Category Archives: General

We didn’t quite welcome spring into season just yet, but I’m holding out hope for this coming week. The last one just did not do it for me. We look to improve things as far as the temps go, and with an upcoming weekend in Boston, I shall refrain from complaining. Onto the last week, for those of you fortunate to miss everything…

I did my best to channel spring and wrangle some flowers into bloom, to no avail. Instead, I posted some of my gardening pieces: A Gardener Returns to His Roots, The Growth of a Garden, Plants of Glory, The Battle of a Gardener, Midnight in the Garden, and Gardener’s Soliloquy.

If I had an Instagram account, it would look largely like this, which instantly negates the need for an Instagram account. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Things got a little fussy as a pal tried to inject some new life into the Albany Food Scene.

Ryan Lochte, Eric Alán, Stephen Whipple, Tyler Lough, Lance Bass, and Josh Dallas took their clothes off for the Hunk of the Day feature, while Bradley Cooper and George Clooney did nothing for me.

The Madonna Timeline returned with one of her strongest cuts from last year’s ‘MDNA’ album, ‘Love Spent‘. Ms. Ciccone also celebrated the anniversary of the opening of the Blonde Ambition Tour, even if I couldn’t bring myself to watch it at the time.

My musical memory was also being jogged by a few 80’s hits, notably this ditty from the movie ‘Mannequin‘, and the song that almost kept Madonna’s ‘Crazy For You’ from the top spot, ‘We Are the World‘.

A few people, Andy included, had been asking me when I was going to shave my winter beard. I don’t like being nudged into doing things I will eventually do on my own. With that in mind, I gave in and shaved the beard. But I kept the ‘stache. Cause that’s the kind of bitch I am.

There’s a bit of Freddie Mercury to it, a bit of 70’s porn, and a whole lot of nasty bad taste. Which is why I love it. And why I am keeping it for a while.

And so we close, and open, another week. Without much change, without much excitement. We’ve been here before, and we’ll likely be here again. Is there the beauty of reassurance in that, and is there beauty in such reassurance? I do not know. I only know what I do, and lately it is the same. The routine. There is something deadening about that. Here is a prayer that we will survive together. Onto the past…

It was a week that saw the silliness and assault of April Fool’s Day, where Ben Cohen’s full-frontal naked shot was just as likely as mine.

Our virgin trip to Boston Chops more than met our expectations, actually surpassing them, and for those who don’t eat meat… you’re missing out.

Aside from a flurry of FaceBook photos from the way-back-when, I also waxed nostalgic for my very first date with a guy. And I was only 14 years old.

A few years later, but more than a few from today, another happy memory was born.

Most of the Hunks of the Day flew under the radar, but are worth a second look, like James Ellington, Matt Targett, and Chris Davis, but the bulge of Jon Hamm was quite noticeable.

And Bon Jovi continued to supply a jumping off point for more memories of my youth.

The man sits at the bar, smoking. He orders an Old-fashioned. Canadian Club. A beautiful woman approaches and requests a light. “Are you alone?” she asks. He looks up at her, and the shot fades out. Thus ended Season Five of ‘Mad Men’ last year. Tomorrow it returns, and just in time; my mind was almost made into mush by all the Real Housewives programming I’ve had in the interim.

‘Mad Men’ is the best show on television right now. (And I can honestly say that as it’s the only show I’m watching right now.) Apart from its sleek 60’s style and period-piece authenticity, the characters are complex and real enough to resonate today, and never more-so than in the protagonist. Don Draper may be surrounded by beautiful women, powerful men, and all the creative freedom in the world, but he remains almost-heartbreakingly alone. A cigarette and an Old-fashioned will only ever hide that, no more. Too few have the strength and audacity to answer the ‘Are you alone?’ question affirmatively. Those of us who do, well… we need all the smoke we can muster.

