A Sunday night snowstorm with a Monday holiday made for a cozy, comfortable evening at home with Andy. As he finished putting together a pasta dinner and warming a loaf of bread in the oven, I did a meditation in the living room. With Monday off, there were no Sunday scaries, a relief in itself, and this further embrace of a winter night kept the evening warm. As we have done for almost twenty-five years, we will continue to find comfort in such cozy evenings, no matter what madness swirls in the outside world. Sometimes I think the colder things get there, the cozier we make it inside our home. A lesson and blueprint for the next few years…

Our Monday morning recap gets a late start due to the holiday and our 22nd blog birthday entry, and perhaps this will help to distract from everything else going on today. Going forward, it may be wise to close ranks, which will simultaneously bring us closer to those we love while making it easier to defend ourselves against those who would hurt us. Lack of morality is a choice, and entirely non-negotiable. On with a robust weekly recap, and the promise to continue to be a bastion of escape, beauty, truth and love. 

Simmering for the full moon.

Basic butt shots for Feast of the Ass Day.

Top or bottom?

The candle that says it all.

A lonely hunter cries like the wolf.

A brief and very bad poem.

A purple cup of memory.

A silly sock post.

Winter’s insufferable holding pattern.

The edging of the demise of TikTok.

A scathing letter to Carrie Underwood.

Happy birthday to my Mom.

Brand new attitude.

This is me now.

The smallest day.

As I predicted, TikTok was shut down for performative purposes only, and less than a full day. The joke that is our country continues to be played, and it’s on all of us. 

Not responding is a response, and it will be responded to in kind.

Twenty-two years ago this month this website went live. 

In honor of an American hero.

Dazzlers of the Day included Ryan McCartan  and Devon Rodriguez.

Today we mark Martin Luther King Day, and nothing else.

There are two quotes that speak to today’s dim world more than ever:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

“Cowardice asks the question, is it safe? Expediency asks the question, is it politic? Vanity asks the question, is it popular? But conscience asks the question, is it right? And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must take it because it is right.”

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

While this year will be filled with far more signifiant numbers, twenty-two years of a personal blog is a pretty remarkable feat, especially when one considers the average age of a blog these days (at last check, and this data is sketchy at best, it was about 2.4 years). That makes ALANILAGAN.com an absolute dinosaur, not entirely unlike its namesake (speeding along to 50 with no respite in sight). 

In all that time, and while the rest of the world discovered social media and technology expanded at terrifying rates, I’ve kept this as a personal diary that has remained largely unchanged as far as basic content and format goes. It was always intended to be clean and simple (though in its planning stages I went broke for baroque – requesting sound and animation and even preliminary discussions on how to incorporate fragrance into the equation, which I accepted a compromise with scented promotional mailings) – and upon hearing the opinions of others, and realizing what blog formats I myself enjoyed, I’ve intentionally kept it relatively clean and spare. Sparing the bells and whistles has allowed me to focus on the substance, though I do my best to dress it up whenever and however possible.

The arc of over two decades allows for assessment of patterns and habits, and the perspective of that time gives one a certain bit of wisdom, not all of it welcome or wanted. It’s hard to face your own failings, and I’ve been staring at myself through the eyes of unmitigated self-expression for so long that I am very much tired of it sometimes. What keeps me going is seeing those infrequent but precious moments of growth and evolution, even if seeing them reveals some embarrassing behavior and opinions of my past. Were it not for so many mistakes, there would be far less learning. 

So here’s to the next year of missteps and atrocities, and putting them on display for all the world to ignore – and here’s to the last twenty-two:

• Spilling the tea for over twenty years

• Sipped or spilled, the tea here is always hot

• Tea tease

• Putting the kettle on

• Prepping for a two-decade salute

• This was 20

• Twenty years of naked titillation

• A cup of tea with Oscar

• Hot tea amid a snowy night

• A Double Decade of Revelations

• The eyes of nostalgia

• Still click-baiting in my underwear

I used to think that not responding to a text in which a specific question and deadline is given is ruder than saying ‘Fuck you’ to someone’s face. At least the ‘fuck you’ indicates you care the bare minimum to respond. To simply ignore someone means you don’t even give the slightest fuck about them. 

That said, it seems to be the acceptable mode of operating these days, so rather than try to fight it anymore, I’m giving in… and not responding to texts. Especially texts that request a response. 

