Fresh off a Golden Globe win for her transcendent performance in one of my favorite movies of the previous year, ‘The Holdovers’, Da’Vine Joy Randolph earns her first Dazzler of the Day. I still remember her scene-stealing turn in the guilty holiday pleasure that is ‘Office Christmas Party’, but ‘The Holdovers’ shows what she can really do.
Our variegated ficus plant will shirk off a round of leaves at various points in the year, often preceding a growth spurt. At first this alarmed me, and I wondered at what sort of atmospheric change I had instigated to result in that flush of fallen leaves. (Ficus are notoriously abhorrent of the slightest change in situation, but will usually come around if given time to acclimate, and if the change in atmosphere still provides them with bright indirect light and decent humidity.) Immediately after it shed that first showering of leaves, fresh ones appeared – and ever since then I’ve understood and slowly learned to appreciate this cycle of life.
Our plant usually goes through a few shifts in growth during the year, and the happiest one occurs right now, as the earliest signifier of longer daylight hours and the impending approach of spring. Another batch of new leaves is on the way, and more plentiful than the ones that have fallen.
Our last recap came a day late, and this one follows suit, the way that New Year’s Day always follows Christmas. I’m fine with that, as the very last thing I need or want right now is a fucking recap, but before we belly-flop into the new year, let’s take one last look at the final week of 2023…
It began sadly with the loss of my Dad’s older brother, capping off a relatively awful year of deaths.
A Christmas moon provided fitting beauty for Christmas Day.
At the same time, the sun was setting on our first Christmas without Dad.
A smorgasbord of all teasing, no pleasing.
This vintage photo always tickles me, mostly because I’m still itching for a proper romper.
Finding something amid the funk.
I finally got around to giving a quick run-down of this year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, which is in need of revamp if only for the fact that no one is a child anymore.
The Dazzlers of the Day who closed out the year were Emerson Collins, Josh Hutcherson, Ncuti Gatwa, JC Chasez and Lenny Kravitz.
The year ended with this single Year-in-Review post because 2023 needs to be left behind and forgotten as soon as possible.
As a sign of hope, these roses were a gift from Andy to cheer me up. I like entering the year on that note.
There are days when it feels easier to hide. There are days when staying in bed feels like the safest and surest way of staying alive. And there are days when all the pampering or self-preservation or coping techniques don’t make the slightest damn difference in the search for motivation.
Despite my assumed-penchant for an easy life, the truth remains that I don’t shy away from a challenge, and if I set my mind to doing something it overwhelmingly gets done. These days, the challenge can be simply making it through a morning, and I’m finding it more difficult to get going. I notice myself simply lying down on the couch or bed, or slouching into a chair, content to be lazy for this stretch of winter, content to be still. That’s ok for a moment, especially after the last year – and really, it could be said for any year. A year in the life of anyone is an accomplishment for merely surviving. No matter how lucky or unlucky you may feel, no matter how you might compare yourself to others, a year is a magnificent feat in and of itself. We should all be taking a congratulatory lap around whatever course we can get ourselves around.
So it is that I look ahead to the next year, with the wrinkles of wisdom and the gray hair of survival, with all the mistakes and mis-steps, and all the wondrous times when family and friends and fortune smiled upon me in spite of my foibles.
The year begins in the quiet fashion of this post, but I also want to include a little blossom of hope. The last time I was in Boston I walked through the Public Garden, a favorite haunt for so many vaunted reasons, and I found a few early cherry blossoms bravely defying the season and timeframe of Mother Nature. Climate change and global warming aside, it was a reminder that somewhere spring was still happening, even if it was just in my heart and head. It was also a reminder that spring would come again, even if we weren’t all here to witness it. And if spring can remain within us in a state of hope, then it never really went anywhere. That makes for a happy mindset.
Too many of us, myself most of all, put too much faith in the start of a new year acting as a springboard to the start of a new life. The actual truth of the matter is that one more day has come and gone – a single day. Taken collectively with the other days of the year, perhaps it is the mark of something, but only a mark, not indicative of anything meaningful unless we have done something with that time. And so we start this day feeling let down, perhaps, because there isn’t the spark we thought we might feel. In many ways, it’s the let-down of being an adult, and having been around the sun enough times to know that one date isn’t going to make a damn difference.
