When a new urinal cake in the office bathroom is once again the highlight of the day, things have gone astoundingly awry.
Author Archives: Alan Ilagan
09
October
2024
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October
2024
09
October
2024
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October
2024
Dazzler of the Day: Joe Keery
It’s been a while since we’ve featured a Dazzler of the Day here (and your requests/recommendations are always welcome) and we are back with a great one. This is Joe Keery, actor and musician who came on the scene in a big way with ‘Stranger Things’ and has continued to mark a name for himself, such as his charming turn in ‘Free Guy’ (it’s almost impossible to steal a movie from Ryan Reynolds, but Keery managed to do it). We eagerly await what he’s doing next…
09
October
2024
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October
2024
The Real Color of Fall
“I wore black because I liked it. I still do and wearing it still means something to me. It’s still my symbol of rebellion – against a stagnant status quo, against our hypocritical houses of God, against people whose minds are closed to others’ ideas.” – Johnny Cash
Most of my fashion choices up until this fall have been bold and colorful. The older I get, the more muted my fashion palette has become – and these days I’m employing a mostly-black wardrobe. It’s classic, it’s powerful, it’s simple, and it’s magical. It also puts what you do on full display, rather than what you wear. It says something serious at a time when the majority of the world has become a sick joke.
“Black is modest and arrogant at the same time. Black is lazy and easy – but mysterious. But above all, black says this: I don’t bother you – don’t bother me.” – Yohji Yamamoto
08
October
2024
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October
2024
A New Black Parade
Ever since Dad died, this song has taken on a deeper meaning – and it was pretty deep before then, so this one goes far down. For our fade-to-black fall, it gets resurrected and brought back with even greater resonance. Life does that – it sharpens some things, dulls others, and reconfigures the world in a way that makes you realize it was all perception and perspective – and hopefully in that realization there comes a certain peace.
When I was a young boyMy father took me into the cityTo see a marching bandHe said, “Son, when you grow upWould you be the savior of the brokenThe beaten and the damned?”He said, “Will you defeat them?Your demons, and all the non-believersThe plans that they have made?”“Because one day, I’ll leave you a phantomTo lead you in the summerTo join the black parade”
A world that sends you reelin’From decimated dreamsYour misery and hate will kill us allSo paint it black and take it backLet’s shout it loud and clearDefiant to the end, we hear the call
Ever since I was a boy, I’ve felt old. Not physically, just in my head. I had no patience for childish nonsense, and all the silly things the other kids were doing. I felt weary, like I’d done it all before, and I was already tired. I felt jaded, not better than anyone – never better than anyone – just like there was nothing new under the sun. I felt entirely too serious for my own good, and my earnestness was never taken at face value, jumbling things up in my head even more. I felt stressed and worried – about everything. And what should have been one of the only truly carefree times in a person’s life was never meant to be, at least for me.
Do or die, you’ll never make meBecause the world will never take my heartGo and try, you’ll never break meWe want it all, we wanna play this part
I won’t explain or say I’m sorryI’m unashamed, I’m gonna show my scarsGive a cheer for all the brokenListen here, because it’s who we are
Just a man, I’m not a heroJust a boy, who had to sing this songJust a man, I’m not a heroI don’t care
We’ll carry on, we’ll carry onAnd though you’re dead and gone, believe meYour memory will carry on
I cannot regret that, any more than anyone can regret things over which they had no control or say. Who knows why I felt that way, and what does it even matter at this point? That was a long time ago, and I’ve never been one to hold onto the past, even as I recognize the need for a reckoning about certain things that have occurred. For now, I think of my Dad when I hear this song, wondering how he would react to everything our world has become. I have my own idea of what his take would be on various situations, and it keeps me going.
08
October
2024
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October
2024
A Blue Midday Moment
Sky is at its bluest in the fall.
Sun hides behind a church bell.
Afternoon advancing amid mindfulness.
A blue moment. A sunny moment. An attempt at something.
08
October
2024
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October
2024
Backlit, Brilliant and Beautiful
The Japanese coral bark maple provides a year-long focal point of interest, as seen in this moment’s brilliant golden foliage. Its spring show focuses mainly on chartreuse leaves, summer deepens into a darker green, and winter reveals the red bark befitting its namesake. I think I like the spring show the best, but fall is a very close second.
The leaves take on a tenderness now that is also part of their appeal – very soon they will drop, plucked by wind or rain or the simple end of this part of their journey. They will flutter down and join the earth again, rotting and decaying and transforming into nourishment and aid for another season of leaves. Tenderness and comfort and reassurance – the very building blocks of fall, and just enough to get us through the winter.
