Second is the unlikely targeted audience of children. Third is the use of a formal rhyming scheme. Taken together, they form one of the only family-friendly projects Alan Ilagan has ever created, and a quintessentially quirky one at that.
Crafting ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ in the winter of 2019, Ilagan originally intended to write a quick little story for the children in his life – his niece and nephew and all the kids of his friends – as a possible Christmas gift. Initially he had purchased some stock watercolor paintings of flowers online, but decided they were “too precious” for his loose party tale, taking the abstract backgrounds that comprise ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ into his own admittedly-amateurish hands. “I hadn’t painted with watercolors since I was five years old,” Ilagan says, “so this was a way of returning to my own childhood while passing the winter with a colorful hobby.”
Following the dark themes and disturbing images of ‘PVRTD’ – the black and white photo essay that depicted the worst aspects of humanity, Ilagan was seeking something colorful and light-hearted and whimsical. The heaviness of ‘PVRTD’ weighed upon both viewer and creator, imbuing everything with shadow and doubt. A powerful reflection of its time, it wasn’t exactly fun to make. (Alan shot most of it with the people he loved the most to add at least one layer of unseen warmth to the affair, but it had little effect: ‘PVRTD’ remains a cold and upsetting experience.) The antidote, conjured in a flurry of post-‘PVRTD’ project work, is ‘Once Upon A Watercolor’ – which finds his creative process in fascinating flux. “I’m clearly not becoming a painter anytime soon,” he reassures us, “But it was the best way of working through the winter.”
Now, at the height of summer, the new project is being unveiled at a private party, and will go online shortly thereafter.
{See The Projects Page in the coming weeks.}
We’ll drink to-night with hearts as light
To love, as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim, on the beaker’s brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
– Herman Melville, ‘Moby Dick’
Though the Ostrich fern is one of the hardier (some might say invasive) varieties of fern, belying their elegant and delicate appearance, they still have points of vulnerability. This is especially true if you are bending their preferred environment. Most ferns appreciate some shade, and more than a little moisture, but the Ostrich fern will put up with a fair share of sun and heat, provided you keep its soil on the wet side.
We have a large stand of them that gets most of the morning and midday sun, and after amending the soil with a healthy layer of manure in the very early spring (before the fiddleheads appear, ideally) the best way for them to prosper and put on a show is to keep them very well-watered. This is more of a preventative action than corrective. Even in the best circumstances, these ferns tend to naturally die back in late summer. They will, however, succumb much earlier if conditions are hot and dry, and once they start down that path it’s impossible to change course. What works better is preventing it from starting for as long as possible, which means regular and heavy watering during those hot and windy days. Since we have them in a pretty prominent location, I’ve been ding my best to keep them watered and happy so they remain pretty as long as possible. Yet another instance where prevention is the best possible cure. You just have to start early and trust.
When sending out a mass e-mail to an entire organization in which you’re describing someone within said organization, be extra vigilant not to confuse words like ‘conscientious’ with words like ‘contentious.’ Letters matter!
We are all fucked. More than usual, considering that Mercury is in retrograde from now until the very last day of the month. That means I will do my best to lay low and not ruffle any feathers, and I would appreciate it oh-so-much if people would do me the same honor, because I’m actually wearing feathers as we speak. There’s no need to get into what Mercury in retrograde means, and whether or not it means anything is beside the point. I tend to take these periods as a chance to center myself and not let every little aggravating thing get to me. It’s actually a nice life lesson for someone who strives to be a perfectionist – an impossible thing to be in this world. During such times, I will go a little easier on everyone, and I’ll do my best to go a little easier on myself. You have no idea the demon I turn into when I let myself down.
As for the best way to deal with this astrological turbulence, I will hunker down, focus on the things that bring about peace and tranquility, and hopefully sidestep the emotional maelstrom that is Mercury in retrograde. It is what it fucking is, and that’s all it fucking will be.
When you’ve seen a sequin-saturated performance of Cher, Bette Midler, and Elton John from Cher’s variety show, it’s kind of hard to believe anything new is really going to be “the gayest thing ever.â€