That doesn’t make for a great beginning, certainly not the flashy and trashy shit I often like to post to kick off a new year. My heart just isn’t in it right now, and so I step away from bringing the small world that visits here down as well, offering instead a few New Year links from the past. Indulging in nostalgia is only harmful if we stay here. For one day, it’s all right.
New Year’s Day 2013 – It seems my heart wasn’t in it ten years ago either. There is something reassuring about that.
New Year’s Day 2014 – A new year came with a new renovation, and it was all a nightmare.
New Year’s Day 2015 – A basket of bounty began this fortuitous year.
New Year’s Day 2016 – The year that began with a slice of lavender cake, as every year should.
New Year’s Day 2017 – Well, looking back it seems for many of these previous years, I did start out in quiet terms, in quiet posts. (And the odd naked butt shot for Baby New Year and what-not.)
New Year’s Day 2018 – And of course just as I was settling into the idea of quiet openers – BAM! – the unquiet post arrives.
New Year’s Day 2019 – Another year, another bang!
New Year’s Day 2020 – Back to the calm and contemplative start to a year.
New Year’s Day 2021 – Frosty beginnings make way for gray days. And pretty roses.
New Year’s Day 2022 – It was entitled ‘Spank My New Year’s Ass, Baby’ but that may have been misleading.
New Year’s Day 2023 – Last year began like 1-23. It ended like 12-31-23.
There is sometimes a celebratory aspect to the year in review posts that come as we complete a calendar year, but this time there’s not all that much to celebrate. Making it through another year is certainly a feat unto itself, so perhaps we take our celebration in that, and the fact that it’s come to a brutal end. Rather than break this up into two posts, I’m puking it all up here, with the main highlights, because the less said about this year, the better. Here’s to a happier 2024…
The year began with a hint at the 20th anniversary celebrations that ALANILAGAN.com would be marking. Yes, this completes the second decade of this website, which is nothing short of miraculous. A lot has changed since then. The eyes of a superstar still hit like heat.
Kiss my bitter peach/naked ass.
Vamping for Plan B with the Ilagan twins.
I am AI – always have been, always will be.
A Madonna Celebration is announced…
Spilling the tea since 2003, we began commemorating the 20th anniversary of this site.
Look what they made me do (after escorting me out of the Amsterdam Mall)!
Putting the kettle on for a cup of hot tea.
Finding mindfulness in a dish rag.
Making love out of nothing at all. (Along with the acoustic version for a reprise.)
Coaxing a mystery orchid back into bloom.
A silver anniversary for Madonna’s best album (to date).
Preparing for a two-decade salute.
Boston love has been rampant on this blog.
Still hanging out in my underwear for all the word to see.
The twins turned into teenagers. In honor of that, a letter to Noah and a letter to Emi.
Family fun spanning the generations.
A double-decade of revelations, and an ass shot.
The madness of making an oboe reed.
Pink or green: which witch are you?
Forget surreal, social media sucks.
A naked bubble tea journey – LIVE!
It’s never too soon to plan for retirement. No, seriously, I mean it.
We started summer a little early in a vain attempt to stave off the sadness that was lying in wait. It almost worked.
An unforgettable christening, the only kind that would be fitting for a Godson of mine.
Taylor Swift gave us the summer anthem.
Returning to Ogunquit provided a welcome respite, rain and all.
The vulgar jockstrap post before taking off all my clothes.
The shy exhibitionist, part one. // The shy exhibitionist, part two.
A post for my Dad, even if he couldn’t read it.
Alive on the verge of summer, which suddenly started with skinny dipping.
Tomorrow, again. And then a more popular song. And then a celebration postponed.
Words and notes in an effort to touch the hand of God.
A letter to my Godson on his first birthday.
Meeting old friends in the city that never sleeps made for one final flourish of fun before the summer took its dark turn.
