It struck me, just as I was editing the photo and video used for this post, that I’m old.

Fifty may not seem old to the kind folks who tell me so, but I feel it.

Well, let me pull back a little – I’m older. Maybe not old – it’s all so relative anyway.

I definitely do feel older, and it hits me when I try to do something like figure out all the new editing options for photos or the latest app. My phone is probably about four or five years old now, and I still haven’t accessed all the photo capabilities because it’s just too overwhelming. When I was younger, I would have jumped at the chance for more filters, accessories, apps to make life easier – now, I just feel overcome by the vast sprawl and unending options now available. It sends my brain into overload, which stops things completely.

My solution to feeling overwhelmed isn’t typically to shut down, but rather isolate and focus on one single goal to be accomplished, or one finite problem to solve. The older I get, the more options there seem to be, and the more opportunities for getting overwhelmed. My mind isn’t as quick and nimble as it once was, nor is it able to absorb or learn things at any sort of quick pace. I’ve intentionally slowed things down in my world to find a more peaceable way of living, so I don’t want that to change – I’m simply going to have to accept the fact that I’ll never access all the paths now available to us. A spiral accented by FOMO now seems to rear its head in my head, and overthinking everything is a bleak downward trend. The only way to stop it is… to stop it.

And so I do.

There is something disturbingly comforting about being in a drunken haze. Not that I miss the drinking in any way, but there’s a darker side of me that misses the option of blacking out on occasion. An unflinching look at the world presently around us, and what’s going on in this country in particular, invites the notion of such glorious oblivion. 

In place of drink, in place of drug, in place of meditation and mindfulness and mourning, I offer this winter theme to act as a balm upon the callous, cruel, ruthlessness of the world at this moment: this is our Winter Obscura. 

Haze and smoke and obfuscation.

Backlit-befuddlement hopelessly and intentionally out-of-focus. 

A veil, a scrim, a cloud – perpetually out of reach, out of touch, out of the realm of what can be seen or contained.

A screen unseen, a film of gauze, a filter that removes the very soul of a subject.

This is the unsettling landscape of Winter Obscura – less a place and more a delirious frame of mind, where our main purpose to is to stay hidden and safe behind a smokescreen of abstract notions and obscure philosophical meanderings. 

There is mystery and confoundment in these parts, and a road that splinters into trails largely untread – in so many ways I’ll be walking new paths right along with you, and putting it out here as it unfolds is treacherous work, risky in all the worst ways. That will make it difficult to read sometimes, but seeing me in difficulty is what the world seems to enjoy most. As I said, we’ll go through it together, no matter how much it hurts, no matter what the repercussions, no matter where it decides to take us. 

Won’t you pull the curtain of obscurity around our four-post bed, enveloping us in a cocoon of winter fuzziness? Confusion bleeds both ways. There is no mystery in the relentlessly hyper-focused clarity of this overly-documented world. That which we need to see shall always be hidden – that which we don’t want to see parades before us at regularly-promoted intervals.

The beauty of our messy lives resides in the blurry haze, the peripheral vision, the exact moment that focus recedes and mystery begins. 

A mad professor, a homeless person, and Albert Einstein on a decent day – my gray hair is a combination of all these archetypal idiocies, and I’m not mad about any of it. On the contrary, I’m rather happily befuddled by how to even style such a growing monstrosity, simply running my fingers through it with some leave-in conditioning cream, and calling it a day. I peer at the bedraggled results in the mirror, the slightest bit dismayed but mostly bemused. Equal parts frightful and frightened, but unafraid to say as much. Bleak and blunt too. A strange start to a New Year and a new winter, and somewhat powerful in that. A man with nothing left to lose is still just a man. Power comes from something more. 

What you are about to encounter on this website as it turns the page on the calendar year may be a stark and shattering change – with an emphasis on words over images, structure over surface, and subtle shading over colorful saturation. Bleak of vision, blunt of delivery, and devoid of sugar-coated sweetness, all I can say is that the new year of this blog will not be for anyone of honesty, truth, and the raw, messy reality of this moment. 

