Alan Ilagan

Lynn Hirschberg used the term “prickly” to describe Madonna in a Vanity Fair piece in the early nineties, and since that time I’ve found it an apt term for many of my moodier moments.

These blooms are from the prickly pear cactus – a gift from my friend Sue. I always forget I have them on the side of our yard until they burst into the bright color you see here.

It’s not a bad thing to be called prickly. It denotes an armed sensitivity, a barbed bit of defense in a world that’s not always kind.

It’s a form of protection, especially when what needs to be protected is so delicate, like these flowers.

Even the thorniest among us have blooms of beauty, if only our growing conditions are met.

So you can call me prickly (just don’t call me a prick.)

{You can play the song, but please ignore the cheesy slide show.}

The official start of summer is upon us, and though it’s been many years since I had summers off, I still get a thrill when the season arrives. There are many summer memories I could share, but most fall flat in the retelling because they don’t so much encapsulate an extraordinary event or interesting happening as much as they evoke the feelings I had at the time.

I remember the summer of 1998 quite distinctly, though I wasn’t working full-time. Staying with my parents was the easy way out of a hot city summer in Boston. I think it was during the last few weeks of my retail stint at Structure, and I was in and out of the Malls constantly. The sterile white-washed brightness of Crossgates, so cool despite its roof of windows, offered respite from the heat, and though I spent many moments walking in its endless hallway with countless other shoppers, I often felt alone and isolated.

Madonna’s ‘Ray of Light’ single had just dropped and I picked up the CD-maxi with the B-side ‘Has to Be’. It was from her ‘Ray of Light’ sessions, ambient and moody, and perfect for the purgatorial summer doldrums that were about to set in.

Outside, the car was an oven. I opened the windows and cranked the AC before stepping back out into the sunshine. A wave of heat escaped, rising above the steaming roof. Tearing off the plastic wrapper, I pulled the CD out and examined the artwork. A bright multi-pointed star spun around its axis, the same minimalist fare on an aqua background that signaled the ‘Ray of Light’ release.

In the CD player, Madonna’s voice intoned, “Breathe in, breathe out… I say a little prayer.” A dirge-like plaintive delivery with the cool, watery, electronic vibe provided by William Orbit, the song was rightfully a B-side, but like most of her throwaway work, there were a few glimmers of brilliance.

I know there’s someone out there
Waiting for me,
There must be someone out there
There just has to be…

I should be glad that I’m alive,
It could have been much worse.
I might have never loved at all,
And never known what I am worth

In the heat of the afternoon, summer left me feeling haunted, and restless. I went back to Boston, walking the steamy streets at night and waiting for love to reveal itself.

Believe it or not, the majority of my life does not make it into this blog. That which does is, luckily for you, edited to protect the world from my sometimes-too-blunt assessments and opinions. I also tend to leave the depressing and bothersome things out of here, because the world has enough of that. Unfortunately, that leaves a cheery image that is often at odds with what is really going on inside my head and in my off-line life. As Madonna sagely noted in Truth or Dare, “It ain’t all hunky-dory.”

That said, I am headed into Boston for a long weekend in which I hope to recharge my drained battery and pony up for the rest of the wedding reception preparations that seem inconceivable and impossible to execute. I’ve done a lot already, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. It should be old-hat for someone who’s had a zillion parties, but I’ve never had to plan something for over 200 people (I was thinking it might be lower, but who doesn’t show up to a wedding when they’ve RSVP’d affirmatively?)

My Mom is in charge of the food and drinks, and hopefully the tent as well. I am working on the rest – decorations, music, possibly flowers, table toppers, candles, guest book, desserts, and my outfit (which will require hours of more work). Andy still has not ordered his yet, but I honestly can’t worry about one more thing or I will go so crazy that I may miss the party entirely after being carted off to the loony bin.

For now I am taking a deep breath, loading up the Louis, and preparing to enjoy the silence of an empty Boston condo. It will be the first time I’ve been back since our ceremony, and it will be good to remember where it all began.

“Never again would they be parted. All the rest of their lives they would be together.” – E.B. White, The Trumpet of the Swan

The first thing most people asked when I returned from our wedding was whether or not I felt any different. I assumed, and professed many times, that I would not feel any such shift  – why should anything change after nine years with Andy? The biggest difference would be a bit more sparkle on my ring finger, and a few new memories of Boston.

I was wrong. The day I got married as one of the happiest of my life. The ceremony, the words, the blessings of family and friends, and the legal document – they all created a moment and a covenant between Andy and me that made a profound difference in my life. It was as if, finally, our relationship was official. Not that it hadn’t been for the previous ten years – this just affirmed it publicly, and though outwardly nothing may have changed, I think it resonated within both of us.

I don’t usually gush about love and stuff – and I’ve always taken the hard line and adhered to Madonna’s warning of, “What’s the point of sitting down and notating your happiness?” There’s something powerful and compelling about the darker side of life, something more interesting and artistic in the sadder aspects of our world – but every now and then there’s a moment of happiness and joy that transcends the cliches and mundane platitudes of Hallmark love, and for the first time I felt that.

How do you measure almost ten years together? And how do you find perspective on that time? I’m not one to look back very often (though this website is where that usually happens), so it’s difficult to encapsulate the time that Andy and I have been together in one post, or even a year of posts. But I was just thinking about all that has happened since we met, and that gives a brief hint of our time together. Here’s a list of some of those markers:

I met Andy before I got my first digital camera (he’s actually the one who gave it to me).

I met Andy before the World Trade Center was attacked.

I met Andy before he lost his Mom.

I met Andy before I lost my Uncle and Grandmother.

I met Andy before I got my first cel phone.

I met Andy before George W. Bush became President.

I met Andy before I met any friends (or anyone for that matter) in Albany (he introduced me to many of them).

I met Andy before the Red Sox ended their World Series drought.

I met Andy before I had a car.

I met Andy before ‘N Sync and the Backstreet Boys had disbanded, back when they were selling millions of albums.

I met Andy before you could send photos on your cell phone.

I met Andy before the iPod was released.

I met Andy before YouTube was created.

I met Andy before American Idol began airing.

I met Andy before Wicked debuted on Broadway.

I met Andy before any of my friends got married.

I met Andy before any of my friends had children.

I met Andy before Madonna released Music in 2000.