For some strange reason, Madonna once playfully suggested that as the title for her ‘Hard Candy’ album (another criminally-under-rated gem of hip-pop). It has absolutely nothing to do with this post, other than the stiff reference for my neck. I awoke last week feeling like I had slept the wrong way, and as the day wore on, my neck grew worse. Eventually I gave in to my first session of physical therapy, but the exercises given to me (which I performed religiously every two hours) only ended up making my neck feel awful, to the point where I could barely rise out of my work chair.

By lunch, I was almost in tears, and the tension of that added to the stress that probably started this whole wretched event in the first place. I walked over to my new favorite place, Stacks Espresso Bar, and had a decaf Americano. (Caffeine is the absolute last thing I need.) I sat there and heard one of those voices whispering in my ear:

Relax… relax…

Maybe it was not so much a voice in my head, but a wish and a prayer that I was imploring for myself. I paused, and remembered what it was like to enjoy the moment. An excellent cup of Americano sat before me, exquisitely rendered and better than anything at Starbucks. I sipped at its warmth, while the wind ran down the street outside the window. Puddles and dirty snow lined the sidewalk, as other people on their lunch break hurried past. Winter was passing too.

Not soon enough…

While it’s certainly cold enough for it, it’s not as wet as most winters tend to be, and I’m not mad about it. Kira and I were loosely tossing around the idea of going skiing this year (at her insistence), and decided we would look into some resorts. (After my first, and last, skiing fiasco in the late 80’s, I’ve rather gone off the sport – but that’s another Suzie cruelty story that will need to be told another time, and not in the flimsy mid-day post.) I promised Kira I would support her 100%, from the cozy perch of a fireside lounge, with a Manhattan in my hand and a cashmere scarf around my neck.

Oh February, you wretched thing, please have some happy surprises stored in your cold heart. And I don’t mean Valentine’s Day either (though I will update my Amazon Wish list for those looking to appease my romantic nature, ahem). It’s time to get those doilies out and make out some Valentine’s Day cards. It’s also time to hunker down and make some soup. On this first day of the month, I offer a messy post of miscellany for Februarys past.

Random shit like jockstraps, Superbowls, Shameless movies, Beckham’s bulge and oh so much more. Narcissus, nests, nudity, & new bedding. More incongruous stuff like male models, Tibetan singing bowls, and manic Mondays. (I can’t even talk about all the zaniness of February 2015, and neither should you.) But do revisit last year’s February mayhem, with some Naked Madonna, ruinous beauty, Anderson Cooper and brotherly love.

PS – February is National Bird Feeding Month. How ridiculous.

Earlier this month, and completely forgotten by me, we celebrated (or rather didn’t celebrate) the unheralded 14th anniversary of this website. ALANILAGAN.com premiered in January of 2003, which makes it one of the oldest personal blogs out there. If we compute the age of blogs in the same manner in which we compute the human age of dogs, this little space would be a whopping 98 years old, which, given my stiff neck, feels about right. I take a small bit of pride in the fact that I’ve been doing this for far longer than most other bloggers, but it’s just a bit. The truth is that this is a labor of love, an outlet of creative expression that takes the place of a diary, a project, and an artistic gambit all at once. I’d be doing this with or without an audience, but from the responses I get, I’m very thankful we’re on this road together.

“It’s so much friendlier with two.”

There’s not much fanfare traditionally made over 14 years, and I’m fine with that. Perhaps next year we’ll do something bigger. For now, it will be enough to get through this morning post without boring myself to tears. If I think back to my own fourteen-year-old moment, we’re in for a wild and wonderful ride.

It arrives tomorrow, but here’s a quick look back at another January or four before this one departs. (I don’t know anyone who’s sorry to see it go.)

January 2012 found a mixed bag of familiar places and faces, including Madonna, New York City, and straight allies.

January 2013 brought us to Washington, DC (long before the swamp moved in), family and friends, some nakedness, and some more Madonna.

January 2014 lifted us out of a kitchen renovation, thanks to Andy and some other friends.

January 2015 displayed an onslaught of Hunks, trickery, and Tom Ford.

And last January took us back to Boston, candlelight, and beauty.

Ho-hum, tweedle-dee-dum, it’s another damn Monday, and another damn weekly recap, mostly because who wants to face the start of another work week when we can look back for a moment and I’ve in the glorious past? I don’t give a hoot, you’re getting a recap regardless. See, when I’m tired and uninspired, I get silly and stupid. Deal with it, or move on. On with the doings of the past week!

Tyson Beckford got naked in motion, because there’s nothing better than a nude male GIF.

I got naked on Instagram because I like a big… following.

I also had a big stiff one that lasted way longer than necessary.

Poof! Be gone.

Music for mobsters.

A visitor in the night.

Back on the road, and naked again.

You broke the boy in me, but you won’t break the man.

Flower Bomb Balm: Part Three, Part Four, and Part Five.

Fill in the missing Hunk.

Acts of love and defiance.

The Hunks of the Day took a trip around the globe, including such luminaries as Adam Rippon, Paolo Amores, Gabriel Loureiro, Anatoly Goncharov, Dylan Sprayberry, & Ryan Stack.

Sometimes love can be the most defiant move you make.

Making up for the missing Hunk of Yesterday, here is a brief collection of previous Hunks striking brand new poses. Hey, it’s Sunday, a time for shirtlessness and laziness – and a time to come home. Enjoy the guy candy/eye candy/man candy/David Gandy moment.

Chris Pratt got naked the last time he appeared here, and prior to that he was also a Hunk of the Day.

Simon Dunn is always a joy to behold, as evidenced by this post. Or this post. Or this post. Well, you get the idea.

Austin Armacost has made a career off his ass alone, and here’s why. You want another one? Bam.

Tom Daley is such a hit here that he has his own category. Click it and flick it.

Ashley Parker Angel has certainly been sent from above; his body is simply heavenly. (Sorry, but hotness precedes cheesiness.)

And finally, Adam Gumula is even better when doubled.