Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Listening to the Malady of Elegance

Though I’ve been doing my meditating in complete silence, I’ve been falling asleep to ‘The Malady of Elegance’ by Goldmund, which I’ll admit to purchasing without hearing a single note of it, based solely on its name. In the past, this sort of blind buying has paid off, as in the case of Shirley Horn’s ‘Here’s to Life’ and Viktor & Rolf’s ‘Spicebomb’ and Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Minerale’ but it’s not a wise or safe practice, so I can’t recommend it. I can however, strongly recommend ‘The Malady of Elegance’ for those moments when you might be looking for an aural background to peaceful contemplation, or just a bit of music with which to calm down.

As mentioned, I’ve been listening to this as I fall asleep, and I can imagine it would sound equally lovely on a Sunday afternoon, a rainy morning, an after-work wind-down, or any moment where one needs a little respite from the wickedness of the world. We may need that a bit more these days. I know I do. Find a few moments, locate your quiet space, take a couple of deep breaths, and let the music move you.

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The New Best Banana Bread Recipe

“There is more than one peanut butter and banana sandwich in the world.” ~ Violet Newstead, ‘9 to 5’

That’s basically the only brush I had with the combination of bananas and peanut butter, and the only one I really wanted to have. (I was not one of those kids whose Moms packed a peanut butter and fluff sandwich – a Fluffer-nutter if I recall, not a bad nickname now that I think about it, but a gross concoction to my childhood mind.) Over the last few years, however, I’ve become even more open to strange combinations, particularly where peanut butter has been concerned. [See this hot dog and peanut butter combo that was rather delectable.] As for peanut butter and bananas, it makes more sense than the hot dog marriage, so the notion of adding peanut butter to a banana bread recipe wasn’t immediately repellant. Coupled with this amazing recipe I found online from Two Peas & Their Pod, it turns out we had all the available ingredients on hand for a quick mid-morning baking session.

It’s really just like adding a creamier version of butter, and it mixed surprisingly well with the bananas. The one thing I did change was the addition of a half-cup of white chocolate chips, because we had some of those on hand and I’m in the mood to use up all the odds and ends that have been in our cupboards for, don’t judge me, years in some cases. While I was obliterating part of my childhood beliefs by putting bananas and peanut butter together, I allowed my younger self a nod by not adding any nuts to the bread. I couldn’t stand nuts in muffins or brownies or similar sweets back then, so here’s to that boy.

I baked this on the lower end of the recommended time and it was done by then. Our oven usually takes longer to bake things, so watch near the end. They turned out deliciously – moist and light (I also did minimal mixing when adding the dry ingredients to the wet) and the flavor was divine. A decadent addition of peanut butter or honey was advised, so I went with the latter. A slice of warm peanut butter banana bread with some honey is precisely what these blustery days of spring require.

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Easter Basket Monday

Now that we’ve had the return of the big JC, let’s get back into the carnal sinning and winning that this site aims to deliver when it’s not all about Christ. To that front-end, here’s a post that celebrates the baskets of gentlemen who have appeared here before, along with the requisite links to more of their junk.

The featured photo is of Austin Armacost, whom some consider rather caustic after his turns on various reality television series. Having not followed any of said series, I’m only going by looks and appearance – the hallmarks of a former Hunk of the Day, especially one who has helmed other posts like this and this and this. Better known for his do-good efforts is Max Emerson, who was also a Hunk of the Day, and more than once as well

Emerson also appeared in just as skimpy attire (and a bit less) right here. Tom Sandoval is a Bravo-lebrity from ‘Vanderpump Rules’ and also released at least one infectious song. He might be better-suited to posing in his underwear

Nathan Adrian brings some Olympic metal (and medal) to these proceedings. He appeared mostly in his Speedo in posts like this and this, and even less here and here

Eddie Eduardo shakes his groove thing in his Hunk of the Day crowning, as well as this celebration of ginger heat

Pietro Boselli packs a pretty punch in his skimpy swim attire, as he has done countless times in the past, such as here, here, here, here, and here. He also likes to show off in his underwear. If you want to see a naked Pietro Boselli, check out this post and this one and this one. Ashley Parker Angel hangs out mostly in his underwear, as he did here and here and here. (And one bonus naked Ashley Parker Angel post.)

