January 2017
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.
On a mid-January evening in the first third of winter, you might need a warm and cozy pick-me-up. Or maybe you need something more. Here’s Tyson Beckford, a favorite male model in these parts, in various states of undressed motion, thanks to some scintillating GIFs. The GIF may be the greatest gift the internet has given to us, and Mr. Beckford’s nude ones below are substantial proof of that. For another naked Tyson Beckford shot, check out this previous post. Or go to this one where he’s also missing his clothes.
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. Â 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.
I made a banana trifle! And you can too!
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.
One of my favorite flowers is the cyclamen. For years I tried to coax the hardier varieties into bloom in a shady nook of the garden, with extremely limited success. I managed only one season of bloom, and the blooms were so small I almost missed them. (It doesn’t help that their foliage dies back in the middle of summer so there’s nothing to remind you that they’re still there.) I gave up after that, and so did the cyclamen, despite their supposed Zone 5 hardiness.
It wasn’t until a trip to Seattle that I was able to see them blooming outside in their natural habitat, and they were a joy to behold. Like little pink or white butterflies, the blooms floated just above the ground. Though small, the masses and clumps were of such number as to make an impact on any traveler lucky enough to pass their way.
The cyclamen seen here are the ones you’ll find in florist shops – overblown and hybridized, they put the wild cyclamen to shame with their showy blooms and boffo foliage. They’re a garish and gaudy version of the more elegant outdoor variety, and there are pros and cons to both I suppose. Sometimes I long for the simple and small, other times I want big, bold and banging.
Either way, a flower is a welcome sight at this time of the year.
‘I’m not asking much, just a token, really, a trifle…’ ~ Ursula, ‘The Little Mermaid‘
To be fair, I don’t really know or care whether this is a proper trifle. It’s the recipe that Magnolia Bakery allegedly uses for their banana pudding, but for all I know it’s an internet hoax. It doesn’t really matter – anything that uses instant pudding mix and condensed milk has to be good. Three cups of heavy cream whipped into a peaking frenzy can’t be bad either. The online comments raved about this one, and if it was good enough to approximate, or actually be, something from Magnolia Bakery, that seemed a decent-enough pedigree for me.
There’s nothing tricky about this trifle; mostly it’s about the assembly and properly-plotted timing for the pudding to set and then the trifle to rest. This was my first time whipping cream (I’ve only ever whipped ass before), but thanks to the Kitchen Aid mixer it went quite smoothly, and soon enough there were peaks and fluff and I was folding it in like a real functioning person. For some of us, it’s the small kitchen victories that mean the most. Here’s the recipe, followed by a few scant hints of what I learned on this culinary journey.
Magnolia Bakery’s (Alleged) Banana Pudding
INGREDIENTS
DIRECTIONS
Mix together the water, pudding mix, and sweetened condensed milk until smooth. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight until it sets up.
Whip heavy cream until soft peaks form. Working in thirds, fold the whipped cream into the pudding mixture until well incorporated.
In a trifle bowl, layer vanilla wafers, sliced bananas, and pudding mixture; continue until you’ve used up all the pudding mixture. Refrigerate for at least a few hours before serving so the wafers have a chance to soften. {Yields 12 servings}
A few tips I gained via the internet and this virgin experience: chill the mixing bowl and paddle before you whip the cream, and add a few drops of the very best vanilla extract. Martha insists. The recipe originally called for letting the trifle rest for an hour, but I let it sit overnight, ensuring that those vanilla wafers had a chance to soften and become like a sponge cake – the end result was wonderful.
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.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
HOLD ME CLOSER, FULL DISCLOSURE
LET IT OUT, LET ME IN
ON YOUR KNEES, CONFESS TO ME
EVERY DOUBT, EVERY SIN
THAT’S HOW LOVE’S SUPPOSED TO BE
Every work day begins with the same ritual: the walk from the car to the office building. Whether I’m being dropped off or parking on site, there is always The Walk. Throughout a decade and a half of state office work, I’ve had a number of variations on this theme, but The Walk has remained constant. From a parking lot where my Subaru would bake in the hot sun, to a comparatively luxurious covered-garage where the path to my desk was entirely shielded from the outside weather, The Walk was different for every location, but its essence was the same. These days I’m lucky enough to be driven to the side of my office building, where I make a brief but important fifty foot trek to the door. It’s short, but a lot happens in that small distance.
I WANNA KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ALL ABOUT
YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU’RE BROKEN DOWN
LET YOUR WALLS CRUMBLE TO THE GROUND
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
EVERY SCAR THAT YOU TRY TO HIDE
ALL THE DARK CORNERS OF YOUR MIND
SHOW ME YOURS AND I’LL SHOW YOU MINE
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
It is here where I truly “dress” for the day. No matter what extravagance I’ve draped over my body, no matter which coat and bag I’ve chosen as armor, I’m not completely dressed until The Walk. You see, or you don’t see in this case, the most important thing a person can wear is not on the outside. It’s how you carry yourself. Do you believe enough in who you are to wear whatever you want? Or do you falter and waver, relying on a power suit or black dress to instill the confidence you lack? To me it depends on the day. Sometimes I am that strong, sometimes I’m not. No matter which it might be, I take a moment on The Walk to prepare myself for whatever may come. In the darkness of a winter morning or the bright emboldening sun of the summer, in the balmy humidity of August or the dry chill of February, I make The Walk, and try to decipher a little bit more of who we dare to be, and why.
