Category Archives: General

I don’t know if this story is real or legit, and I honestly don’t care.

I just need to believe it right now.

{See also #TinyThreads.}

Man Finds A Family Of Mice In His Garden, Builds Them A Tiny Village To Live In

Pictured here is a clump of beauty-berry in the Southwest Corridor Park near our place in Boston. I love their color, their architecture, and their striking effect. I just don’t grow them because of their very late season pay-off. Can’t grow everything, but I can appreciate others who do.

At the time that this gets posted we are scheduled to be winding up a sleep-over with the Ilagan twins – the first of its kind here, as we will be doing it without the help and aid of my brother, so there’s no telling what shape we, or the kids for that matter, will be in. It’s a test for when/if we bring them to the Children’s Holiday Hour in Boston closer to Christmas. And it’s ok if no one passes this test. On with the faux-holiday recap…

This was the week I may have come around to the charm of ‘Hocus Pocus’ thanks mostly to Bette Midler. 

It also marked the start of soup season. 

A dozen wasted years on FaceBook. Regrets, I’ve had a few…

Life is a cabaret, old chum, come to the cabaret!

One day Skip and I will live-blog a night at the movies. And we will want Erin there. 

Though scant, there were still a few #TinyThreads that poked through the balmy weather. 

Repetition at American Air.

The EXACT DATE I’m going to die. (And thus the end of this blog.)

A very gratuitous bulge post of Dan Osborne.

The best part of this past week was a visit to Boston and some very dear friends. if you’ve been here before you surely know Kira and JoAnn. The journey begins here and winds through Boston and Cambridge, concluding here. 

October Hunks included James Cartwright, Max Brown, John Paul Jones, Zedd, Jacob Frey, Danny Williams, and Harry Styles.

My favorite books often contain some insidious and hidden twist that comes to light in the matter-of-fact revelation of a few obscured words. I love when a writer detonates such bombs in the otherwise calm and tranquil seas of their prose. These aren’t major things – just little hints to character and history that lend shading and nuance to the story and description at hand. One doesn’t usually realize they’ve exploded until something in the future recalls it to life, and by then it’s too late to be suspect. I can’t think of any concrete examples right now, but the next time I find one I’ll try to post it.

Such hints can be found during anyone’s average day, though they are usually too subtle to be seen. That’s why I like words. They can extract more than a photograph or a melody. They extract less too, which only makes me love them more. Devastatingly devious, they can go unnoticed when put forth in simple, flippant form. Like the recent work day in which I almost had three distinctive panic attacks, and in some artfully-constructed bit of cosmic confluence I felt sudden and unavoidable failure at every turn. I’m still not quite sure how I made it through that day without incident. I was trying to tell Andy about it but we almost got in a car accident, after which he never asked anything more.

The book sits in deceptive peace. Its pages are silent and still but within is contained all the turmoil, anguish and terror of a ruthless world. The best authors do what they can to keep it between the covers, to encapsulate the stories within beautiful bookends. They put it all down in words in some vain attempt to trap and confine the evil to paper. A physical manifestation – because otherwise how does one destroy darkness?

These ruminations are worthy of nothing more than passing Halloween fancy. We won’t go nearly as close to the macabre as Edgar Allen Poe dared. We shall stay to the well-lit paths when we seek our candy, stopping only at the illuminated houses our parents deem safe. It gets dark so early now. I do love the fall, but it does get dark so early. So, so early…

The sign seen here “I Survived the Double M Haunted Hayrides” should be amended for me to say “For Now” based on what was foretold that evening. I’d been coerced into attending the frightful event with a few co-workers, and after dodging and ducking and screaming my way through a hayride and several houses of horror, we paused for a moment in the field, where some of the characters were making their way through the crowd. We stood talking and celebrating our survival when this grim reaper (seen below with my pal Betsy) approached our group, pointed me out, and told me I was going to die on September 23, 2021. 

My first reaction was, ‘Are they supposed to say shit like that to people? That might seriously fuck up the wrong person.’ 

My second reaction was, ‘I could take all of this as a macabre joke if he wasn’t so specific about the date.’

My third reaction was, ‘Now that I know, I don’t need to worry about it.’

That mix of relief and exultation fueled me rather than scared me. If I’m going to die in less than two years, I’m not putting up with all the bullshit that we too often put up with. I’m also not going to bother doing things I’d rather not do. In short, I’m taking this death sentence and using it to live the life we should all be living. You should too, even if you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.

