Category Archives: General

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.

A blatant, empty, vapid place marker for better things, but such is the essence of the mid-day post. I consider it a cheat post because it’s really a link to a much more interesting site: Vogue. Not for fashion this time, but for a list of some of the funniest Instagram accounts. Just go there and follow. It’s an Instagram kind of day.

As FaceBook and Twitter turn into political hotbeds of lies and deceit, I’ve been turning my attention to Instagram, which is a much more enjoyable experience these days. It’s just very difficult to argue with photographic evidence of things because, well… photographs. There’s also less room for political discourse and raving, and best of all there are no pesky links (despite my own ubiquitous ALANILAGAN.com branding). They still don’t like a woman’s nipple or a man’s penis (flaccid or erect) but they’re less hypocritical than, say, FaceBook when it comes to the human body.

I also get some pearls of wisdom from those whom I follow. I hardly ever LOL – in reality or on social media – but I did just that when I read this Instagram meme: “Treat life like a dick. When it gets hard, fuck it.” Hey, I didn’t write it. I only read it. And re-posted it. Cuz it’s funny.

Kinda like my Instagram account, which is a pictorial essay in ridiculousness. From my naked ass to a cookie, we cover any kind of sweet you want. We’ve got savory things too, from a bowl of pho to my sheathed cock. Jewels and jocks, cocktails and cockteases, Frangelico and freesias – there’s a smorgasbord of stuff to astound and dismay. With Ringling Brothers closing shop, there’s got to be a repository for the circus element. I’m happy to oblige. Save your side-eye; follow mine.

I will do my best to avoid and ignore the travesty that is the new President, because we don’t entertain the lying or the treasonous here.  There will be a few political posts from time to time, but that’s never been what this place is about, and to that end I’ll do my best to keep things light and frivolous. This is a bastion of beauty and art, and a celebration of joy and prettiness. Looking back on the last week, let’s see how well I did.

It began on a hopeful-enough note: words from Martin Luther King Jr.

We celebrated my Mom’s birthday.

Some people have called me Heloise. (Just kidding.)

Is this my new spirit animal? I think it may be.

Throwing it back to a 70’s shower stall.

Man candy came in the likable forms of Nico Tortorella and a naked Jude Law.

The Madonna Timeline returned as she took us on an ‘Inside Out’ journey.

Watch this Feud.

I made a banana trifle! And you can too!

A pink cacophony.

The hawk in winter.

Hair stems.

Hunks of the Day included Lewis Tan, Jeffery Self, Barclay Beales, Tony Milan (pictured), Prateik Babbar and Pierson Fodé.

The maidenhair fern takes its common name partly from the way its black stems look after the foliage has been taken by the cold. Mounds of dark-hair are all that’s left in its winter places, signifying a fallen heroine, but also the promise of beauty to come. Despite their delicate appearance, these ferns are hardy even in the cruel environs of upstate New York.

This specimen was growing in a greenhouse, so it probably does deserve a delicate reputation. I’ve never grown these indoors, and I’m hesitant to do so because the air is so dry at this time of the year. I may chance putting one in a terrarium of sorts if I can find a unique and pretty one, but part of me doesn’t want to risk it. I’d feel terrible if I ended up ruining one of these gorgeous plants.

For now, I’ll keep it in the garden room of my imagination.

There’s a different kind of brilliance to the blue of sky at the height of winter. On the days when it’s not overcast or gray, when the sun is shining and the clouds have disappeared, it has a clarity that can only come from cold air. When it forms the backdrop to a hawk taking flight, it’s even more striking.

Being that we’re not outside as much in this season, I don’t notice the hawks as much as I do in the summer. They’re also less noisy at this time of the year. When the one pictured here took off into the air there was nothing but silence.

Winter is like that. Even with the wind and snowstorms, there is a silence and stillness to the slumbering season that’s different from summer. Maybe it’s the lack of insects singing in the night, the absence of any annoying buzz of a mosquito or cry of a hungry toad. Or maybe in winter I’m always in such a rush to get somewhere warm that I don’t take the time to listen to the sounds of the season opening up.

The hawk swoops among the pine trees, gliding swiftly through the sky in graceful arcs. Soaring over all, it is resplendent in the sunlight, backed by a lovely shade of blue. A predator airborne, its shadow sends rodents scurrying when it doesn’t succeed in a surprise attack. Amid such beauty, an element of danger.