I’ve always been rather revealing here – literally and figuratively. I’ve delved into stories in which I don’t always come off as heroic or even basically decent. I’ve shaded the hurtful actions of others so as to protect them, putting a rosy tint on events where others could have and perhaps should have come off as the thoughtless perpetrators of inadvertent cruelty. 

It’s not even clear to myself why I felt such a need to turn bad experiences into something good, to turn a shitty moment into something golden, but it’s an art form I’ve come close to perfecting. I can take a cutting instance of wrong, attach some pictures, and write it into a moment of prettiness and beauty – a lesson to be learned, wrapped in a lovely ribbon and packaged with the most exquisite wrapping. There are times that call for such a re-framing, and perhaps that was my purpose for a whole; there is certainly more than enough ugliness in this world wide web of social media mayhem. 

But it’s not my job to make your world pretty. I don’t get paid to put a handsome spin on things for your enjoyment or ease. I find greater peace in stating things as they are and portraying people by their actions, not how I want them to be or what my feelings or personal interpretations of them may be. 
This reads, on the surface, as a very good shift. For those whose actions mirror their intent and line up with their proclaimed values and words, it will be. For those who say they care but whose actions repeatedly hurt others, it may not go as well. Happily, there is no point in getting mad at the truth. 
Too many of us operate in that hazy, obscure shadow of emotional confusion, creating obfuscating distractions to get away with questionable actions and behavior. I’m simply not tolerating that anymore, and the wild sort of abandon and freedom I feel is going to be the messy sort of fodder that often results in some must-read blog posts.

Hold onto your hats, Winter Obscura is here…

Nature cleans her house with violent storms and dramatic motions. She tears down old tree limbs, sending them plummeting to the ground (and sometimes somebody’s roof), clears swaths of brush with cutting winds, and fells entire growing seasons of delicate flowers with a single freezing night. She is gorgeously, diabolically ruthless, and decidedly unsentimental about it. Pulling no punches, she delivers her death blows in heartless fashion, seemingly void of compassion.

It’s what I’d mistakenly thought of as ‘The Cleaving’, and there’s some argument to be made that that is what’s happening – a brutal pruning of spent and unproductive objects, things in need of rejuvenation or entire excising or retirement. It’s important to know when to leave the party, and nature always knows. That’s not the actual definition of cleaving, however, which has a deliciously double meaning that can be either a splitting of something, like wood, or the sticking or adhering of something to something else.

If all goes according to Virgo plan, that may be what’s coming up on this new season of ALANILAGAN.com, and for the start of the 23rd year of this online mayhem, there will be our own little cleaving – a splitting off of that which we no longer need, and a holding close of all that remains dear. It will absolutely cut both ways. The excess and rich colors of Mr. Oud’s sumptuous and perfumed finery shall be relegated to memory. In place of that will be a blank canvass, cleared of fussy clutter, sparse of accessories and accoutrements. An expanse of emptiness, an expanse of clarity, a meditative space where I will decide what needs to go, and what needs to remain.

That makes this season sound more ominous than I hope it will be. There is no threat here, there is no danger. What needs to happen will play out as it’s all meant to happen, and there’s no sense in worrying or wondering why or what might be. If this sounds confusing or unclear to you, it is just as confounding to me, and that’s sort of what I want to explore for the next few months – not only here on this blog but in an upcoming project as well. Finding my footing in writing again has brought me back to basics, and putting things down on paper, both literally in a coffeeshop, and proverbially on a personal website, allows for a helpful introspective examination of what’s happened in the past, and what continues to happen. It’s a diary, it’s a therapy session, it’s a messy fucking Broadway show – and it plays out in plain view for anyone who wants to click on over here. A new year of analyses and awesomeness has begun –

Welcome to Winter Obscura… ~ A.