August was spent less in a haze and more in a keen awareness of what I was feeling, from grieving to driving to breathing to walking – all in a hushed and still stance.
The days moved, the summer inched ahead, and throughout it all there was fluttering, visiting, and promising.
Unable to avoid the crowd of a funeral, I finally caught COVID for the first time, followed closely by Andy. It was the cherry on a summer sundae.
Fading to black on a rainy 48th birthday.
A summer song for swimming even if I wasn’t quite ready.
Full mooning and naked dreaming.
A weekend in Boston with the twins provided a chance to set the scene for fall.
All these little deaths and a beloved visitor at 4:44 AM.
A fall season begins with a newly-found song. (And an encore.)
A not-quite-definitive post of what this website has become over twenty years.
This year’s BroSox Adventure with Skip had all the ingredients and mains of a complete and total disaster. It even ended on a Sunday with a rain-out, and somehow it became one of my favorite BroSox Adventures.
Searching for my Dad and not finding him… then realizing he was never really gone.
Stepping back into the pool, slowly, timidly… and letting the water work its healing magic.
Mom rejoined us for a fall trip to Ogunquit.
A comedy of holiday errors with the bestie.
The best break-up I’ve ever had (or, four years of not drinking).
I may have married my childhood crush.
Healing times with a dear friend.
A Friendsgiving event in Boston found us re-evaluating and re-uniting after a period of hurt and misunderstanding, which is the best way to deal with shared grief. A few pockets of peace and calm saw us through a weekend of reunion, and the wild nights we have now are blessedly removed from what we once knew. A Sunday stroll paved the way for the holidays.
There was blood on the barber shop floor.
A reunion with our favorite babysitter (who still remembers us as the worst kids she ever babysat). Also, guilty.
Our Holiday Stroll tradition found us going back to basics, which was our way of avoiding any real drama.
It was about time for this year’s Holiday Card. Time, time, time… see what’s become of me.
How a sex club helped me land my first office job, which is the start of a story that goes back a quarter of a century. It marked a pivotal part in my life, and I had the fortune of meeting a few pivotal people – but not as pivotal as these lovely ladies.
This year’s Holiday Stroll was a return to the simple things that Kira and I do best.
A Children’s Holiday Hour without any real children.
A cemetery visit for Christmas.
The funk of these last few days of Mercury in retrograde has put a damper on this tail-end of 2023, and almost everyone I know just wants this wretched year to end so we can start again in 2024. I too would like that, though I don’t want to rush into anything. It can always be worse, and despite the sadness and pain that 2023 brought, there was goodness and beauty and fun along the way. Don’t miss too much of life for mourning, I remind myself – the dead wouldn’t want it that way.
And so we stumble along, limping through these final days of December while Mercury’s apparent motion wreaks its customary havoc, while we balance the sorrow of the previous year with all its wonderful moments of healing and solace.
These flowers were seen on our Holiday Stroll, and they set the scene for the next blog post, which is a quick recap of this year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, in which no one was a child anymore…
Winding down for the year, and not a Mercurial moment too soon, I’m picking up odds and naked ends and cobbling together this slightly salacious post in an effort to combat the doldrums between Christmas and New Year’s Eve/Day. That means a smorgasbord of links, all largely unrelated to anything, and subject to the whim of the blogger – often a dangerous and corrupt thing. An echo chamber of mirrors, if you will, that finds me screaming into a self-made, self-preservationist void of giddy acceptance and inclusion and all things good and cozy and sexy and fun.
Finally, here’s a glimpse into the mayhem of my Instagram feed, which you should totally be following because 2024 will be wild, in the sense that there are no more fucks to give. Are you ready for it all?
At the very time this almost-full Christmas moon was on the rise, the sun seen here was in the midst of its descent at the other end of the sky. As we dropped my Mom off at her new home after our first Christmas dinner without Dad, we paused to witness the moon and the sun dancing one last duet in the dimming of the day.
It had been a quiet and uneventful Christmas Day – the very best kind that we could have asked for this year. The weather had been quite kind as well, closing the afternoon with this pretty scene, which was more reminiscent of summer than the earliest days of winter. Lending the moment a welcome air of colorful beauty, it felt giddily at odds with the gray shadows that usually signify this season.