(I suppose that also means September 23, 2021 is the last day this blog will exist, unless I do some major pre-populating, which seems unlikely given that I’M ABOUT TO DIE.)

Do I really bother reading all these e-mail messages from American Air?

Do they all say the same thing?

Or were there really all these changes from 2:25 AM to 2:27 AM this morning?

It seems suspect.

And annoying, since I’ll end up opening every last one just to be sure some important details isn’t included in at least one of them. 

(By the way, there were more than the screenshots here – I just didn’t bother with the rest. You get the idea.)

Over the last dozen or so years that Skip and I have been going to movies together, we’ve developed a routine that is likely as tiresome and trying to the food vendors as it is comfortable and amusing to us. I will, without fail, ask what decaffeinated sodas they have (it tends to be Sprite or Root Beer, though one time the person serving us said they had iced tea…?) Skip will do his schtick, which is way more entertaining for someone who’s never heard it before than it is to, well, me. By the time we get the extra-buttered popcorn and a Sprite, we’ve made fast friends with the staff selling all the overpriced snack food.

Every once in a while, someone stands out from the long parade of nameless faces that have filled our popcorn buckets, and they’ll remember us as much as we remember them. Enter Erin, whom we had the pleasure of ordering from a few weeks ago, at which point Skip talked up ALANILAGAN.com and my Twitter account. Apparently she immediately started following me and visiting this site. I’m usually too exhausted and tired to do much of anything after a movie, so I never got around to following her until this past week, when we were back in her line and she was admonishing me for not following her. After checking my Twitter, I found her there and instantly returned the favor. You should totally do the same: @ebakes98. 

What good is sitting all alone in your room? Come hear the music play!

Life is a cabaret, old chum! Come to the cabaret!

One of my most favorite events of the year returns to the city where I first attended its splendiferous celebration: the Boo-jolais Cabaret is back in Troy, and I can’t wait to see what they do with their Cabaret theme. Bowler hats and stockings and Liza, oh my! 

Taking place on Friday, October 25, 2019 from 6 to 9 PM at the Hilton Garden Inn in Troy, NY, the Boo-jolais Cabaret is a Halloween bash that benefits the Alliance for Positive Health, and as their signature event, it brings together the best that our area has to offer. Along with the wine tasting and tables of food provided by the greatest of our local eateries, there will also be a silent auction and live entertainment by Grand Central Station. Costumes and finery are encouraged, and I’m working on my outfit as I write this… You may purchase tickets for the event HERE.

The Alliance for Positive Health is a private, not-for-profit, human service organization whose mission is to reduce the impact and incidence of HIV/AIDS and other serious medical and social conditions.  The Alliance for Positive Health serves a fifteen-county region in Northeastern New York headquartered in Albany.  Five regional offices provide a host of services and supports as well.  These offices are in Albany, Hudson, Hudson Falls, Plattsburgh, and Schenectady. Proceeds from this event support the Alliance for Positive Health’s local services to people living with or affected by HIV/AIDS and other serious medical and social conditions. For more information about the important work the Alliance for Positive Health is doing in our shared community, visit their website at: www.allianceforpositivehealth.org.

Originally I wrote this post to commemorate my 12th anniversary on FaceBook, but then I realized I didn’t do a  proper comparison between my first profile pic and my most recent one, so below you have the before and after. Not sure what came before or what came after, or what before and after even means anymore, but people seem to enjoy such comparisons and I’m nothing if not a people-pleaser. 

Far better than most people would expect, I have pretty much embraced getting older. I honor every wrinkle and gray hair, and while I may not exactly love the slower metabolism and expanding waist-line, I’ve learned to make my peace with it and work to keep things in check (just to hang onto some favorite pants). Everyone is getting older. If we don’t learn to love it and accept it, the world will only get more upsetting. I also love seeing how everyone deals with it – it’s fascinating to watch some fight it, some enjoy it, and most fall somewhere in-between. I’m trying my best to enjoy it. The alternative to growing old is not quite as pretty. 

There’s something to be said for nostalgia, and the way a movie seen in our childhood can become something powerful, even if it’s not that good. Case in point, or so I’m told, is ‘Hocus Pocus’. Sadly, or happily as the case may be, I didn’t see this when I was a kid (I’m just this side of too-old when it came out in the 90’s.) That means its charm is lost on me. Much like ‘Dirty Dancing’ when I finally got around to seeing it a couple of years ago. (She carried a watermelon – big fucking deal.)