Naked male models are always appreciated in these parts, as witnessed by previous posts featuring Zander Hudgson. You can see how he fills out his briefs here, and get a peek of his naked ass here

Will Taylor always makes a splash in his Bright Bazaar enterprise, particularly when he slips into a colorful Speedo. James Haskell brings his rugged hunkdom to this post, and he fills out his underwear quite bodaciously here. If you want to see him without any underwear at all, go here

Our final Easter Monday basket shot is of Aaron Renfree, who received his first Hunk of the Day nod here. If you’re looking for a naked Aaron Renfree, see this post. He also did some beautiful work with Snooty Fox Images

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Grab a Cup of Coffee So We Can Recap

Andy recently taught me how to make coffee, and I’ve been on a decaffeinated kick of late, so let’s grab a cup of the brown stuff and pretend we are meeting up at Starbucks like we never used to do. None of that lingo is used correctly, is it? Oh well, I’ve given up on pretending to be perfect. Cream or sugar or that cocoa powder that doesn’t come out? Is the lingo getting better? I’ve always been a Starbucks loner – you won’t find me gabbing with friends or attending a tutoring session or doing a job interview – and I’m accustomed to minding my own business when sipping on my Grande decaf. In essence, not much has changed. Yet it turns out that while I like being left alone, I also like to watch people. From a Bette Midler distance.

My current office outfits are all business on top, party down below.

Shirtless Tom Daley break.

Grocery store avoidance solution.

Spring before and spring after.

Autumn joy in spring.

When ducks visited our pool.

Liquid lunch.

A gratuitous Jason Derulo post.

I whipped it out to mark my territory.

I adore the new Duo Lipa album.

Little star of blue.

Homage to ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ 1 – The Home-From-Work Scene.

Homage to ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ 2 – The Shower Scene.

An ode to Easter joy.

Reclaiming Easter trauma as a shirtless bunny

Another awakening brings more awareness

 

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Awakening to Awareness ~ Part Two

“We see people and things not as they are, but as we are. That is why when two people look at something or someone, you get two different reactions. We see things and people not as they are, but as we are.” ~ Anthony de Mello

 One of the first courses I took at Brandeis University was for a science requirement. Back then I thought my path to a career was via science, particularly something in the realm of biology. Upon promptly failing the first (of only four) exams, I soon realized science was not going to be my calling. Fortunately, when handing out that first exam the professor explained that those of us who did not do as well as we would have liked [sheepishly raised hand before realizing it wasn’t a question] still had a chance to do well in the course, as the final grade was also based heavily on improvement.

The class was titled ‘The Brain: From Molecules to Perception’ and went from the molecular level of brain functions to how we actually perceived all these messages we were getting. After my initial freak-out at the first failure, I refocused and stayed for extra help in the next few weeks, raising my next effort to a ‘B+’. By the last two exams, I was getting perfect scores, and my final grade ended up being a solid ‘A’ thanks to the trajectory of improvement. (There was really nowhere else to go.)

The point of that trip down memory lane was that perception of most messages may begin on a molecular level, but somewhere along the way it gets muddled by myriad influences – experience and history and assumptions – and the end result is not a literal, factual interpretation of things as they are, but as how things seem to be. And it’s different- often wildly different – from person to person.

So much of what we perceive of the world is filtered through our own prisms, and though we may transform them into pretty rainbows or shattered dreams, they are only our perceptions – and in most cases they are misperceptions. It’s hard to think about such an idea, because it means rethinking about almost everything. It’s worth the effort though, because once you begin to do that, all future perceptions become easier to process -and what seems difficult and painful isn’t as bad as you think. Again, this takes a major shift in how to deal with everything that comes at us, but if someone as stubborn and self-righteous as me can make the attempt, then anybody can. And it’s already making my life easier, and much more enjoyable.

