This Dazzler of the Day goes out to my friend Josie, who recommended Shiloh Fernandez as the Dazzler/Hunk that this website has needed. He’s been seen in a wildly varied collection of work so far – from the television series ‘Jericho’ and ‘United States of Tara’ to the films ‘Deadgirl’, ‘Red Riding Hood’, and ‘The Birthday Cake’. No doubt more magic is on the way from that sultry stare.
Fall has always been signified by the scent of cinnamon buns offset by the brisk, foggy chill of mornings that had no right being disturbed. School and work refused to honor such a system, and so I’d find myself in various places inhaling that morning scent of breakfasts enjoyed by others – in the homes of neighbors as we waited for their kids to join us on the way to school, on the campus of Brandeis, or the streets of Boston as I hurried to work at John Hancock or Structure for my fledging jobs. On this morning, as I heat up a cinnamon roll that Suzie made, I am reminded of the campus walk at Brandeis.
The office of the registrar (and I’m not going to even pretend to know exactly what that is) was not a place I ventured regularly. I can actually only remember one or two times I sat there waiting for something – maybe a copy of my transcript – and I still don’t know for what. The building was relatively near my dorm, and every morning there was a delicious scent coming from within – cinnamon rolls or other sweet pastries – which tantalized and tortured, because even when I went inside there were none to be seen – only their lingering aroma was in evidence.
As I sat there waiting for them to open one day, I wondered what exactly the office did. It feels more familiar to me now, as I seem to be in a similar administrative role in my current job, not directly or concretely working toward the specific task and mission of the agency, but working for the Human Resources side of it, for the administration of procedures that allow an office to operate. Such behind-the-scenes operations were always mysteriously glamorous to me. I understood they were needed to make a university or state office run efficiently, that they were there as a protection of sorts, and they were conduits of executing applicable laws and regulations. I would come to view all Human Resources and Personnel departments in the same way, not knowing or even thinking I would one day join their ranks. For that moment, they were the mysterious gatekeepers, who could stand in the way or grant passage, making life easy or more difficult, and I both despised and admired them for that. I also took all that I was feeing to heart, perhaps having some premonition I would be in a similar position and want the grace and decency to treat others as I wanted to be treated.
But the main thing I remember is the fragrance of those cinnamon rolls, and that became inextricably bound to the start of fall. Brandeis was quiet in the early mornings, and I was one of the rare students who preferred the early classes for precisely that reason. As I traipsed up the hill near the Hassenfeld dorm, I breathed in the cinnamon-tinged air and welcomed the embrace of change, the scary thrill of the unknown. That fall morning memory fades, ducking behind a grove of maple trees with their leaves just starting to change… and another one forms.
There was a puppet stand, and a woman dressed head to toe – or tail – as a mouse.
The mouse nodded, for I did not see it at first, hidden slightly behind a make-shift puppet stand.
The stand held masks and puppets and mysterious objects that were surely laden with charms or curses or spells.
Backing away, and sensing danger or trouble, I moved into the sunnier and safer section of the Garden.
On that day, I would not be tricked by magic or enchantment.
On that day, I would not fall.
After being completely enamored of his fragrance, I wasn’t sure Richard Grant could do anything to make me love him more, and then his performance in ‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ goes and blows that foolish inclination up in a glorious puff of sparkle and pizzazz. As the mentor to a budding drag queen, Grant imbues his character with the world-weary, battle-scarred beauty of an aged performer perhaps slightly past their prime, and just waiting for a second act of inspiration. After a lifetime of secondary, though scene-stealing roles, Grant once again nimbly makes shreds of all surrounding scenery, and in a movie of memorable characters, he accomplishes the impossible by rising to the challenge of standing out. For all that, and a few decades of memorable roles (hello ‘Gosford Park’ and ‘The Age of Innocence’), Richard earns this Dazzler of the Day.