Sometimes it’s easier to be a flake than to fight with a flake. 

(And I still don’t really understand what a flake is.)

PS – This actually wasn’t written with a specific person in mind, but if you think it’s you, well…

First of all, I don’t think TikTok is going away forever – you’re all being played by billionaires and con-men, and when the FOTUS (Felon Of The United States) assumes power and begins his fascist playbook, he’ll ‘miraculously’ save the app while not solving any of its very real security concerns. But if you want to give China access to all your information, you do you. (I put most of my damning nudity and nakedness and nasty stuff right here on my website so if they want to exploit me they can put ALANILAGAN.com on the international map.)

Second, I’ve been around before social media even existed. This very website was live before FaceBook or Twitter or Instagram or Snapchat or TikTok or BlueSky, and as each one works to destroy itself, I’ve slowly disassociated and distanced myself from all of them. If I’m on these days, it’s to post a blog link, respond to friendly comments, and then I’m off. No longer do I engage as much, and I’ve been treading with a lighter touch over the past few years on a whole. 

Third, as someone who’s been fortunate to have a decent number of followers on certain platforms (my Twitter zenith reached 75,000 before it became X, and my TikTok and BlueSky accounts are/were over 6,000, with the latter growing by the day) I can say with certainty that if any of those platforms went away, I would lose absolutely nothing because they have given me absolutely nothing. So when people lament and mourn the momentary inaccessibility of TikTok, I wonder what exactly they have been getting from it, aside from entertainment and amusement, not unimportant things, but not exactly necessities. 

I don’t personally know anyone who makes a direct living off of social media – do you? And while I respect that people have made connections and found engagement with others through social media, in your day-to-day life, how does it actually impact you? Because it doesn’t really play much of a role in my daily existence. I wake up, greet my husband, go to work, talk to co-workers, text some friends, hang out with them, see a movie, take a weekend trip to Boston, attend a Broadway show, plan a vacation to Maine, have dinner with friends, see family, write this blog, cook a new recipe, jot down plans for the garden, go out to dinner with Andy, do my daily meditation, listen to a new song, listen to an old song, fertilize the orchid that is in bloom again, clean the guest room for a possible visit in the spring, work on ideas for our 15th anniversary and my 50th birthday later this year… all boring and dull and banal, and all more real and engaging than anything I’ve ever done on social media. The most mundane machinations of daily living will always be more thrilling than what you think you see online. 

The world is about to get a lot darker, and social media is only going to get worse. Misinformation, lies, and cons have been festering for years, while fact-checking and evidence-based arguments are eroding. This website will always be as genuine and authentic as I can make it – but you are still only seeing an edited and curated glimpse of things (I don’t even want to see my hair in the morning). What works best for me now is keeping social media at a distance, not allowing it become such a part of my life that I get worked up or upset over the supposed demise of something called ‘TikTok’, and reinvesting in being present for the reality of my existence.

When we look back on our lives, I don’t think many of us will ever say, “I had the best time on my phone.”

My morning commute to the office occurs right around sunrise these days, at least on the days that aren’t obscuring the sun. It’s a sacred and usually serene time, with the first flush of fellow commuters sharing the road. When I’m a little earlier, this crowd dwindles, if something in the present tense can ever be in the past, or the future for that matter. Apologies for the game of words, it’s the little things that bring us silliness and joy

A week or two ago, I caught the break of the sun as I careened down Albany Shaker Road. Framed by the road, the electrical lines, and the street lights, it was a sliver of the natural world ensnared by the drab messiness of humans. Best of times, worst of times, blah blah blah… and I chose to embrace the beauty of the light. That very first light of day is a trick less of the sun and more the movement of the earth; we control our perception with greater influence than we realize. To that end, I made the decision to have a decent day. It didn’t need to be good – it’s damn near impossible to have a good day anymore given the current state of the world – it only needed to be decent, and it would be. 

Old Attitude: when they go low, we go high.

New Attitude: when they go low, we step on them.

(And really, that should have been our attitude all along. Too late now…)

FAFO.

John Pavlovitz wrote this public letter to Carrie Underwood based on her recent decision to perform for the incoming Trump regime. While it speaks directly and specifically to her, I find that it also speaks about everyone who supports this monster in any way, especially the Christians. He puts is far more eloquently and powerfully than I could, so I’m reprinting it here. See the original on his site:

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dear Carrie Underwood,

I hope this finds you well.