“Happiness is our natural state, Happiness is the natural state of little children, to whom the kingdom belongs until they have been polluted and contaminated by the stupidity of society and culture. To acquire happiness you don’t have to do anything, because happiness cannot be acquired. Does anybody know why? Because we have it already. How can you acquire what you already have? Then why don’t you experience it? Because you’ve got to drop something. You’ve got to drop illusions. You don’t have to add anything in order to be happy; you’ve got to drop something. Life is easy, life is delightful. It’s only hard on your illusions, your ambitions, your greed, your cravings. Do you know where these things come from? From having identified with all kinds of labels!” ~ Anthony de Mello

{See also Awakening to Awareness: Part One.}

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Taming the Easter Bunny Demons

Usually today is the day when I post this classic photo of me with the Easter bunny who traumatized me for life. Not this year. I’ve conquered those fears and lingering anxieties (thanks in no small part to some serious therapy), and the best way to illustrate that is to turn the bunny on its cottontail and take the traumatizing into my own hands. Hence this quick photo shoot in a pair of black bunny ears and not much else.

For those who still get a thrill out of me being tortured as a little kid (you know who you, and I know who you are too), there are myriad posts with that photo, like this one or this one or this one or this one. There are also posts that have friendlier bunnies, childhood Easter egg hunts, and scary/sexy bunnies

For those who want a darker version of a bunny more in tune with Tom of Finland, check out this post or this post, (but maybe not this one because it’s way too dark for Easter). Happy Egg Day! 

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Ode to Joy?

Most of the Easter mass celebrations of my childhood ended with the triumphant chords of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ ringing throughout St. Mary’s church as I and another altar boy led the priest down from the altar and out of the church. If old-fashioned Monsignor Glavin was giving the mass, we would go back to the area where we got dressed and take one final respectful bow. If it was Father Gulley, he usually lingered out with the congregants, socializing and talking and blessing babies while the altar boys hurried back to get changed without any ritualistic bow. Strange, the things one remembers, the memories that one can occasionally pull from an Easter weekend that went unremembered for so many years. 

As for that joyous symphony by Beethoven, it begs for a reinterpretation, and was given a major overhaul when Adrienne Rich wrote her magnificently disturbing poem, “The Ninth Symphony of Beethoven Understood At Last As a Sexual Message” from ‘Diving Into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972’ as seen below.

A man in terror of impotence
or infertility, not knowing the difference
a man trying to tell something
howling from the climacteric
music of the entirely
isolated soul
yelling at Joy from the tunnel of the ego
music without the ghost
of another person in it, music
trying to tell something the man
does not want out, would keep if he could
gagged and bound and flogged with chords of Joy
where everything is silence and the
beating of a bloody fist upon
a splintered table

It gives quite a different view of that old ‘Ode to Joy’, and I challenge you to do some historical research on Ludwig and come back with your take on this particular piece unchanged. (Or just watch ‘Immortal Beloved’ and you’ll get a similar life-altering experience.)

Happy Easter. 

Nobody beats the Ris.

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Homage to A Streetcar, Homage to Desire ~ Part 2

It may come as a surprise that in elementary school the subject that I hated most was ‘Language’ ~ that’s what we used to call English or grammar. It was the subject in which we would have to write, and I loathed it. Math came much more easily to me, and science was much more interesting. Words and grammar were too abstract and dry for me to grasp. While it was a chore, I usually excelled at writing, and like most things we initially fight against and reject, it eventually became my cherished love. That didn’t happen until high school, however, when we finally got to read some good shit, starting with ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ and, later that freshman year, ‘A Streetcar Named Desire.’ I didn’t realize that it was a love of language and words and how adroitly they could bring us into other realms that was working its magic ~ I simply loved the escapism of a book or play. Whenever I would lie awake in bed at night worrying about the next day of school, I could open a book and escape, albeit briefly, into a different place where I only had to observe and experience. I didn’t have to talk to anyone, I didn’t have to engage, I had only to watch and feel and travel safely as spectator. Wracked by social anxiety and depression, I found safety in the world of the written word. It didn’t even matter that so much of those words escaped my notice, that so many layers of meaning went unnoticed and unprocessed by my young mind. It was enough to simply exist somewhere other than within the reality in which I found myself.