When the sun slants into the bedroom bay window, and the afternoon shifts from mid to late, my favorite place to be is reading a book or lounging in the sun-soaked bed of the Boston condo. I actively seek out this pocket of time for a siesta whenever I am in town, though when I lived there it more often seemed like I was out and about than home during this precious portion of the day. Perhaps that’s why it’s so lovely – always tantalizingly out of reach, its elusive nature addling to its allure – and I wanted so badly to have such a life of leisure so as to afford an afternoon siesta in the middle of the week. Alas, such treats must wait for retirement, or the occasional vacation day, or this recent Saturday afternoon when I could luxuriate in bed on a break from walking the city with family.
There is a great deal to be said for simply existing and enjoying a moment of rest and repose. Too many of us feel uncomfortable or nervous when we pause or stop for more than a second in our break-neck pace of life, unaccustomed to such mindfulness, to the treat of calm and stillness when we make the effort to truly slow down. Meditation has allowed me to access that – though I have to say I’ve always been able to stop whatever I was doing and take a lunch or a break and re-charge. It’s why I can sustain and maintain a consistent pace. (One doesn’t keep a daily blog going for 18 years by burning out and posting in fits and starts.) The same goes for the steady stretch of jobs I’ve managed to keep and advance through for two decades – that doesn’t just happen. Whenever I feel myself getting anxious or agitated by work or website posts, I step back and pause, indulge in some self-care and recharging, then continue on with a lighter mental load.
When such an indulgence can occur in a city like Boston, as the afternoon sun is filling the bedroom bay window and the autumn light is warm and abundant, I feel all the more grateful.
My newest obsession is the movie version of the West End musical ‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ – thanks in no small part to the winning performance of Max Harwood as the title character. With a blond mop and big eyes that take in the world as if it were made expressly for him, Harwood gives Jamie the untapped power and budding invincibility of a drag queen being born. Coupled with a poignant vulnerability, and a heartbreaking emotional journey, Harwood takes Jamie through the drama of being a teenager discovering their place in the world, and carving it out when it doesn’t quite fit. For this performance alone, Harwood earns the Dazzler of the Day.
Autumn and its golden splendor unfurls in fiery fashion, and this first week of fall was a roller-coaster of sun and rain, fun and pain. Though it was predicted that my last day on earth would be September 23, 2021, I sailed through as if I was still just in my 40’s. Today, Suzie and I are making a trip to Vermont to celebrate fall and see what we can find left from childhood memories. On with the recap…
Summer ended in a haze of shades of gray.
It promised to return in better form next year.
The arrival of autumn claimed better weather than the sunny season.
Abba and fall made for a thrilling combination.
Closing out summer in Boston with cousin Tyler.
That pesky prediction of my early demise.
And my prickly return to life.
Making finger sandwiches for the family.
The splendiferous shades of this fall season on ALANILAGAN.com.
Dazzlers of the Day included Marin Hinkle and Sander Jennings.
The color scheme for the fall season of ALANILAGAN.com is heavy on orange and fuchsia, so this little collection of blooms as seen along the Southwest Corridor Park in Boston are a fitting floral personification of such heat. Marigolds and zinnias are ubiquitous heralders of summer, reminiscent of childhood days where such explosions of color were commonplace. Every year I see these scenes and regret not planning and planting more annuals for the yard – maybe next year I’ll actually do something about it.
For now, they’re part of the Boston walking experience, and someone else has been good enough to care for them to get them to such a beautiful point. Hopefully the weather will last a little while longer and extend this summer show well into fall.
Failing that, we have these pictures, and the accompanying memories, to see us through the last part of the year.
I also find it helpful to find comparable fragrances that resonate with similar heat and panache – and in this case of bright and vivid color, none other than Diana Vreeland, and her intense brand of va-va-voom, will do.
Fall burns, fall flares, fall sounds the gong of over-the-top saturation.