07
October
2024
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October
2024
A Happy Song Reprieve
One of my favorite moments of last week was driving home from a family dinner with Andy, and having this song come on the radio. I’m not going to pretend I was ever a huge fan of the Carpenters, but I had a few favorites, and they definitely knew their way around a melody, and a harmony for that matter, so let’s indulge in a bit of optimism. Andy reminded me of that during this darkening fall, so I turned the music up and let it play.
Such a feelin’s comin’ over meThere is wonder in most every thing I seeNot a cloud in the sky, got the sun in my eyesAnd I won’t be surprised if it’s a dream
Our self-seeded patch of cleome continues to blooms its head off – a happy reminder of our banner coquette summer. Even in a spell of rain, there is beauty here – some might say the rain only enhances the prettiness.
Everything I want the world to beIs now comin’ true especially for meAnd the reason is clear, it’s because you are hereYou’re the nearest thing to heaven that I’ve seen
For a Monday afternoon post, a bit of optimism makes all the difference. Go ahead, sing along.
I’m on the top of the world lookin’ down on creationAnd the only explanation I can findIs the love that I’ve found, ever since you’ve been aroundYour love’s put me at the top of the world
07
October
2024
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October
2024
A Bright Balmy Recap
October’s bright and balmy weather came through this past week, while matters of reconciling the past and turning this fall into a reckoning continued in earnest. It ended with a meditation, which is the very best way to end something – and a very good way to start as well. Before that though, our weekly recap collection…
A neon ghost, to barely kick off the spooky season.
A journal entry and photograph from 1994 (three decades ago to the week).
Hints of fall coming to fruition.
A Madonna Timeline brought us back to the early 90’s.
A silver lining of social anxiety.
Shawn Mendes is into the pickle.
That rough and tough meditation.
06
October
2024
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October
2024
The Rough & Tough Meditation
Saving the daily meditation for the last act of the day was deliberate. I knew that tonight’s practice was in part to revisit the events chronicled in this morning’s blog post – to revisit and to move through them in mindfulness, acknowledgment, kindness, and forgiveness. There was still a lot of anger and bitterness there – feelings of being unprotected and abandoned when I needed support most – and then the feelings of guilt for bringing it all up again. I let each of those thoughts present themselves, then move away. Inhabiting those moments of long ago – and all that I felt as they played out – and then examining what I felt, how I felt it, and how it lived inside me for all these years – that is how I am attempting to resolve the dilemma.
Writing about things helps – I’ve kept a lot of backstories hidden, as much to protect others as to protect myself – but there is something powerfully freeing about putting it all down at last, and then letting it go. Once it’s here, it doesn’t need to take up space in my head or heart – I can revisit any bottled-up anger or betrayal, while also realizing that I shouldn’t be bound to that anymore. The healing – and the possibility of forgiveness – is in the meditation that follows, in seeing things through my family’s point of view, seeing things through other points of view, and seeing myself with a bit of leniency too.
No one and everyone is to blame.
And so I breathe in and visualize those days, and then I slowly breathe them out – the exhale a relief of body and mind and heart. I do this over and over with each moment of pain, each moment of hurt, turning them into moments of clarity, moments of truth, and ultimately moments of forgiveness.
And the work continues…
06
October
2024
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October
2024
Shawn Mendes Gets Into The Pickle
Fine, I guess we’re playing pickeball now.
See also:
06
October
2024
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October
2024
A Treacherous Triumvirate
This month marks the fifth anniversary of the last time I had an alcoholic beverage. I’ll try to write another post celebrating that on the actual date – this one goes back more than a bit further to explore why I enjoyed the poison so much – or at least why I once employed it so much.
One of the key factors in what helped me to quit cold-turkey, and without any sort of withdrawal, was the realization that I had been drinking to ease and mask and address my social anxiety. On some level I understood that I’d been doing that for my entire adult life, but five years ago I managed to make that connection on a level that finally broke the alcoholic spell I was under. Once that happened, stopping was a breeze – and I realize that’s not the case for most drinkers who are unable to stop.
Having suffered from social anxiety for as long as I can remember, the memorable events of growing up often revolved around something uncomfortable; the brain is conditioned to remember its heightened moments of stress, I assume in an effort to avoid them in the future. In Filipino families, the first anniversary of the death of a loved one is a big deal. Masses and prayer services and gatherings of family are held – as much a celebration of food and life as they are a commemoration of the dead. When I was about eighteen years old, we attended one of these events in New Jersey.