I have my own love of mediocre films that I saw as a kid which mean something more than their objectively lackluster quality. {See ‘The Goonies‘ and ‘Adventures in Babysitting.’} But I also remember one or two that are actually quite good on their own. {See ‘Stand By Me.’} As for ‘Hocus Pocus’, it’s been growing on me, which is good, since it’s unavoidable for the remainder of this month. Thank Bette Midler for working that magic spell. Kathy Najimy and Sarah Jessica Parker don’t hurt either. 

It was a banner fall weekend in Boston, but before we get into that here’s a quick look back at the week that came before. We have to honor the past before we move into the future. Besides, anything to extend this lovely weekend is welcome right now. 

We entered October with a backward glance at some other Octobers. 

Festooned with foul language. 

A new Madonna Timeline: ‘Illuminati.’

Now and then we’ll pick up a few #TinyThreads. 

Welcome… to Jurassic Park.

Wishful tradition. 

Foxy proxy.

Uncle Andy. 

Since 1986.

Smacked down in Starbucks. 

Finally, a powerful reason to cancel my Planet Fitness membership.

Self check-out shenanigans. 

Remembering Madonna’s Girlie Show.

Stupidity at Starbucks. 

Hunks of the Day included Matthew Morrison, Dustin Milligan, and Nick Bracks. 

Me, placing my order: Iced venti decaf Americano.

Barista: Hot or cold?

I have very mixed feelings about the self check-out option in supermarkets. Having worked in retail for a number of years, this doesn’t come from a place of privilege or ignorance. My issue is that when I’m checking out at the market, I invariably have a couple of vegetables that do not have bar codes on them, so someone always – ALWAYS – has to come help with checking me out. That negates the self-check-out aspect of the whole thing. 

The other issue that I’ve noticed is that now the self-check-out lines are often just as long, if not longer, than the regular lines, so what is the point? I’m no longer in retail, so there’s a good chance I’m missing something. 

It was about seven or eight years ago when I joined Planet Fitness. It was a fall deal they had going, and for $10 a month how could I refuse? Even if I just used it three or four times a month, it would be worth it. For about a year or two I went semi-religiously (and since church was once a week, I considered once a week ‘religiously’). For the past five years, however, I’ve sort of been promising to go without ever delivering. So when it came to light that Planet Fitness CEO Chris Rondeau had donated to Donald Trump, as well as anti-LGBT candidate Andy Sanborn, I had the perfect excuse to end my membership.

The woman behind the counter asked what my reason for canceling was.

“Your CEO donated to Donald Trump and at this point I can’t be part of any of that,” I said, not in anger or unfriendliness. The manager was standing right next to her and he gave a little nod.

“That’s fair,” he said. I chuckled a little, and he looked at my account, explaining that my annual fee was already pending, and I said I wasn’t worried about that – I had no issue paying it. He went on to say that if I ever changed my mind to get in touch with him – at which point he handed me his card – and if I came back he would credit this fee toward a new membership.

That’s fair.

But until such time that Mr. Rondeau publicly changes his Trump tune, I won’t be part of the Planet Fitness family. To think that any part of those $10/month payments went to that traitorous moron is unforgivable.

From time to time I need to be checked. Hard checked. That time came as I waited impatiently in the line at Starbucks. Already annoyed that the kids in the place outnumbered the adults , I longed for the days when Starbucks was not the province of young children. Ahead of me, a guy in a baggy suit waited with his kid. Paired with the suit, which was only mildly offensive for its ill-fit, was a pair of navy sneakers. Not dressy sneakers either – plain running sneakers. They had no place next to that suit. They had no place next to any suit. I almost took a picture for a post of shame.

After getting my coffee and settling into a couch, I watched the man pick up his drink. He walked with a limp, and he did his best to keep up with his son, and I instantly felt shame at what I had thought. He was wearing sneakers because he had to – and I had judged him and thought less of him for his choices before I thought of an explanation other than bad taste. And even if was bad taste, it was his choice. Who the fuck was I to think anything of it? It was a sudden and jarring smackdown of my silliness, reminding me that you never really know what’s going on with other people, even if it seems obvious and apparent. More importantly, it reminded me to ask – about others, about their stories, about their hurt and pain.

It was disappointing.  I was disappointed in myself. I’m usually better than this. Not always. But usually.

I’ll try for always from now on.

I’ve been taking selfies since 1986. 

I’m kind of over it.