Category Archives: General

Originally this was to be a recap of the month of September – and it still will be – but having just recapped a week, I don’t feel like rehashing that again, so instead, let’s look at September 2012 – one year ago. I seem to have an easier time in even years. Back in 2012, I was up to my usual mischief, haunting my usual haunts, and dealing with my usual nocturnal madness. It had been a summer encapsulated by the Speedo, but by September I was ready to hang it up to dry.

It was time to get all Sporty Spice with the World Series and the start of football season. (Was that right?)

Reading remained fundamental.

It’s been over a year since I’ve had a massage. No wonder I’ve been such a bitch. Someone pony up a Mandarin gift certificate stat.

I was seeing Madonna again, and remembering my very first time.

But my heart also belonged to Shirley, especially in September.

Working hard.

It’s not easy for me to apologize, not even to Anderson Cooper. But I did. (Thank him for getting shirtless too.)

My current culinary fascination actually began a while back, and it may have started with this Filipino feast. Family has a way of becoming important again in the fall, in every sort of way.

Having neglected a proper write up of this wonderful plant this year, I’m glad I did it back then.

Oh yeah, I was still getting my kit off. Because in September the sun still lingers, and the pool is still open. Far deeper than that, though, was the real nakedness – the kind that strips the soul bare. It makes all the other nudity superfluous.

But it was better when other guys got naked too, save for a few strategically placed hands – like those of the lucky lady cupping Adam Levine’s otherwise naked body,  the lucky lady being straddled by a very naked Prince Harry, the lucky lady being mounted by Ryan Phillippe, the lucky Speedo covering Tom Daley’s bits, the lucky hands of Ryan Reynolds cupping his naked self, and a bunch of Ben Cohen in his briefs, his boxer briefs, and with his huge hose. Oh, we can’t forget The Gronk, this battle of the butts (and its epic GIF rematch), and Jake Gyllenhaal’s naked ass too.

A very dangerous quote.

 And an apple crisp.

This week, September comes to its glorious close, and it seems to be going out in a beautiful blaze. For all of our complaining and whining about the end of summer, the start of fall offers more than compensatory beauty as a balm for what will inevitably come.

One of my favorite cocktails for fall is the negroni (which I prefer straight-up).

Nothing beats a cozy fall night in Boston with a dear friend, unless it’s a cozy fall night in Boston with a book (and no clothes). (And speaking of no clothes…)

Keeping things hot as we slide into cooler weather were the ongoing collection of Hunks of the Day. Shirtlessly strutting their stuff were the chiseled physical forms of Filipino television star Piolo Pascual, American television star Julian Morris, super-plucked footballer Cristiano Ronaldo, and the bouncing buttocks of Jude Law.

A kitchen renovation is in the preliminary planning stages, and though I’ve already made a number of major compromises (big ones, too), I predict a stressful few months ahead. Thank God none of my favorite cocktails require running water.

Sometimes even the most fashionable among us need a little reassurance.

No matter how far you run, or how hard you try, you cannot escape your childhood. Be ready for the journey.

Finally, the new season of the Cohoes Music Hall just opened with this stellar production of ‘Les Miserables’, so be sure to check it out before it ends its run on October 13.

A little bit of ‘Autumn Leaves’ for your Sunday brunch background by the Bill Evans Trio. Fall is here, and will be for a while. Best to settle in and enjoy it, reconcile ourselves to the season, and to not looking back. The summer will be ahead of us again, but at the moment it’s the last Sunday in September, and soon it will be October, rushing in on the night wind, no other way around it.

The sun in September is sometimes the prettiest the sun ever gets to be. The brilliance of the sky backs it up, and the leaves mirror its glory. It will not go down without a fight – a gorgeous, flaming, beautiful fight. But for now, put down the September sword. Set your tea upon this coaster. Take up your New York Times, being careful of the ink. Listen to the music, and watch for the falling leaves. The morning is young, and the show has just begun…

Everybody wants to blame the goldenrod for their allergies this season. That’s because it’s the most visible supposed-offender, heralding its presence with those bright yellow blooms, crying out every time the sun reflects its golden light. But it’s not the goldenrod that’s making you sneeze, it’s most likely ragweed. Dispersing its sneeze-inducing pollen at the same time, only more unnoticeably, it gets away with the mischief and lets the goldenrod take the blame. The ragweed pollen flies on the slightest breeze – not so with the goldenrod. Yet it’s always the flashy ones that get the blame. I know what that’s like, and it’s never fair.