My Mom had been asked by my Aunt if I would do a reading in front of everyone, and despite the many glaring examples of how uncomfortable I was in front of a crowd, and my debilitating shyness that had been evident since I could walk, she said yes and then told me that I would be doing a reading in front of everyone. I asked her to tell my aunt that I couldn’t do it – but she wouldn’t. She merely walked away, leaving me alone to figure it out.
Somehow, I managed to get through the reading, the entire time feeling like I was dying inside, and it didn’t make me stronger. It only freaked me out further, setting a cycle of terror in motion, one that my own mother didn’t seem to want to stop.
More than a few years later, a similar event happened, because getting hurt seems to be a family tradition for me. We were at a funeral for another family member, and once again someone asked my Mom if I would do a reading – and once again she said I would. I think then she said I could say no if I wanted but I would have tell them I didn’t want to do it. At that vulnerable moment, I think that hurt more than the fact that she didn’t even see how it might be difficult for me.
That morning was different, however, as I had a secret weapon – a bottle of orange juice and vodka, which I downed in the bathroom of our hotel room before we left for the funeral. In a haze of drunken confidence I sailed through the reading, and unlocked a key to getting through any moment of social anxiety: alcohol. It also set up a dangerous precedent of drinking to deal with family events – especially when it was becoming clear that I couldn’t always count on my family to protect me or, worse, when family were the people who ended up harming me. More on that as we delve deeper into fall, because no one said this was going to be an easy, breezy season; it’s a necessary one, and this reconciliatory reckoning is long overdue.
Social anxiety, the feeling of being unprotected by my family at key moments, and the crutch of alcohol would prove a triple threat – and a consistent motif through the years. Looking back, I did a lot of my drinking during family gatherings and events, and I’m just beginning to see how the pieces of that puzzle fit together. It’s not a blame game, it’s an explanation destination, and I’m the only one who put the bottle to my lips.
05
October
2024
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October
2024
A Silver Lining of Social Anxiety
Social anxiety may have saved my life.
Coming of gay age in the era of AIDS was obviously not without its perils. Just as I was awakening to my own sexuality, the world was awakening to the epidemic of AIDS, and suddenly sex might mean much more than pregnancy or STDs – it could equal death. That’s a bit of a boner killer, even for a teenager who could get it up at the wispiest breeze in the air.
My years of adolescence took place at the height of the AIDS epidemic, and by the time I was old enough to start exploring sex with men, condoms were mandatory and routine, and the wild, hedonistic abandon that called deeply to my primal soul was studded with the prickly warnings and admonishments of how to safely navigate such a scene. Sex suffers when spontaneity requires planning and precaution.
By the time I was old enough to date a man, I was aware of AIDS in a general sense, but for someone so young, it was still a scary time, and I had questions and concerns – all of which were not welcomed or even tolerated by the first man I would kiss.
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Another journal entry from October 1994 that illuminates my innocence, earnestness, and foolishness:
We made it into Harvard and started to walk to the theater to buy tickets when Tom stopped to stare at a street musician. I just wanted to get the tickets, eat dinner, and get out of the bad weather. But Tom stayed and watched this old guitar player. We were getting along all right no. Mostly it was he and I bantering with sarcastic comment. It was fun. Finally I got him to get up and get the tickets. We were walking away from the theater, looking for a place to eat. I asked him a few more questions.
“When was the last time you were tested for AIDS?” was one of the last ones I dared.
“Yesterday, like I do every day.”
I laughed but asked again seriously.
“When were you last tested?” he asked.
“I’ve never been tested.”
“Well.”
“But I haven’t been with over thirty people either. So when was it?”
“Two years ago.”
I know it shouldn’t have, but somehow it surprised me. That would have been 1992. I thought of his current cold. What if…
“And how many people have you been with since you were tested?” I asked, somewhat afraid of what the answer might be.
“Umm… about ten.”
“Ten?! You’ve been with… how do you know…”
“Look, I told you,” he began sternly and loudly, “I didn’t want this education crap. Now if you have questions, ask someone else, do you understand? I told you that. I don’t want to be mean, but I told you this before and I don’t want any more of it.” And that was it.