It was fantasy.

It was play.

It was survival.

When the brutality of being a fourteen-year-old gay boy became too much ~ and simply existing in those days sometimes felt like too much ~ the words of a writer like Tennessee Williams called to me, beckoning me to keep going, to keep pushing into a world that might one day offer succor and salvation, even when it felt like no one was there to help.

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“You haven’t said a word about my appearance… Daylight never exposed so total a ruin.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“Some things are not forgivable. Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable. It is the most unforgivable thing in my opinion, and the one thing in which I have never, ever been guilty.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“When I was sixteen, I made the discovery — love. All at once and much, much too completely. It was like you suddenly turned a blinding light on something that had always been half in shadow, that’s how it struck the world for me.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“These are love-letters, yellowing with antiquity, all from one boy…..Poems a dead boy wrote. I hurt him the way that you would like to hurt me, but you can’t! I’m not young and vulnerable anymore.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“…most writers, and most other artists, too, are primarily motivated in their desperate vocation by a desire to find and to separate truth from the complex of lies and evasions they live in, and I think that this impulse is what makes their work not so much a profession as a vocation, a true calling.” ~  Tennessee Williams

“Physical beauty is passing – a transitory possession – but beauty of the mind, richness of the spirit, tenderness of the heart – I have all these things – aren’t taken away but grow! Increase with the years!” ~ Tennessee Williams

{See Part One here.}

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Homage to A Streetcar, Homage to Desire ~ Part 1

“A fire smokes the most when you start pouring water on it.” ~ Tennessee Williams

The first time I read ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ by Tennessee Williams I was in high school.

The last time I saw the movie was a few days ago.

In some ways I think I understand it less now than I did then.

This is a good thing.

True wisdom doesn’t recognize itself.

Not in its own time. 

It’s a testament to the power of this work by Tennessee Williams that it’s still so resonant. It survives and thrives because it lives on so many levels. When one tunnel of thought or analysis is exhausted, another reveals itself below or above it. In the end the labyrinthine maze is too complex for me to fully grasp even after repeated readings and viewings. In fact, it seems to grow more complicated, more dense, more beautifully intertwined with itself as the years pass. Maybe it’s hitting closer to home, and I shrink away from the truths it posits on aging, the desperation that comes from loneliness, the warped way this life erodes innocence and purity.

The slow and subtle diminishing of morals.

The insidiously seductive tentacles of desire.

The brutal spark of unexpected violence.

The world isn’t kind to sensitive creatures.

No…

The world isn’t kind. 

“You see I still have that awful vanity about my looks even now that my looks are slipping!” ~ Tennessee Williams

“What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“I don’t believe in “original sin.” I don’t believe in “guilt.” I don’t believe in villains or heroes – only right or wrong ways that individuals have taken, not by choice but by necessity or by certain still-uncomprehended influences in themselves, their circumstances, and their antecedents.
This is so simple I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m sure it’s true. In fact, I would bet my life on it! And that’s why I don’t understand why our propaganda machines are always trying to teach us, to persuade us, to hate and fear other people on the same little world that we live in.” ~ Tennessee Williams

“Sorrow makes for sincerity, I think.” ~ Tennessee Williams

I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be the truth. And if that’s sinful, then let me be punished for it!” ~ Tennessee Williams

“There’s been some progress since then, such things as art, as poetry, as music ~ in some kinds of people some tenderer feelings have had some little beginning! That we have got to make grow! And cling to, and hold as our flag in this dark march in whatever it is we’re approaching. Don’t hang back with the brutes!” ~ Tennessee Williams

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Little Star of Blue

Suzie’s childhood home had grand swaths of these little spring bulbs growing wild at the edge of their property. One Easter Sunday we found ourselves out in the midst of their bloom and it was a sight redolent of spring in its purest form. Their size is such that they require a mass planting to make much of an impact, but when examined up close, just one bloom is a thing of beauty. A lesson that sometimes it’s worth taking a closer look at the world around us. There is so much that’s so easy to miss.