This, then, may have been our true gift – a glimpse into the sublime near the end of a somber year.
One day before it went fully full, the moon hung low in the sky as we wrapped up our first Christmas Day without Dad. He died on the first full moon of August, so when it goes full now it feels like a hello from him, even as it mucks things up in the way it always has. Or maybe it’s just another reminder of his goodbye. Whatever the case, it reminds me of him, keeping his memory alive.
After years of fearing the moon, and the effect it seems to often have on things, I’ve been coming around to appreciating it. One of the celestial constants in our lives, it informs more than we realize. Or maybe it doesn’t, and it’s all in our heads. If that’s how we assemble our lives, and make sense of the confusing and frightening and hurtful, then let us have our fanciful astrological constructions.
Given that Christmas fell on a Monday this year, the typical Monday-morning weekly recap we do here has been postponed until today. So while I’m going into the office to resume the work-week (why put it off any longer?) you can snuggle into your bed and your phone and scroll through all the posts you’ve been ignoring until this very moment.
It began with a tiny thread and an insignificant post.
Christmas comes with a deliciously scary side and her name is Fanny Cradock.
A salacious bit with some naked and semi-naked male flesh.
Forget eight, three is enough.
Albany’s Nipper pukes a rainbow! (There, I feel better!)
The world needs more biblical humor, especially this week.
The final day of fall reprises a found song.
The first day of winter sings with a whisper.
Put it in your hands and keep it there.
The Madonna Timeline returned with ‘God Control’.
An underwear-clad David Beckham by Victoria Beckham.
Mercury is in retrograde until next year. Fuck me hard.
A Christmas Santa Baby wish from Madonna.
A Christmas Safari thirty years in the making.
A Christmas visit to the cemetery.
Dazzlers of the Day included Morgan Spector and Ashlie Atkinson, because it was a celebratory week for ‘The Gilded Age’.
Winter then … let us have our winter now.
With pause and hesitance and … slow deliberation …
With wait and stop and still and false …
With the eternal ellipsis indicating that something is missing …
“Depending on their context and placement in a sentence, ellipses can indicate an unfinished thought, a leading statement, a slight pause, an echoing voice, or a nervous or awkward silence.”
I like the idea of winter beginning with an ellipsis …
So much mystery, so much possibility, so much left out, so much left to come …
So much left …
“An ellipsis may also imply an unstated alternative indicated by context.”
I also like the idea of winter beginning in bright bombast, in the cacophonous tumult and zany, electrified excitement of the holidays. Christmas!! New Year’s!!! And then the inevitable letdown and arrival of the doldrums … that’s what I truly seek this season.
The emptiness.
The aloneness.
When the noise is done, when the parties are over, when the resuming of school and work and life quickly renders this next week or two obsolete and soon forgotten, I will embrace the quiet and the stillness.
The dark night of winter descends – may it also be a cloak, wherein we find healing and growth. I don’t want to pretend the pain away, I want to be fully present, to go through all of the hurt and ache of a winter, the prick of an icy wind, the sting of a frigid morning, the deluge of a winter snowstorm. But I want to do it with a cloak, or at the very least a veil. We all need a little bit of protection, no matter how strong or bullish we might appear.
“The sign of ellipsis can function as a floor holding device, and signal that more is to come …”
A week to go and then the big day will be here.
And then the big day will be over.
The long stretch of winter will be at hand, and I’m ready for the quiet it may bring.
Before this week begins, a weekly recap must end…
Candles to light the longest nights of the year.
Limiting the sequins to one side limits all the fun.
Madonna, back stateside, begins the North American portion of her Celebration Tour.
Gaslight village, yesterday’s fun today.
Christmas time all over again.
Am I the only one who has never seen a Willy Wonka movie?
Almost towering over Boston, an office job takes shape.
Memories of John Hancock, as seen through the eyes of others…
… and memories of John Hancock as written in their words.
A quarter of a century begins with an ending.
Our Holiday Stroll brought us back to basics.