The first step of our kitchen renovation begins in earnest this weekend, as we meet with our designer to settle on a final layout, and decide on which contractor’s bid to accept. Our estimated completion time for this project is sometime in January, with the real work starting in November/December, just in time for the holiday season! As such, our holiday party will be a little different this year. Picture hard hats and construction tape. But it will (hopefully) be worth it. If for nothing else, for some great blog fodder, because you know it’s going to be disastrous at times. I’ve already toyed with the idea of taking a leave of absence and high-tailing it to Boston for the weeks of construction, but that would never be approved, so my co-workers are on high-alert that my normally-bitchy bearing will reach levels of unbearableness. Such is the price of a new kitchen.

As for how I’m going to get through a full kitchen reno with my new passion for cooking in full swing, I haven’t quite figured out yet. As I said, I anticipate being out of town for every weekend this takes place, if not staying at my parents full-time. Andy is welcome to come along, but he won’t, and I don’t want to hear any complaints. All I want is a granite peninsula and all will be right with the world. How we get to that point… well, fasten your seatbelts – it’s going to be a bumpy night.

Every night my bed becomes something else. Sometimes it is a rocket, sometimes it is a plane, sometimes it is a hotel in London, and sometimes it is a desert in the Middle East. Lately, my bed has been a boat, sailing along the coast of British Columbia, skirting bears and whales and foraging food from the sea. I drift along, sometimes peacefully, sometimes violently, as storms and sun vie for coverage, all from the safety of this little ocean of cotton, bordered by banks of pillows and a cliff of cushioned-head-board.

I am reading ‘The Curve of Time’ by M. Wylie Blanchet, having the sort of mentally-immersive experience that only the written word can provide – something richer than what is found on the internet, something more tangible than reading off a computer screen – I can’t explain it, but a real book, held in my hands and contained in its entirety, somehow means more. Maybe it’s my secretly-Thoreau-like aversion to technology, or the cranky old man in me finally coming into his own, but I’ll always prefer a book to a Nook, paper to tablet, ink to pixels. It reminds me of the comfort of reading a book in bed.

In lonely falls and winters, I dive down beneath the sheets and blankets, until just my head and hands are left in the open air, and hold a book close to my face, reading the words, grateful for the escape. Reading has always been that sort of savior for me. In the darkest times, and at my most worried, I could slip into bed at the end of the day, and go somewhere – anywhere – else. If I fretted about wasting time, of not making the most out of every minute, I would stop and read. Reading was never a waste, and I always got something out of it. It calmed me. It stilled the raging rest of my life. Like a soft bed, it quietly and steadfastly worked its magic, chipping away at the worries of a day until the mind was occupied with a wondrous tale of far-off lands and adventures.

To this day, nothing can relax me like a bout of reading before going to sleep. If I’m fortunate enough to be home in the morning, there is nothing more enjoyable than staking out a comfy spot on the couch in which I can luxuriate in the waves of words, letting them wash over the wreckage strewn along the beach of my heart, raking away trouble and consternation, like the cleansing kiss of high tide.

When fall arrives, and the nights turn chilly, I don’t mind staying at the condo in Boston and cooking for a friend or two. This past weekend I had Kira over, and we had a tamarind fish curry dish (my new obsession), with steamed rice, and sautéed spinach in a black garlic bean sauce. We lit a few candles, opened a bottle of Riesling, and had more fun than had we gone out and spent the better part of a Franklin.

Time with Kira is always relaxing (you can tell – she’s the one who took the first photo here: one of the more unguarded photos taken of me in a moment of sheer giddiness). We talked of the past, of the future, of fun things and serious issues, and lots and lots of silly nonsense – the stuff that friends talk about that means nothing and everything at once.

Sometimes there is more excitement to be found in what is not seen.

And oh, if you could have only seen what you cannot see…

It’s a photo-heavy day of posts, mainly because I’m in travel status and returning from Boston today. These are a few of my favorite photos from fall.