Whether it’s the rotten cold weather we’ve had of late, or something deeper driving it, I’m finding it difficult to get excited, or even minimally inspired, to move on some home improvement projects. I’m equally unmotivated to get started on the gardens. Contrary to popular belief, I’m a pretty sensitive soul, and those around me have a direct effect upon my bearing and mood. When Andy is down, I tend to follow suit. In my case, it removes any sort of enthusiasm for a new couch and family room color, negates any thrill in the coming gardening season, and just makes me want to lounge around and do nothing.

To combat that, I picked up some paint chips for the family room, and browsed the Crate & Barrel catalog for ideas. I started reading ‘The Backyard Parables: Lessons on Gardening, and Life’ by Margaret Roach. And I may even shave my beard off. A change is needed. A re-boot is required. A new way…

Snippets of song lyrics… wet & a mess… lying naked on the floor… they cannot see me naked, these things they go away, replaced by every day… it’s in your eyes… I want you to remind me…

We made it through another Holy Week, by the Grace of God (and a little help from Jesus, I’m sure). It was a week of new Easter traditions, as the seasons slowly inched toward a slightly warmer shift. Changes were afoot at work as well, portending a very different spring/summer at the office. But let’s not talk about work here – this is the place for fun and frivolity, so let’s get back to that grind.

Spring cleaning got underway at the Boston condo, and I got down on my hands and knees to polish things up right spiffy-like. Years of wear and tear were left on two rolls of paper towels, so hopefully those of us who stay there will be a little more careful with keeping things clean (sheets included).

Cherries were forced and feet were fetishized, and the youth of America proved both hopeless and hopeful.

Hunks weren’t always of the Day, but they were represented nobly, and nakedly, by the likes of Nick Beyeler and, as befitting the season, Jesus Luz.

To make amends for the slimmer hunk offerings, I gave you this mega post of shirtless male celebrities. I think that should more than make up for it.

Finally, it wouldn’t be an Easter Sunday without that frightening Easter bunny shot taken when I was a kid. This year, however, we had a little twist, as I exonerated thirty-plus years of Easter trauma with one fell poof of a rabbit’s tail.

Over thirty years ago, I had a run-in with a scary Easter Rabbit. It was documented on film for all-time and I post it every year for the enjoyment of those who get a kick out of my suffering (there are many). On this Easter, Andy and I had brunch at the Fairmont Copley Plaza’s Oak Long Bar + Kitchen, so I felt safe that we wouldn’t be running into any frightening ladies or gentlemen in a bunny suit. I was wrong. Something told me to start with a Bloody Mary instead of a Mimosa, and I heeded that inner voice. Good call, as before our food even arrived I saw the big furry white thing as soon as it entered the room. It began making its way down the long bar to where Andy and I were seated. I could have beat a hasty retreat through the back door, but I held fast to my chair and willed myself the power to nod my head as it passed quickly by. I finished my drink and congratulated myself on surviving.

When we finished with the meal, I made the foolish suggestion that we walk through the ornate lobby on our way out. As we neared the exit, there stood the bunny in our path. Andy said it was my last chance. I circled the white suit, faced his vacant eyes straight-on, and said, “Would you mind if I took a picture with you? I had a very traumatic Easter bunny moment in my childhood, and I’m still working through it.” His/her attendants laughed, Andy snapped the picture, and we were on our way. Childhood exorcism accomplished. (And now I’m feeling quite empowered, so just wait until you see what I do to Santa’s lap this year…)

On this glorious day of resurrection, a look back at what came before – particularly the in-between, better known as ‘Bardo: The Dream Surreal’. One of the most recent works to be added to The Projects page, ‘Bardo‘ was originally posted in April of 2012. I was reminded of some of its moon shots with the recent full-phase of the moon seen in these photos. ‘Bardo‘ has a few tremendous lunar glimpses as well, a perfect match to its surreal theme.  Check it out when you get through with your ham and Easter candy – it’s a puzzling little dreamscape.

With Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter on deck, the triumvirate of Catholic holidays is about to begin. If you were raised as a Catholic, where attendance at church (and often service as an altar boy) was required on all these days, Easter was never a very fun weekend. In fact, with all the extensive long-winded masses, I dreaded this time of the year, especially when forced to serve complicated and different routines. How my heart wrenched at the thought of walking in front of all those people, trying to remember every new instruction the priests half-heartedly gave us, if they remembered to instruct us at all. Coupled with the rather upsetting notion of crucifixion (how strange that the violent stuff of R-rated films should be so easily and flippantly impressed upon us at such a young age), and the heady perfume of a hundred Easter lilies dancing behind the altar, it was a wonder I never passed out in the incense fumes. For a kid, however, especially a kid with a penchant for theatrics, that incense was the best and most exciting part of the proceedings.

I remember watching the priest pour the woody mixture over the lit charcoals, and the instant cloud of smoke that was conjured. He lifted the censer (or thurible), swung it before himself, and let it strike against its own chain three times. The smoke rose high into the cavernous church, stretching out over the pews. When I used to sit in the back on those lucky few times I didn’t have to serve, I would count how long it would take the scent to reach us, imagining some sacred pebble tossed into a still body of holy water, the ripples spreading ever outward before doubling back on themselves from the edge.

As much as I hated it, the church became a sanctuary at this time of year. The long stretch from the start of Lent to its culmination on Easter, and all those Fridays at the Stations of the Cross, somehow eased the transition from winter to spring. The new season slipped in during those nights, as our winter moon boots gave way to regular shoes, the snow finally melting mostly away before the arrival of Easter. On those dark evenings, the light of the church was a beacon of safety and warmth, the incense embraced us, and the candlelight glowed in our hands. There was something to the ceremony after all, some spiritual alchemy that occurred, even to a kid who somehow knew he wasn’t truly welcome there, and in that space I forged my own relationship with God. It didn’t involve smoke and lilies and Odes to Joy, it only required my two hands – folded in prayer – and my inner voice – raised in supplication, and hope, and love.

Foot-loose and fancy-free.

You know who you are.

And we love you for it.

In spirit only, not literally. Just an image to get us through this Monday of Holy Week. Happiness is a cocktail at the Mandarin Oriental Boston. It’s also the hand soap in their bathroom.

A more detailed description of my recent weekend in Boston (with two of my favorite ladies) will have to wait, as I’ve just returned home and am a bit exhausted. I’m no longer at an age where it all bounces back quickly and easily, there is more needed to start this engine on a cold morning. For now, a quick look back at the past week on www.ALANILAGAN.com, and I’m going to have to check the Archives because I honestly can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning, much less what went on here…

• Ahh yes, there were a few home design posts about dueling sofas, and some long-overdue new bedding.

• The music played like Shannon once said, including this song from one of my all-time favorite albums by James, some of Aaron Copland’s ‘Appalachian Spring’ which once made me cry, and a new Madonna Timeline for ‘Intervention’.

• I revealed a secret snow globe fetish, among other atrocities, since I obviously no longer care how ridiculous I look.

• The Hunks kept revealing themselves, and you got to see the gratuitously-shirtless shots of Jake Shears, Alex Minsky, Dylan McDermott, and Josey Greenwell. And while that’s a comparatively light dose of Hunks for the week, there was the mother load of all gratuitous male celebrity nudity  in this one single post for your ease and convenience.
• 

A few silly facts to clear up all the confusion, and start some more:

• Once upon a time I played the oboe (and not too horrendously).

• At work, I have a snow globe collection (17 in all).

• I buy more bow ties than I wear.

• People no longer tell me everything because they know I will call them on their ridiculousness (especially family).

• My high school creative writing project was submitted to the school psychologist.

• Exclamation points have no place in my professional correspondence.

• It’s far easier for me to remember the events of 1993 than the events of 2013. Already.

• My 20-year high school reunion is this summer. (I graduated when I was ten, Doogie Houser style.)

• I abhor a sugar rim, but will accept a salty one.

• Andy fears for our lives when I head into the kitchen, but I’m a pretty good cook. (It’s the cleaning that sucks.)

• My co-workers wear what they want on the days I’m not in the office. (And try their best the rest of the time.)

• I’m due for some serious spring manscaping.

• Teabagging is fun (but I’m only saying that for the photo.)