The advantage that this particular bulb has is its right-out-of-the-starting-gate blooming time. Starved for the least sign of life, an actual bloom this early in the season gets roundly celebrated, the hype and hoopla in exact antithesis of its size and eventual impact. In just a month or two it will be all but forgotten, its green straps of leaves tattered and expiring even as they provide the juice and sustenance for next year’s bloom. Nature is ruthless that way, and we would do well to learn by her example. Celebrate the moment at hand. Nothing lasts forever, especially not spring. Though it will come back again…

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Due Lipa’s ‘Future Nostalgia’: The Soundtrack to Spring/Summer

I just heard the sound of the future and it is funky. This is the kind of party music we need right now. It’s been way too long since I got excited about a proper music album. While I enjoyed Madonna’s last summer opus ‘Madame X’ it fell short of finding the joy in former glories like ‘Ray of Light‘ or even ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor‘ and its somewhat dour themes were at odds with its summer release time. Far better suited for spring and summer fun is the latest from Dua Lipa, and I spent the other day throwing a dance-party for one while isolating in home. This is going to be the soundtrack for spring transitioning into summer ~ I’m calling it now ~ and ‘Cool’ may very well be the main theme for the upcoming sunny season. We shall see. In the meantime, I’m all sorts of inspired by this album ~ a practically perfect selection of pop music the likes of which I can’t recall enjoying in a very long time.

Opening title track ‘Future Nostalgia’ sets the tone of the aural adventure to come ~ this is the funky future with a knowing nod to the pop-candy of the past. It starts on a strong note, and the cool thing is that it doesn’t once let up (the 38 minutes actually feels way too short for such brilliance). Stand-out tracks include the funkalicious ‘Break My Heart’, ~the giddy abandon of ‘Physical’, and the earworm sample in ‘Love Againâ’. That Tik Tok classic ‘Don’t Start Now’ has already cemented this album’s must-have status. She gets deep too, even if it’s coated in glossy pop genius, as in closing track ‘Boys Will Be Boys’. And I dare anyone to sit still for ‘Levitating’ or ‘Hallucinate’ ~ because this forty-four year old was bopping about his make-shift home office. Dare we say that we have a Madonna-in-the-making for 2020? I’ll go out on a limb and say this one shows the same promise of a certain 80’s street urchin.

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Duck Pool Update: How I Marked My Territory

They came back.

Part of me had hoped that they would.

But that also meant they were serious.

Like a shopper who returns to a certain pricey coat. You know they mean business.

Unfortunately, we weren’t selling the land by our unopened pool, even if it looked run-down and abandoned. So when the ducks returned to nest I knew we had to dissuade them from setting up permanent camp here. Andy warned that there would be a big problem if they nested by the pool. Aside from the nastiness of having our pool used as a bathroom and feeding ground for waterfowl, there was the more frightening notion of having to navigate a backyard where eggs might be guarded by a pair of protective wild animals.

Andy advised looking to see if they had started building a nest, and when I made a quick examination of the area, sure enough, there was the small carved-out beginning of a nest dug in the ground beneath the safe prickles of a juniper. It was a cozy little nook right beside the pool and an old bench, and if it had been any further along in its assembly, neither Andy nor myself would have had the heart to put a stop to it. At this early stage, however, I had time to more humanely convince them to move elsewhere. This wasn’t available real estate.

My mind raced back to the birds that always seemed to make a nest in my Mom’™s hanging plants. Without fail, a robin would set up a nursery in one of those geraniums, and then we’d be battling a territorial red-breasted beast and watching from a distance as the plants wilted. When learning about birds and their nesting habits as a kid, I distinctly remember being told that if people touched a nest or its eggs, the bird would abandon the enterprise entirely and the eggs wouldn’t hatch. Following through with that train of thought, I figured maybe these ducks would be averse to sticking around if they felt threatened by the presence of a human. I did what this particular human would do when marking his territory.