“Never underestimate the power of your story. Everyone has a different story and is living different experiences. Although no one’s life is alike, many of our triumphs, failures, hardships, and successes overlap. For that reason, I believe all of our experiences are important and can impact others. Recently I have been very focused on empowering and helping others share their story. I’ve learned that being a storyteller is sometimes about assisting other people in telling their stories. This realization has driven my work and leads me to want to help others feel empowered and recognize their importance. If you are someone who wants to share their story, go for it – you might be able to impact the lives of so many. If you need some guidance or potentially would like to have your story amplified on my page, feel free to dm the word “guide,” and I’ll try to help you out.” ~ Sander Jennings
From Sander: This is important for everyone to know. To this day, I constantly get asked questions surrounding sexuality, so here are my thoughts:#1. You don’t have to identify as LGBTQ+ to support the LGBTQ+ community. Allyship saves lives and can help create diversity, equity, and inclusion in society.#2. To people who identify as a man and an ally: Don’t let other people questioning your masculinity or sexuality deter you from being an active ally to the LGBTQ+ community. Being an ally doesn’t make you less of a man.#3. To everyone: Just because someone promotes pride and advocates for the community doesn’t mean you should jump to conclusions about their gender identity or sexual orientation.#4. It is best never to ask someone about their sexuality. Create a safe space for someone to share that with you.#5. People questioning you doesn’t need to make you question yourself. Be proud to be you.Final thoughts: One of my main goals on social media is to bridge the gap between allies and the LGBTQ+ community. Some of my content is intended to amplify, uplift, and show support to the LGBTQ+ community. Other posts are designed to educate and encourage my cisgender & heterosexual followers to recognize the importance of Allyship. Whether you identify as LGBTQ+ or don’t, we are all valid and can promote diversity, equity and inclusion together. I love you all.Follow my Instagram and Tiktok to learn more:
I’ve always wanted to serve finger sandwiches for a fancy lunch at home, so when Mom and Dad and Elaine were stopping by for a lunch, I set about to serving a collection of finger sandwiches (also known affectionately as English tea sandwiches if they’d been done in fancier form). Thinking it would be easier than firing up the grill on a day when it may have been hot, I didn’t anticipate the work involved, particularly when over-reaching with a planned selection of five different varieties. It isn’t that it was difficult, just intricate and precious and time-consuming – all the things I purposely avoid when deciding what to cook for a gathering. But these are the things we do for family.
The first was a ham and cornichon and mustard-tinged aioli sandwich, followed by a smoked salmon and chive cream cheese on pumpernickel, then marinated cucumber and garlic-herb cream cheese, a simple egg salad with scallions, and for the fifth some store-bought Waldorf chicken salad because I was done by then.
The company was worth all the work, and we spent the afternoon outside on the patio, taking in one of the final sunny days of summer, surrounded by trailing vines of sweet potato and pots of ripened figs on the fig trees. It was balmy yet breezy, and the hint of coolness on the air was welcome with the sun.
As for doing these sandwiches again, I would do so, but limit it to one or two varieties, then set up an assembly line formation that would be much easier than switching it up with some ridiculously ambitious selection. Lesson learned the delicious way, and with the very best company.
Picking up from the previously-named contingent of marvelousness that is Rachel Brosnahan and LeRoy McClain, this Dazzler of the Day is noted for her performance as Rose Weissman in ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’. In many ways she is my favorite character, probably because I feel she is the most like me, in every failing and character foible. Her intent is never wrong or ill, and she retains a nobility and grace and elegance in the face of the world around her crumbling apart, and I admire that too. On some level she realizes she is less than perfect, but her belief in everything she does imbues even her mistakes with a sense of poise and refinement. Hinkle has a history of impeccably embodying real, complex and often hilariously-comedic characters, such as in her work on ‘Once and Again’ and ‘Two and a Half Men’. As the mother to Mrs. Maisel, she’s at the top of her game.
This Cornus kousa ‘Wolf’s Eye’ tree easily wins the contest for longest season of beauty and interest, thanks to its incredibly extended ‘blooms’ (more accurately bracts) in this rainy summer of 2021. They lasted well into August – an unheard-of length of time to be in bloom, faux or not. Followed by these pretty pink berries (so delectable to the birds and squirrels), the variegated Chinese dogwood in our backyard has made the otherwise-disappointing summer this much prettier.
This particular specimen also housed a robin’s nest earlier, with its gorgeously-shaded eggs and territorial red-breasted birds, and is now providing much food ad fodder for the roving bands of squirrels and not-so-finicky finches, which have moved from the cup plant seed heads to these speckled fruits. Taken altogether, the Chinese dogwood provides almost four full seasons of beauty and interest.