In that one moment my world turned form something over which I had some control into something that whirled and whisked me in whichever whim it had. The wind caught up. Before this year I would have been bawling in this situation. Now I just walked stoically with Tom. He looked back at me. It wasn’t a joke. Did he think I thought it was? I just looked back at him, giving him a slight ‘Well that’s that’ smile. And we went into Bertucci’s and sat down for dinner. Then the mending began. I almost hated him for what he had just done. But I didn’t.
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In the 90’s, I was old enough to legally get into clubs and bars, I wasn’t the club kid that certain people thought for sure I would be when let loose in Boston. In fact, I went to Chaps maybe once every few months, for the occasional wild tea dance, and rarely if ever did I bring anyone back home with me. My social anxiety was too high for that, and if any guy did happen to make their way back to my place, I didn’t do much beyond oral. Usually it wasn’t much beyond kissing. And therein may have been the lifesaving bit of happenstance – my shyness acted as my protection, at a time when many gay men were falling sick everywhere. My inability to be the full-fledged slut I privately longed to be was a saving grace; by the time I really let loose, we had gotten safe sex down to a science.
Whenever I wonder whether I made the most of those younger years, I think back to what our world was like, and I’m grateful to have been so shy. Sometimes social anxiety saves lives.
05
October
2024
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October
2024
A Little Rainbow Reprieve
This little park in downtown Albany opened this fall, and though I drive by it every day, and it’s literally across the street from my office building, I still have’t had the opportunity to stop by and sit there for a bit. My goal is to do that before the weather fully turns. It’s a reminder to take the time for such meditative moments throughout the day – to slow down and stop what we might be barreling through to finish. I need more moments of quiet like that.
05
October
2024
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October
2024
The Madonna Timeline: Song #177 – ‘Rescue Me’ ~ Early 1990’s
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
Heartbeat.
Thunder.
Lightning.
Rain.
Absence.
Silence.
We existed in a land of letters. Furtive messages left for one another on a shared computer, before there was e-mail or social media of any kind. Lyrics mostly, the occasional letter, snippets of songs and poems and phrases we’d heard whispered in a dream. That’s what we were in – the fever dream of being eighteen years old and just beginning to find yourself. Seeing glimmers of who you might want to be in another person was intoxicating.
From the not-so-hallowed halls of high school unimaginativeness, we found each other like weak beacons in a tormented sea. Our lights having been wasted for years amid kids and adults who were always somehow lacking or limited, we found kindred spirits in each other, and when you find a twin flame at such a lovely and atrocious time in your life, it ignites something that can never be fully extinguished.
With you I’m not a little girlWith you I’m not a manWhen all the hurt inside of meComes out, you understandYou see that I’m ferociousYou see that I am weakYou see that I am sillyAnd pretentious and a freak
She had come from another school, and back in those days I disdained anyone new. She was also outspoken, unafraid to be the center of attention, and brash in a way that intimidated others; for those reasons, and more, she eventually gained my respect. She also had similar taste in music. Embroiled in the typical maelstrom of adolescent angst and drama, we each found comfort and thrills in Madonna, for no one spoke to that more succinctly than her. It was a rare treat to find someone as enamored of the pop star at that time – there was something decidedly uncool for a boy to like her, if not outright offensive. I was just starting to learn not to care about such things. When messages started appearing on the computer I used in an early computer class, I knew instantly who they were from, and in that dreamy period of teenage infatuation and insecurity, I wrote back with similar messages and strings of words. We each needed a friend then.
But I don’t feel too strange for youDon’t know exactly what you doI think when love is pure you tryTo understand the reasons whyAnd I prefer this mysteryIt cancels out my miseryAnd gives me hope that there could beA person that loves me
At the time, I was seeing another girl, so my side of things had to remain – and did remain – strictly platonic. Admittedly there were some flirtatious moments, but when you’re eighteen that seems the least of any transgressions, and I never cheated on my girlfriend despite the opportunity. Still, I understood that meeting someone who understood me in a wholly different way was something special, something sacred, and we guarded that. In some way we sensed that we might be each other’s salvation at a point down the road, and in so many aspects we both needed to be rescued.
Rescue me (rescue me, it’s hard to believe)Your love has given me hopeRescue me (rescue me, it’s hard to believe) I’m drowningBaby throw out your rope
We were both confidently assured of our fabulousness and keenly insecure about who we were. It may likely have been no more than youth, but you usually can’t see that at the time it all happens. We spoke to one another in a language no one else would ever understand – at times I wondered if we even knew what we were saying, so complicated did our verbal sparring turn that we would occasionally get lost in woods of words. Being so perfectly matched in wit was as much a blessing as a curse; it made for the greatest moments of connection while proving fertile fighting ground. Our battles were as epic as our chemistry, and when my then-girlfriend and I broke up (in the best way we could manage, which admittedly wasn’t the best), we finally had the chance to see how we would or could work as a couple.