It also brought the three of us back together.
Dazzlers of the Day included Joe Jonas and Ilia Malinin.
There were two people I met during my stint at John Hancock who became lifelong friends: JoAnn and Kira. I met Kira first – she was already working there when I started. One of the quietest people I’d encountered, she kept to herself, did her work, and rarely interacted with anyone. I admired that sort of self-possession, even as I knew it was founded on uncertainty and doubt. Unsure of her English, Kira rarely spoke to anyone, but slowly, over time, we got her to join us for lunch, and she began to share her own stories.
JoAnn started after I was there for a few weeks, and as the new girl from Cape Cod she had her own battles to wage, and sometimes they were directly with me. Those early days of our friendship were tempestuous and incendiary, as we both had a love of drama at that point in our lives. Our fights were epic – the whole office weighed in on them, and witnessed many in person. Neither of us can recall what any of the bickering was about, but we must have been entangled in some battle when I sent this book around to be signed. Only Kira has an entry, and hers was the last. Reading it again, it’s clear she found her voice by that point, and took me to task right about the time when my boyfriend at the time had thrown me a surprise party that did’t go according to plan. That’s another story for another time – for now, the story shifts to Kira’s point of view:
“Que pasa? Alan, you need to stop doing things the way you do because it isn’t fair to mistreat your friends. I know you are a good friend and because I’m your friend I’m telling you this for your own benefit. Some people are not as patient as me and everyone have a limit and if you keep up with your attitude you will be alone. So if you want to have friends in this life you should try to treat them good. Just be yourself because you’re a good person and people would like you for what you are. You are one of my good friends and I’m sure going to miss you very much because I spend good and bad times with you, more good than bad. I also learned a lot from you and I hope that you do things for others because you really feel like doing it, not just because people own your stuff. PS – Also slow down on your drinks, good luck in Chicago. Tu amiga, Kira!! Love you!!”
More entries in my good-bye to John Hancock book – reading them is likely of little to no interest to anyone who wasn’t there, but these tickle me in their year-book-like innocence, and some border on prescient. The rest are just ridiculously silly and funny as they are foreboding (hello Linda!) It brings me back to a simpler time, when the whole of life spread out before me. Looking forward is so much different from looking back, no matter how similar the vantage point might be. It’s also touching to see that I carved out a little legacy that is probably forgotten by all now, but perhaps reached someone back then – the way we all touch people if we try hard enough. And now, more words from my former co-workers:
“Dear God – As Fate had it, I was the one responsible for bringing Alan Ilagan to John Hancock. So all this superficial outpouring of emotion scribbled on the previous pages was my doing. I’ll take the blame. This is my confession. When I was first introduced to AI, I immediately noticed something unique about him, special if you will: he didn’t give a shit about anything. Really! He came into the interview with a lackadaisical, aloof air about him. He didn’t want the job. I realized this is “The Guy” for Research. It turns out my instincts were bull’s-eye as only this kind of attitude would succeed in J’s well-run hearse of a department. He was not well-liked at first. Others found him privileged and condescending. So did I. But he had a trivial knowledge of pop music which only I could appreciate. So I took him under my wing and taught him everything I knew about Research that he was willing to listen to while not complaining. Also, secretly, I admired the flamboyant thing – kind of a cross between Nathan Lane and the Backstreet Boy whose name escapes me now. A house-pop-dance-literary-sensitive-intellectual-smart-ass fag. Alan’s personality is one of the few that I would call perfect. If his life was a 24-hour satellite channel, I would tune in while eating my dinner. But in a way, I have better. He now knows how to use e-mail so I will be blessed with his gift for prose on, I hope, a bi-weekly occasion. He will keep me informed of his irresponsible behavior which I will chuckle at on those down moments. I will not give him words of advice as I know that wherever he’ll be, there will be someone like me to guide him through. God, you have a strange way of throwing people in each other’s paths for a brief period. Thanks for making it stick. ~ Margaret”