Is there a sadder phrase than ‘the last day of summer‘? Perhaps ‘the last day of fall’. Or maybe just the term ‘winter’. At any rate, we’ve reached the technical end of the sunny season, but before delving totally into cashmere and corduroy, let’s take one final dip in the pool – a last remembrance of the highlights that the summer of 2013 provided. It was, after all, a Summer of Love.

It began with a return to a family tradition: a trip to Broadway with my Mom to see the season’s best shows. In this case, it was the spectacular Tony-winning production of ‘Kinky Boots‘ and the equally-spectacular (and equally-Tony-winning) revival of ‘Pippin‘. If forced to pick a favorite, I’d go with the Boots. Somewhere in that weekend was a birthday dinner with Suzie too.

It was the summer of Gatsby too, as JoAnn joined us for a Gatsby-themed party, and some summer dishes.

Cocktails are always called for, especially in the heat and sun of the season. A few notables were this cherry muddler (which effectively got me over my aversion to muddling) and the vesper, but also some Bloody Marys, a pina colada, this lychee concoction, the tequila cranberry cooler, a gloriously chilly limoncello delight, and a classic lavender drink.

The twins continued their quick growth – both physically and mentally – just beginning to talk up a storm, and entering their ‘Why?’ phase.

I finally got to meet my #1 stalker (and trust me, it takes a stalker to love one).

One of the happiest highlights of this summer was visiting Portland, Maine for the wedding of our friends Lonnie and Eric.

Madonna laid low while editing her MDNA Tour DVD, but The Madonna Timeline continued, with some memorable trips down musical lane, including ‘Crazy For You‘.

There were some noteworthy fragrances perfect for the summer season, including this gem from Hermes, and this new one from Tom Ford. (But don’t forget the Rive d’Ambre!)

Music fueled the more moody posts on here, especially with songs like ‘Life in Mono‘, ‘Carry On‘, ‘Misty‘, ‘Darling Be Home Soon‘ and ‘Verdi Cries‘.

Hard to believe, but this also marked the year of my 20^th high school reunion. Again, don’t do the math.

Throughout it all, the weather stayed largely hot, with a decent deal of sun, perfect for getting naked in the pool, day or night, and comparing my naked ass then with my naked ass now.

This year marked my premiere on Instagram. (So far only one of my pictures was banned…)

Summer is also the season of shirtlessness, and the many Hunks that paraded through the hot days included the likes of the following:

• Nick Adams
• Ryan Bertroche
• Tomas Brand
• Allen Clippinger
• Justin Deeley
• James Deen
• Godfrey Gao
• Matt Harvey
• Ben Hunt
• Choi Ho Jin
• Elijah Johnston
• Matthew Kirk
• Garrett Neff
• Ryan Paevey
• Tom Rodriquez
• Brandon Rubendall
• Ian Somerhalder
• Leighton Stultz
• Marty Westmoore

There was a holiday memory in the midst of summer, and I managed to get myself kicked out of Starbucks without even trying.

It was also the summer I started to cook, in earnest, and just in time for a kitchen renovation this fall (good timing as always). It was all about the FRV (fish, rice, vegetable) trio, much of which was done on the grill. Favorites included a quinoa salad, these super grilled scallops, a raspberry-based summer salad, some figs, a lemon dijon vinaigrette salad, bitch-slap brownies, and the simplicity of a poached egg.

In July this website hit a major milestone, at least for a personal blog.

And in August I celebrated my birthday at The Mount, Edith Wharton’s estate and gardens, where it began and ended with the written word.

Finally, there was always magic to be found on summer weekends in Boston. The college kids were away, the air was warm, and the tree-lined streets of the South End offered shade and romance. It was a time of Freedom, sunsets, and quiet mornings (and evenings) in the condo.

All in all, it was a good season, but it’s time to say good-bye. Hell, after last summer’s dismal showing, it couldn’t be anything but better. Here’s looking forward to a fabulous fall.

It always takes on a sad aspect now. Certainly not as sad as when it gets covered, and laid to rest, but pitiful – for its coldness, its pockets of dirty leaves, and the way it stays so still when the pump is off. This is the pool at the end of summer. The memories of bright sunny days, of laughter and splashes, of cool midnight swims are all that remain now. Will it be enough to sustain us through the fall and winter? It has to be.