While it felt like I should be lamenting all that was 2025, in looking back at what my year was like as I wrote the year in review, I found that there was actually quite little to complain about – nothing that merits mention when taken in consideration with more important matters. And so, rather than whisk the year away (because who knows how absolutely awful 2026 might be) I’m pausing and taking my own advice to appreciate what is at hand in the present moment, and to allow my own headspace to be in complete control of its reaction and the narrative it chooses to write for the future.

The weight of snow on evergreen branches will always be more than the weight of the tree’s history – a striking and simple illustration of how nature doesn’t let the past move it as much as the present. The snow, ice and wind of the current day will always be the biggest battle – not what came before or what might come tomorrow. That’s the proper way to end the year.

Putting this year into the past cannot happen soon enough, so without much further ado and fanfare, and with no more than one linky post (as opposed to the usual two posts that a year in review typically deserves) let’s rifle through our weekly recaps instead of giving a more detailed encapsulation. Some people want the comprehensive links – most of you don’t bother with comprehensive anything (and right now I am joining you in that).

JANUARY 2025:

The year began innocently enough, with some comfort food to keep us warm.

Keeping things toasty seemed to be our initial theme.

Winter droned on the way it usually does in January.

But that didn’t deter this guy from posing only in his underwear.

FEBRUARY 2025:

David Beckham was back bulging in his underwear to kick off the month of February.

The 20th anniversary of ‘The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale’ found the never-clamored-for online debut of this infamous project.

Some weekly recaps were simply super, especially when bowls are involved.

Florals for February did indeed feel somewhat groundbreaking.

MARCH 2025:

Divinity drifted throughout March, as did the floral motif.

Lost my shirt and an hour in this recap.

Sheer and silly pajamas couldn’t hide my Calvin Klein briefs in these outtakes from The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale, hence their outtake status.

Pink-cupped dreams and floral peeks at spring.

The blustery end of March came with this cozy recap.

APRIL 2025:

Robert Irwin fronted this bulging recap with his underwear and it was no April Fool’s joke.

She was bathed in pastels.

Easter Monday, if there is such a thing and I think there is.

Robert Irwin wasn’t quite ready to put on clothes, so he closed April without a shirt.

MAY 2025:

May was a special month, bringing with it our 15th wedding anniversary, and it began in lucky and cloudy fashion.

Mother’s Day was special too.

May’s magic was in full effect, even as we looked ahead to summer.

There were plenty of powerful posts happening, as seen in this recap that welcomed viewers in with Theo James in a skimpy white Speedo.

JUNE 2025:

June will always be Pride Month, no matter what the current government tries to do.

Build me up buttercup in June’s bright, cheery glory.

Hot florals as summer arrives, baby!

Poppies, peonies and iris are how summer properly starts.

Our island summer theme went into watery swing, and the poppies kept popping.

JULY 2025:

Summer turned to high with our annual BroSox Adventure finding Skip and I back in Boston and rip-roaring form.

Cranking the heat, our island interim provided respite and relief.

Bittersweet summer days.

A singularly happy week on the blog found us celebrating the birthday of my godson and the 25th anniversary of when Andy and I met each other.

AUGUST 2025:

Shit took a turn in August, as it did for many Virgos, and still people keep coming for us. Fools, mostly.

Flesh and pubic hair fronted and back-ended this fun recap.

Drama ensued for the final days of my 40’s, and for once I wasn’t the cause of it.

When I turned fifty, I realized I was out of fucks to give. We are all in for a fun year!

SEPTEMBER 2025:

A silver-haired recap befitting a fifty-year-old man.

The recaps of turning fifty were fun too.

Too many of us forget that summer lasts through most of September.

Eventually, though, fall arrives, and this year mystery arrived as well.

Whispers of fall intrigue carried on the cooler winds.

OCTOBER 2025:

When October arrived, so too did the mysterious Mr. Oud.

Fall held its own magic and allure.