With you I’m not a fascistCan’t play you like a toyAnd when I need to dominateYou’re not my little boyYou see that I am hungryFor a life of understandingAnd you forgive my angry little heartWhen she’s demanding
We shared a chemistry that transcended typical gender and sexual roles (especially seeing as how we would both end up realizing we were more attracted to the same sex in a year or so). At the moment, we came together in combustible and fiery fashion – an attraction built first on the intellectual, followed by the physical, which at our age meant burning up.
You bring me to my kneesWhile I’m scratching out the eyesOf a world I want to conquerAnd deliver and despiseAnd right while I am standing thereI suddenly begin to careAnd understand that there could beA person that loves me
We would explore every configuration of how our bodies fit together, fucking everywhere from empty playgrounds to station wagons to the middle of a road somewhere after midnight. With the intensity and fervor befitting the verge of adulthood, our lovemaking was primal, animalistic; it was like we were trying to fuck our way through each other to some other place. She pulled me into her, locking her wrists behind my back as I wondered how close we could come to abandoning ourselves to oblivion. Our passion wanted as much to destroy itself as to build itself anew each day. We were both insatiable then.
Rescue me (rescue me, it’s hard to believe)Your love has given me hopeRescue me (rescue me, it’s hard to believe) I’m drowningBaby throw out your rope
Yet somehow I remained removed, like I was going through the motions of what a man’s supposed to do. There was a cool detachment that I thought was emanating from her, when really it was me the whole time; we so often attribute our questionable traits to others, tricking ourselves into believing we are but mirroring the state of someone else. My barriers were constantly erect, even as I was inside her, as close as two people might possibly be, and as much as we both thought it to be love, the clouds signaling the end of a season, like the clouds of our ending youth, rolled in from the horizon. Our one summer together had come to a close, and by the time I was back in Boston she had moved on to her first girlfriend, and I was kissing a man.
Love is understandingIt’s hard to believeLife can be so demandingI’m sending out an S.O.S.Stop me from drowningBaby I’ll do the rest
Rescue me (rescue me)Your love has given me hope (your love has given me hope)Rescue me (rescue me) I’m drowningBaby throw out your rope
Even if we hadn’t awakened to our diverging sexualities, we could never have survived in a world of reality. Our drama was too intense, our ways with each other too extreme. We couldn’t inhabit the real world – and we both understood that surviving meant living 95% in the real world – navigating its awfulness, getting down in its ditches, dirtying the very pure realm in which we carved our love. Our final break was a messy, splintered, half-assed affair – and we had hurt each other beyond a point where we might be friends.
Love is understandingIt’s hard to believeLife can be so demandingI’m sending out an S.O.S.Rescue me, rescue me
It’s not my business to decideHow good you are for meHow valuable you areAnd what the world can seeOnly that you try to understand meAnd have the courageTo love me for me
Looking back, with the keen sensitivity and wisdom of time unrushed, and with a willingness to acknowledge and own any bad behavior, we may have rescued each other after all. For that brief, glorious, tender time in our lives – a time that would inform all we would ever become, solidifying our souls in ways that remain true to this day, we did our best to save ourselves, and each other. Every once in a while I’ll still think of her, wonder at where she might be, how she might be, what she might be doing – and I hope she is safe and happy. After all of it, I still wish her happiness.
I’m talking, I’m talking, I believe in the power of love
I believe in the power, I believe you can rescue me
Song #177 – ‘Rescue Me’ ~ Early 1990’s
04
October
2024
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October
2024
A Moody Friday Night
While I’m finalizing a Fade-to-Black Fall Playlist, here’s a sneak preview of one of the songs – fitting in tone, lyrics, and atmosphere. Moody as fuck, ambivalent, decadent and more than a little sinister, it slinks along for a very late Friday soundtrack.
I wore all black today – it’s the uniform of this fall season. It also marks a shift from my typical garb of crazy colors and wild combinations; it also fits the mood at hand, which is black as the night.
Still, I see the stars.
Before a late meditation, I stepped outside and looked up at the dark sky. An airplane blinked and slowly crossed in a gentle arc, then the stars began to appear as my eyes adjusted. They are always there – sometimes it just takes a bit of effort and patience to see them.