“What’s up Alan, so you decided to just get up and leave us after all this time. Hey imagine if you did not come to research then we wouldn’t be able to use things in our summary sheets like ‘in lieu of’. Hey you know what, it’s been cool working with you. You always laugh and find humor in everything. Hey buddy good luck – I wish you the best. Keep in touch if you have any interesting stories or any funny jokes give us a buzz.” ~ Marland
“Alan – Words cannot express the sadness and emptiness in our hearts upon your departure. The sheer volume of work (and beverages consumed) will never be matched. All of ADR will probably crumble without your constant guidance and vision. Seriously, you’ve added humor and color to an otherwise boring (though fiche-filled) job. To say nothing of the lovely bash at your apartment (probably not often some strange girl passes out in bed with you). Best of luck in your future endeavors and life in Chicago. Send me some exciting mail. Perhaps another scathing music review. I’ll miss you.” ~ Maggie
“Alan, You are an unrelenting source of humor in this otherwise-bland department! You make me laugh and somehow my days are a little shorter when you are around! You are one-of-a-kind and perhaps the only other person here who likes Madonna (‘Ray of Light’ is a great album by the way). Good luck in Chicago – you will do great.” ~ Vickie
“Alan, it’s been a pleasure working with you. I hope you didn’t get too mad when I stole the machine you were using. The research department isn’t going to be the same without you. Good luck in Chicago. You should check out a Jerry Springer taping when you get there. Best wishes.” ~ Scott
“Alan, Alice, it… whatever – I hope that you have fun I your new city. Chicago is great from what I’ve heard and I’m sure that you’ll fit right in. Not with my crowd but you’ll fit in with some other sick and deranged people (Just Kidding.) I hope you find happiness as well as a good psychiatrist out there. Best of luck and good luck in the rest of your life!” ~ Vincent
“Alan, the research department will be lost without you and don’t let anyone say anything different. I’ll miss your bright colors {HAIR}. Good luck in whatever the future might bring you. You were very pleasant to work with. We all will be gone soon enough. Bye. ” ~ Linda
““To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.” Well Alan we had almost. full year here together, and what a time we had. Certainly we can not recall all the researchers that have come and gone over that time, but we’ll always remember the original (and best yet I might interject) morning crew of two. Yes research has gone through many transitions over our time here, but there have been those few constant members that have made this department function. You are one of those pieces, and you all be sorely missed in the coming months. Alan, I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors and pray for a Cubs/Red Sox World Series. Take care always.” ~ Michael
“Alan, I don’t know where to begin!! Well ADR will be lost without you. I will be lost without you!! I will miss trying to be the peace-maker between you and Kira, smoking outside with you, yelling at you for being mean, and out of all our singing. I had never met a gay man before you, so you are my one and only gay friend. (Do you feel privileged?) I will never forget you and I hope you never forget me. Don’t get wrapped up in the party scene in Chicago, and lose sight of what’s important to you. You are one of the smartest and talented people I have ever met, and I wish that your time here hadn’t passed so quickly. Just don’t forget the party at your house that I planned, the party that I never got, our private little party, and the party we are going t have on Friday! These few things should make you smile on a bad day. Well Big Al I will miss you, and I wish you the best of luck in whatever you decide to do.” ~ Michelle
“Al – Great party. Cool duds. Enjoy the Windy City.” ~ Joe
“Alan: What can I say to you that won’t make you laugh? Nothing, cause even if I look at you the wrong way or I’m in a bad mood I make you laugh. I have to say there were times when you would drive me out of my mind. I would want to jump out of my seat and just strangle you. But I guess that’s a part of being you. When you guys could find nothing better to do but aggravate and upset me with the stupid comments from Shawn and Michael, or throwing paper balls at one another, or thinking you would trade my good chair for a broken one and trying to get away with it. No way was I going to let that happen. But those are the trials and tribulations of working in research I hope you had a good time while it lasted. I will really miss you, and I will never forget you. Keep in touch – luv ya.” ~ Sandy
There are two more entries (well, sort of) that I have saved for the next blog post, as they are, more or less, from the two people who became lifelong friends: Kira and JoAnn. Yes, these memories of John Hancock have all been a run-up to this year’s Holiday Stroll, so stay tuned…