The hawk recedes into the blue, without whoosh of wind or scrape of bark. Power can be still. Power can be silent. True power has no need to scream or put on a show. A flash of a red tail puts the ground below on notice. We are watching.

Some of us have been waiting for Ryan Murphy to wow us again ever since the first, and best, season of ‘American Horror Story’ – and a few extra-critical folks have been waiting for such a feat since the first season of ‘Glee’ – I’m one of the former, and ever since Jessica Lange left ‘AHS’ it’s gone decidedly downhill. Murphy’s next entertainment salvo however, looks to be a doozy: a look at the legendary feud between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, specifically during their time shooting ‘Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’ Lange stars in the more difficultly nuanced role of Ms. Crawford – nuanced only in comparison to the ferocity of Ms. Davis, played by Susan Sarandon (the only thing that gives me pause right now). Murphy knows his way around a diva – let’s see how well he does with two.

The real deal, below.

This gratuitous throwback shower post is less about how young I once was and more about what atrocious shower tile we used to have. A remnant from the era in which the house was built, this pattern was designed to work with the avocado green that formed the color theme of the original master bathroom. If you have a nightmarish imagination, you might be able to conjure the shag carpet that was also part of the bathroom (because the most practical thing for a bathroom to have is shag carpeting). While our kitchen renovation was a marvel, the bathroom revamp was heaven-sent.

It is, oddly enough, one of my favorite rooms in the house, thanks to the extensive Tom Ford Private Blends collection on hand (among Hermes, Diana Vreeland, Byredo, Frederic Malle, and Jean-Claude Ellena). It’s the place where I open and close the day with a pair of showers, some of which turn into the closest thing I can muster for a spa experience. It also affords me a place to think about the day – whether it’s the one to come or the one that just went away. Rather than an in-between rushed space, it’s become a destination unto itself – for preparation, for relaxation, and for urination. I love a room that’s so multi-functional.

I am totally this monkey.

This monkey is totally me.

No explanation is necessary.

It speaks for itself.

We are us.

“The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists will we be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice?” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

“A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual doom.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

“If any of you are around when I have to meet my day, I don’t want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long. Every now and then I wonder what I want them to say…I’d like somebody to mention that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others. I’d like for somebody to say that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody. I want you to say that day, that I tried to be right on the war question. I want you to be able to say that day that I did try to feed the hungry. I want you to be able to say that day that I did try in my life to clothe those who were naked. I want you to say, on that day, that I did try, in my life, to visit those who were in prison. I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

A brief thaw of milder weather, typical around this time in January, has left this past week feeling slightly out-of-whack. January thaws mess with the mind far more than Mercury in Retrograde or any full moon, and I wonder why more isn’t made of them.

The biggest news for readers of this blog may have been the big boxer-brief splash made by Joe Jonas in this sexy spread for Guess. It was so good I had to post an additional post of Joe Jonas in his underwear just to make it last.

The biggest news for the owner and writer of this blog, however, was this stunning photo shoot of Madonna for Harper’s Bazaar. It was perfectly-timed to coincide with the return of the Madonna Timeline.

The beauty, grace and power of the snowflake.

A naked Austin Armacost.

A Speedo-clad Trevor Donovan.

Backyard beauty.

Golden hour glamour.

Sunrise splendor.

The New Yorker.

Hunks of the Day included John Legend, Garrison Lambert, Douglas Booth, Ashley McKenzie, Drake Abshire, Romain Barras & Henry Licett.

Donald Trump is going to have his usual 6 AM Twitter tantrum when this gets released, as he’s done with the New York Times, Vanity Fair, CNN, Meryl Streep, and every other reasonable and intelligent entity the world has known. This perfectly encapsulates the multi-chinned cheeto-orange tiny-handed baby that’s about to take office. See, when you unleash a torrent of insults on everyone else you better have your own saggy ass covered. Get your diapers ready, Donald. Release your taxes. Fess up to your treason.  But keep your golden showers, because we don’t sex-shame anyone here, not for all the pee-pecadilloes in the world.

But this cup is just for me.

It’s my twofer, the big-ass cup I keep at my work desk so I don’t have to make a second trip to the kitchen for green tea. Whenever I feel a bit stressed out, I pause and realign my concerns. Swirling the teabag, I watch as the water turns a beautiful shade of rust. It is a meditative moment, brief but integral to the happiness of a day. These little things matter.

This will be a light day, pun-intended, as I may be away for the weekend. In the meantime, more photos taken in the golden hour, from my hometown of Amsterdam, NY. I like the fire hydrant, a small but potent focal point.