LET’S DISCOVER ONE ANOTHER
KISS ME HERE, TOUCH ME THERE,
PUREST FORM OF ECSTASY
TRUTH OR DARE, DON’T BE SCARED
I summon the spirits of Miranda Priestley, Norma Desmond, and Margo Channing. I conjure the regal bearing of the kings and queens that history has worshipped and deified. I become imperious, haughty, untouchable and divine. With each step I inhale the brisk, blunt, bold persona I so desperately want to embody, and I build myself up to mythic stature through sheer force of will. If I believe it, they might believe it too. By the time I enter the building, I am, in my own mind and countenance, a formidable force. If only a fraction of that comes through, I might be all right. I might make it through the day.
I WANNA KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ALL ABOUT
YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU’RE BROKEN DOWN
LET YOUR WALLS CRUMBLE TO THE GROUND
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
EVERY SCAR THAT YOU TRY TO HIDE
ALL THE DARK CORNERS OF YOUR MIND
SHOW ME YOURS AND I’LL SHOW YOU MINE
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
On most work days I take my lunch alone. I prefer it that way. In my line of work I have to deal with people all day – phone calls, meetings, discussions (even going to the bathroom can be a social booby trap) – so when I get a break I revel in whatever moments of solitude I can find. Yet even on my own, I’m keenly aware of how people react to me. I notice every furtive stare, every stolen glance, and I’m extremely, though inwardly, self-conscious about it. It’s a vicious little cycle – in paying attention to others, I’m deflected into paying attention to myself, which, contrary to all apparent evidence and popular belief, is not how I prefer to spend my time.
LET’S CROSS THE LINE
SO FAR WE WON’T COME BACK
CAN’T READ YOUR MIND
I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO ASK
CYNICAL SMILE
TIME TO TAKE OFF YOUR MASK
I’M ON YOUR SIDE
SO LET ME LOVE YOU
LET ME LOVE YOU
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
Last week, for some unknown reason, I didn’t notice the people noticing me. A few surely were, I did catch one or two, mostly because I had a ridiculously over-the-top coat on. But then I looked down at the sidewalk, and then up at the buildings and storefronts, and when I stopped noticing them noticing me, I was overcome with a wild sense of relief, and a wonderful feeling of freedom. “When one’s mind is on one’s own business…”
Maybe it’s a sign of growing up. Maybe it’s a sign of authentic confidence. Maybe it’s a sign of genuinely not giving a shit what others think. When you play at something long enough, it tends to come true.
I WANNA KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ALL ABOUT
YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU’RE BROKEN DOWN
LET YOUR WALLS CRUMBLE TO THE GROUND
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
What does this have to do with a Madonna song? I’m not entirely sure. Madonna has always been about self-reflection/self-obsession, and a song like ‘Inside Out’ can be read as a simple ode of love to another, or as a way of getting to know your own self better. It’s one of the more majestic cuts from the ‘Rebel Heart’ opus, a beautiful power ballad with a meandering bass line and magnificent bridge. Pop perfection in a world that has lost touch with melody and song structure. At a more risky and romantic time, I would have given myself to this song, and to whomever held my interest at the time. I’m older now, and yearnings have quieted into something resembling sense.
EVERY SCAR THAT YOU TRY TO HIDE
ALL THE DARK CORNERS OF YOUR MIND
SHOW ME YOURS AND I’LL SHOW YOU MINE
LET ME LOVE YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT
I still make The Walk every morning I go to work, but some days I forget myself, not bothering to build up the image that I expect others have of me. I forget to channel Madonna and Miranda and Margo, and I walk in without artifice or attitude, content to study the air, seeking a hint of spring, searching for something bigger than myself.
SONG #134: ‘Inside Out’
Tomorrow the next installment of the Madonna Timeline returns with a cut from her latest album ‘Rebel Heart’. When in doubt, I always come back to Madonna for inspiration and invigoration. This song proves no exception, but before we dive into the beauty of ‘Inside Out’ here is a quick look back at the last few timeline entries, as there was a bit of a stretch without them.
‘Easy Ride‘ ~ American Life
‘Devil Pray‘ ~ Rebel Heart
‘Pray for Spanish Eyes‘ ~ Like A Prayer
‘Messiah‘ ~ Rebel Heart
‘Spotlight‘ ~ You Can Dance
‘Jump‘ ~Â Confessions on a Dancefloor
‘Survival‘ ~ Bedtime Stories
‘Wash All Over Me‘ ~ Rebel Heart
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.
This one goes out to all those gentlemen who make a blessedly regular habit of pulling down their pants and showing off their pert bums in film or television. Previous trouser-dropping do-gooders include Ryan Phillippe, Matt Bomer, Harry Judd, Channing Tatum, and Jamie Dornan.
Today’s featured backside belongs to someone well-versed in disrobing for his various roles: Jude Law. He’s been starkers here before, and likely will again. When you’ve worked so hard to sculpt something like that, you want to show it off. At least, some of us do, and we’re nothing if not grateful. (Still holding out for David Beckham and Ben Cohen.)
I am totally this monkey.
This monkey is totally me.
No explanation is necessary.
It speaks for itself.
We are us.
Today we celebrate my Mom’s birthday, and as the woman who brought me into the world and has had to deal with me ever since, she deserves more than mere accolades. We’ll do a proper dinner at our house tomorrow evening, but for now here’s a birthday place-card. Here’s wishing the happiest of birthdays to the person who gave me a sense of style, showed me a sense of purpose, and loved me even when I didn’t always deserve it.