I’m writing because I’ve heard you speak eloquently about your Christian faith in the past, watched you perform a song about the beautiful mystery of baptism, often listened to your now-ubiquitous invocation for Jesus to take the wheel: to guide the life you live and to let his will direct your path.

I also know that you’ve been a role model for girls and young women all over this nation, obviously well-aware of your influence on them.

Given these things, as a former pastor and the father of a girl myself, I wonder how you reconcile your personal faith with a performance at the Inauguration of Donald Trump.

As a woman and professed follower of Jesus, exactly how do you make sense of using your tremendous gifts to celebrate an adjudicated rapist;
a man accused by dozens of women of assault, harassment, and misconduct;
a man who has boasted about taking elemental body autonomy from the girls and women of this nation;
a man who once said that if his daughter were not blood relation, that he might be dating her?

I’m curious to hear you explain what message you think it sends to millions of survivors of sexual assault, who will watch you contribute to the coronation of a human being whose entire life, business history, and political career have been marked by the most vile, dehumanizing, and misogynistic language about and behavior toward women?

This is to say nothing of his 34 felony counts, his many indictments for high crimes, his near superhuman inability to speak truthfully, or his continual verbal attacks on immigrants, LGBTQ human beings, people of color, and all Americans who did not vote for him.

And as a declared Christian, how can you share the announcement of your participation in this event, while in real-time, California burns and millions of its people are in the most dire need—and he is spewing a steady stream of social media insults, disinformation, and abject hatred?

Where is the Jesus in any of this, Carrie?

And perhaps above all of that, just precisely what in the teachings of Jesus make it acceptable to partner with Donald Trump on any level?

Where have you seen him love his neighbor, help heal the sick, feed the poor, welcome the stranger, care for the least of these?
When exactly have you witnessed him embodying the peacemaking, humble, kindhearted directives of the Beatitudes?
How precisely have you seen Donald Trump live a love and compassion that bear any resemblance to Jesus?
I’m not being rhetorical here or trying to insult you, I’d really like to know.

I understand you have boys of your own. I’m wondering when they grow up, if you’d like them to emulate Donald Trump, if you’ll approve of them treating women the way he has, if you’d be proud to have them speak about people the way he does.

Carrie, I don’t know you and so I can’t judge your heart or declare your motives or evaluate your faith and wouldn’t attempt to. I can only tell you what I see from where I stand (Jesus called it, describing the tangible fruit of someone’s outward actions.)

And what I see from here, is an incredibly influential, talented woman who has chosen to wear her faith proudly on her sleeve—also choosing to use her gifts for an event devoted to perhaps the most predatory, most divisive, and least Christlike human being on the planet. As someone who spent decades learning and sharing the teachings of Jesus, none of it makes any sense.

So, if you’re able, with some specificity, please share with me,
with the tens of millions of Christians in this country,
with the women who are being legislatively silenced by him,
with the immigrants and refugees and foreigners he is persecuting,
with the poor and elderly and vulnerable he is preying upon,
and with the people of California and North Carolina whose unfathomable suffering he is exploiting and exacerbating right now—exactly how you feel Jesus is steering this decision.

Because from the outside, it feels like a horrible disconnect.

– John Pavlovitz

I take it back.

Well, almost.

Not enough to revise and rewrite the title of this post, but I wrote it with a weary eye, and an element of histrionic rage that doesn’t accurately betray our actual state. In truth, over the past few years I’ve come to embrace and appreciate winter’s stark and barren beauty, the way it forces us to pause and take stock, how it stills the world with its inhospitable environment, chasing us inside, to the interior of our homes and minds. Winter refuses to let us escape, sometimes quite literally. 

Because of that, we must make sure our inside worlds are just as beautiful and inviting as the outside one. Winter has often instigated moments of contemplation and self-work. When and where otherwise I’d be outside frantically scrambling to get the yard in order or figuring out how to keep a messy mound of fountain grass within bounds, at this time of the year I can calmly look out over whatever remains and think fondly of the garden without exerting myself more than leafing through a few seed catalogs. 

And so I retract the title of this post, taking out the ‘insufferable‘ part and simply acknowledging and accepting the way of winter. 

PS – Candlelight helps.