This recap fell on Andy’s birthday, celebrating that and our annual Ogunquit fall trip.

Six years of not drinking marked the end of October.

NOVEMBER 2025:

Apparently the first November recap fell on a mother-fucking Monday, at least according to the pen.

Jonathan Bailey made this the sexiest recap alive.

(And he proceeded to grant shirtless goodness in the weeks that came after.)

There should be something more profound about the posts here, but all I can think is that this one is for the armpit fetishists and nothing else matters.

DECEMBER 2025:

A cozy candlelit post begins December while the rest of the world crumbles.

The more I wrote about and lamented holiday mayhem, the smoother and less-stressed the holidays became. For me. (And what else matters?)

My holiday card was erected by the holiest of Christmas spirit (and be careful not to stroke, I mean choke on it).

Closing out this year, you get a hint of what’s to come in fuzzy, hazy, obscure form…

Most of us are keeping the holiday lights burning through mid-January – we’ve only just turned the corner on gaining daylight hours, so we still need all the candles and Christmas lights to see us through these darkened days and nights. The concept of hygge comes to mind and we shall lean into that during the coming weeks. Red and ivory tapers lend light and warmth to any space and are the easiest way to transform a place into a cozier scene. Scandi design employs lots of candles during winter months, which may play a part in how well they navigate this dim season.

For my efforts in harnessing the hygge energy, I’m getting back into the baking scene, such as these lemon cardamom sweet rolls and this Danish bread, pumpkin seed disaster be damned. The Danish bread is hearty and rustic, ideal for carrying smoked salmon or deli meats with some creme fraiche and fresh dill. It’s also been a while since I’ve baked any bread loaf, and that’s an idea way to conjure a cozy environment.

So much of life is about seeing busy to distract us from thinking too much – at least I assume that’s why we do so many ridiculous activities. My baseline is more contemplative than that, but I do find solace and value in baking and cooking, along with sitting still beside a burning candle. Winter unfurls…

This Wednesday may (and I mean may) bring with it a yearly review for 2025, but as of the moment of this writing and its requisite weekly recap, I’m already over looking back at anything, particularly if it relates to anything from 2025. That said, I’ll give it my best shot, and for now there’s this look back at the previous week, because it’s Monday morning…

Apologies to all the Peggys.

The path to a possible holiday stroll, which I had all but ruled out earlier this year, was not clear at its outset.

It took a while to feel which way the universe was sending me, and it was a winding and wondrous journey.

Ultimately, the holiday stroll happened in the most unlikely of circumstances…

… and with the most unlikely of people, which also made it one of my favorite strolls of all.

Christmas often happens that way – in unexpected and magical twists and turns – and this year I decided to chose calm over chaos.

That meant I felt all sorts of Christmas cheer, more than I’ve allowed myself to feel in decades.

Exploding Christmas like Dynamite!

This is the second-best day to work.

Can’t take any more of this heartbreak.

Friday night candlelight.

The last weekend of the year.

Decaf drinkers unite!

An American cafe moment.

Shifting dynamics before the year ends.

Insult to injury.

Eye of a Sunday hurricane.

Our last Sunday of the calendar year is finally upon us. Amid this chaotic, purgatorial week, I pause on this evening and seek out a moment of clarity and calm – the typical goal of an average week, and ever-elusive more often than not.

My careful formality of wording and phrasing has been getting repetitive and annoying to my ears and eyes. Re-reading the beginning of this post is giving me an annoyed sense of dissatisfaction, bordering on frustration, and then I force myself not to care, not to edit, not to modify – because this is practice for the new year to come on this blog. Ready to get raw?

The formalness and fine-pointed methods I try to put forth in these posts are about to be bludgeoned and bulldozed into oblivion. If you hear me getting a little too precious, slap me silly. We are long past the point for being precious, unless you’re channeling Gollum. Or Buffalo Bill. And I’m not sure either of those two examples should be our guides…

Strap on and strap in… 2026 won’t be no cake walk.