Opening the door to the backyard, I startled the ducks out of the pool and they flew over the fence with agitated quacks. I walked toward the juniper where the nest was still mostly unfinished – it was really only an indentation in the ground. How exactly did I go about marking my territory? Well, let’s think about this. How do most animals mark their space? I reached into my pants and took out what I needed to do what I had to do.

One pocket held a bottle of Viktor & Rolf’s Spicebomb cologne, while the other contained Madonna’s Naked: Truth or Dare fragrance. I sprayed a bit of both on and around the nesting area. How on earth do you think I would leave a mark?

My hope is that they prefer Tom Ford’s Private Blends and won’t want to put up with more mainstream scents. I’ll keep you posted on whether it works…

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A Gratuitous Jason Derulo Post

Jason Derulo has appeared here most recently (and perhaps most notably) in this underwear bulge post. Clearly, he needs to appear again. 

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Liquid Lunch Break

My days of a ladies-who-lunch cocktail extravaganza are long gone – actually, they never were, since I didn’t have the resources or lifestyle to go drinking at lunch every day (one of few regrets), but these are desperate times calling for desperate measures. And so I give you this drink for the noonish hour – and it’s safe to have even if you are, like me, working from home these days.

This mocktail is something I’ve been working on for several years, and I think I finally cracked the code. Previous attempts were too tart, too sweet, too pungent, too bland – the whole Goldilocks dilemma. This time around I’m noting exactly how I did it, because it turned out beautifully.

It begins with about two generous tablespoons of honey in a small glass. To this I add about ¾ cup scalding hot water, three slices of fresh ginger (skin removed) and the juice of half a lime. Stir well. Pour over a cocktail shaker of ice and shake it like the Spice Girls. This is a simple syrup of sorts, minus all the boiling, and made healthier from the honey instead of sugar. When it’s cold, I pour enough of it to fill about a quarter of whatever cocktail glass I’m using. To this I add a favorite citrus seltzer of choice – in my case it was grapefruit seltzer. Garnish with some lime and it’s finished. (In simpler terms, the ratio is one part of the ginger-lime-honey syrup to three parts seltzer.) You could get fancier and more refined by boiling the syrup for a bit to bring out more of the ginger, but I prefer this gentler version. The days are staying lighter for longer – a more delicate touch is welcome.

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Unexpected Visitors in the Midst of Isolation

Looking out into the backyard, I spotted the two intruders immediately. Trampling a stand of fountain grass that I was about to remove that very day, a pair of ducks waddled in the direction of the pool. I quickly called out to Andy, as we had never experienced such visitors. “They’re going into the pool!” I heard Andy cry from the bedroom. The pair smoothly made the transition from land to water, gliding into our dirty pool, ravaged from the winter with leaves and detritus and even a floating flower pot. The ducks didn’t seem to mind, playfully diving beneath the water and ruffling their feathers in seeming delight.

I grabbed my phone and rushed from the dining room to the family room, where I could get a better look at them. Pulling the drapes open, I watched as the female floated in place and locked her eyes with mine, sensing my movement and gaze. The male swirled about, still splashing in the water and opening and closing his beak in rapid movements. In her eyes, the female appeared contemplative and doleful, keeping a watch on me. She relaxed when I didn’t move, joining her mate in some splashing and underwater foraging for food.

I stayed there a bit longer, amused by these springtime visitors – the first of their kind that I’d ever seen stop by our pool. Mostly we get cardinals and blue jays and yellow finches, along with the dreaded grackles and robins. Ducks were an unexpected treat. They reminded me of the waterfowl at the Boston Public Garden. It was a welcome reminder.

Going back to interior concerns, I left the ducks to their own devices and when I checked back a few minutes later they had already departed. I felt an unwarranted tinge of loss. Maybe we were hungry for any sort of interaction in these isolated times. I went about the day, and an hour or so later I looked out and they were back in the pool. A quick flash of happy relief was soon replaced by a nagging fear that they might make a nesting spot in our backyard which would not have been good. I didn’t have to worry for long – they soon departed for good a few minutes later. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of them flying over our fence, and then the last ripples in the empty pool of where they had just been.

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