The simple yet majestic magnificence of the chrysanthemum – so revered by Asia year-round, and in this country particularly in the fall – informs this quick post. Coming into bloom at the tail-end of the growing season, when the gardens are all set to begin their slumber, these mums are the final display of floral fireworks, and cherished all the more for that. I’m a relatively recent appreciator of the chrysanthemum. They always looked overwrought and over-hybridized to my eyes. Lately, though, I admire their perfect form and their long blooming period. They wore me down. It’s easier to give in than fight a long and possibly-losing battle. Making peace with the easy prettiness of such a ubiquitous plant seems the wisest move for a happier future. Know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em. Know when to walk away, know when to run. And count your blessings. Fall is at hand.
Guess who’s back?
Prickly’s back!
Tell a friend.
If I posted this blog link on social media (FaceBook, Twitter or Instagram) then I must have survived the day it was predicted I would meet my end. So much for the accuracy of Halloween Hayride prophecies. Not that it didn’t make for an interesting day. One is a bit more careful when one is told they are going to die on a certain date. One is naturally a little more cautious.
In my case, I was weary of just about everything, and the most mundane objects or actions took on dangerous form. A flower vase suddenly looked like it might shatter and puncture some important vein. A few drops of rain during an afternoon swim had me certain that lightning would strike. Doing the smallest dance step to this song in the shower was accompanied by visions of me falling and smashing my head on the tile.
As the day wound to its close, and it looked like I might survive, I thought it might be nice to let the small world of casual acquaintances sweat it out a bit – hence the prickliness of this post. If you can choose to be prickly instead of soft, I’ll always choose prickly. Like the beautiful castor bean seed pods seen here, which finally popped in time for fall. They embody my bitter brand of sassiness right now, and I’ll never say sorry for that. Because you can’t be that mad at pretty. Or at life, especially when you’ve been given another shot at it.
I’m still alive… the boots have come and trampled on me and I’m still alive…
It was in this post where I describe the spooky ghoul who predicted my death date as… wait for it… (but don’t wait that long)… today, September 23, 2021. So depending on what time of the day this cataclysmic (for me) event takes place, this post may be coming to you posthumously. Of course, as is my wont, I won’t be going quietly or easily, so consider this anything but a parting shot. I’ve touched enough people to live on for quite a few more years, even if I’m not physically here. There are stories to tell, memories to rekindle, and ways to survive beyond this world. In truth, my presence often looms larger when I’m absent… and you don’t even know it. Don’t think that wasn’t designed.
For a last song, this one truly sings to me. It’s not about fading out or going gently into that good night. It’s from my latest obsession ‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ and it could function as a hello and goodbye… and you don’t even know it.
When I was first told of the day I was going to die, I was both relieved and grateful – relieved that it was set and done, and grateful for the two years I had then in which to tick through my bucket list. The only problem? I don’t really have much of a formal bucket list – – and so I proceeded through the last two years fumbling along as I’ve done for much of my life – while improving and bettering myself in small increments. Regrets? Nah. Every misstep and mistake made me smarter, better, faster, stronger and all that shit. I also did it while impeccably attired. The world crumbled around us, but I would not go down without a sartorial last stand.
While the fashion fairies worked their magic on my exterior, I also worked on what was going on inside – the heart, the head, the soul – all of it messy and convoluted and embedded with years of turmoil, trouble and transformation. The quest for perfection – a foolish and impossible quest with no happy ending – was seen as the dead end it always was, and in its place I found a happier freedom, dropping the guard in ways I never thought possible.
What would you do if you were told the exact day you were going to die? Live it up? Give it up? Change your life? Change nothing at all? For the most part, I forgot about the prediction until someone at work brought it back up. Part of me thinks I would have sailed through this day without incident if I hadn’t been reminded of it. Now a small, fantastical part of me thinks I may unwittingly will it into being, pricking my finger on some hidden spindle I didn’t remember storing in some dim corner of the attic.