Tomorrow I’m headed back to Boston to see two of my good friends – Kira and Alissa (and Alissa’s daughter Sophia) – and to greet the fall season in my favorite city. It’s also a good opportunity to set the condo up for the next few months (such as re-stocking the basics and cleaning the floors), as I’ll be spending a wee bit more time there once our kitchen renovation begins.

For now, though, a weekend with friends, easy-going and comforting – the way fall should begin.

Sorry to bring the summer to a crashing close, especially when we have a few days left, but the writing is on the wall. Get over it. Summer is just about done, and it’s time. I’m welcoming the fall with open arms. There are certainly things I’ll miss, but for now let’s just go back a week. This is a brief one. I’ll do a better summer recap later on…

The best thing in life is being silly with friends. And when we get silly, we get silly.

Sometimes I’ve got to get out and drive.

September 11 was my Dad’s birthday (more pictures yet to come).

After nine months, the official announcement of my new project was made. And the latest installment was one of the main reasons I did it.

There were hunks to close out the season, even if they were somewhat sparse. Still, some saliva should be spilled for Luke Perry and Jason Priestley, and, of course, Ben Cohen.

Always, there were memories of Boston, and my favorite time of the day in my favorite room.

An explanation of the evolution and ensuing insanity of a Project

When I went away to college, my greatest fear was that I’d be forgotten – by my friends, my family, anyone who meant anything to me. Creating projects, writing letters, sending things in the mail – these were the ways in which I stayed in touch and, hopefully, in their minds.

It started out simply enough. A theme was chosen – usually whatever interested or intrigued me – whatever the universe was whispering at that moment. Sometimes it started with a humble piece of stationary – the colors and designs evoking something in me, something that reminded or recalled a feeling, a memory, a notion pointing to something more substantial. From there the world would drop subtle hints if I was on the right path, and my tastes would shift accordingly: a new cologne, a new pair of shoes, a new haircut – all in keeping with the journey and discovery I was making. A definitive topic was fleshed out, and soon everything else followed, a signature font was determined for the writing, a color and design scheme was created, and the regular arrival of a story, a letter, a musical mix, a poem – all tied into the same theme. Almost everything was sent in the mail when I first started these projects, utilizing the old-fashioned and increasingly-quaint postal service. The postage fees were, and remain, exorbitant, if only for the sheer amount of material being sent out. (It’s interesting to note that when I began these projects, back in 1993, stamps cost half as much as they do now.) The cost never mattered much, since I knew how special it felt to receive something that wasn’t a bill or a credit card offer in the mail.

Those first few projects were admittedly rather rough around the edges – the raw stuff of learning and finding my way, and if I were to look back at them today, it would be with considerable embarrassed amusement. Luckily I don’t often look back on finished work, (despite rumors of excessive ego and self-obsession).

Eventually, these projects grew more intricate and extravagant, with the promotional material often overshadowing the work itself or, more accurately, becoming part of the project – entwined inexorably with the same look, the same feel, only now there accompanying CDs, photography, DVDs, multi-media explosions – and requisite celebratory kick-off parties that sometimes seemed like entire projects unto themselves.

Still, there’s something to be said for doing things in a simple way, and this latest ‘project” hopefully harkens to a time when writers were published in small weekly or monthly publications, a time when Charles Dickens produced ongoing installments to keep readers entertained and coming back for more. At its heart, writing is a way to get closer to people. To this day, whenever I feel the need to re-connect, to re-establish the bonds of friendship, of love, I sit down and write a letter. At its most basic, it’s a way to feel less alone.

One final caveat: this is raw stuff. As it was when I started doing projects, it’s all off the cuff, in the moment, with no room for perfection. There’s something exciting about letting it all pour out and just sending it along before any second-guessing. A sense of relevant immediacy lends a purity and honesty to the work that often gets watered down with meticulous editing and overproduction. I’ve never been one for major editing – I’ve come around over the years because that is when the bad bits can be excised and reworked, but my gut-instinct maintains that the first flush of words on paper is the most important. It is in that spirit that I send out these stories. They’re rough in spots, some wouldn’t work in any other real format or form, but they came directly from the well of my most pure inspiration.

Please don’t expect perfection, or even an attempt at something perfect, this is rough, raw, and bareback. It’s not a time to be safe. We plunge into it together, hand in hand and, darkness be damned, we’ll somehow prevail.

{Tomorrow, the 9^th installment of ’13’ ~ only on www.ALANILAGAN.com.}