Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

BABY WE CAN DO IT

TAKE THE TIME DO IT RIGHT

WE CAN DO IT BABY…

Does a weekend go by faster when you cram a ton of activities into it or when you sit around and literally do nothing for two days? For a while I though that the best way to slow down time was to do nothing. Waiting or simply existing seemed a proper stimulus for slowing things down. But when I think over weekends of lots of activity versus no activity, it’s actually the ones that are filled with things that seem to last the longest. Travel and exploration seem to expand the concept and feeling of time, while staying inside and not venturing anywhere actually speed it up. It’s something I’m still working out in my mind. And this is where I begin my mindful work-outs, right here in these words, right here on this blog. It is my laboratory, my playground, my greatest experiment, and my safety zone. In the stillness and quiet of a thoughtful morning, when the world is mostly still asleep, at least in this particular time zone, I begin to formulate such thoughts. Perhaps they will lead to action, perhaps they will lead to nothing.

Perhaps I just want that lead singer’s golden caftan dress.

If Baby New Year can run around all naked and cherubic, then so the hell can I. Here’s to your own nude romps in the New Year. May your home be warm, and may your bits and bobs be forever swaddled. (Be wary of scratchy bows covered in glitter. They may not be your friend.) On with the first recap of the year, and me naked but for some glasses and tinsel and a big scratchy bow!

We cannot begin without first finishing up last year’s business, and what a bad bunch of business it was. If you think you can handle it again, here is the 2019 Year in Review: Part One, Part Two and Part Three. (I just thank sweet baby New Year and little baby Jesus that there was no Part Four.)

The only good thing about the way 2019 ended may have been this super-collection of Hunks. 

2020 begins in black and white, and hazy shades of gray. 

Letting the old shit go. 

The Waiting was over as the Madonna Timeline returned with this entry from the ‘Erotica’ era. 

Snoopy and Woodstock greet winter. 

My winter fragrance: Birch and Black Pepper by Jo Malone.

Winter songs for winter snow.

Ben Cohen bangs in the New Year in his underwear. 

Who wants to have fun with filters? Hint: not me. 

A Jello Renaissance: the craziest dessert I’ve ever made.

Even in plaid flannel, I will sparkle and shine. 

New hunks of the day included Benjamin Melzer, Matt Rogers, Mohamed Saleh, Omar Sharif Jr., and Lee Sun-Kyun.

A few people asked me if I would be live-tweeting the Golden Globes, and while I enjoyed the past season of film, I’m not sure I’ll last the whole night. I will do my best, but I find myself less interested and obsessed with these things when the world around us is burning down, in some places quite literally. But frivolity has its place, and its importance, perhaps especially in such a world, so let’s do our best. Before it even begins, I’ll let you know the three people to whom I am most looking forward to seeing: Billy Porter, Nicole Kidman and Cate Blanchett. I believe the first two are definitely going, and my fingers are crossed for the third. Keep checking back for updates as I add them.

Billy Porter is divinity and heaven in a standing white swan outfit.

Christina Applegate – love her, hate what her dress is doing for her.

Ben Platt – keeping it classy in a well-fitted tuxedo. Classy but boring. Save that kind of thing for the Oscars.

Margot Robbie – The dress has pockets, so I guess I’ll just pretend to be happy for her.

Ana de Armas – The danger of black sequins is the garbage-bag effect. Word is not yet out as to whether she steered clear of the danger.

Kit Harington – Decked out all in black – black on black on black – and I’m guessing everyone would rather see him in naked and nude.

Rami Malek in Yves St. Laurent is a perfectly-fitted vision.

For me, it’s all about Jennifer Aniston’s classic tousled-hair. 

Jodie Comer is giving the Green Monster a run for its money. 

Taron Egerton is in a back tuxedo. And bow tie. Calm down. 

Kerry Washington’s ensemble is why double-tape exists.

Kirsten Dunst – I don’t know… I want to like it. And I do love pink. I’m just not sure. Maybe it’s the neckline, or lack there-of. 

Jennifer Lopez – Oh no. No bow. No no no no no. 

Tiffany Haddish – One step short of a Grecian Goddess. But it’s a big step. 

Awkwafina – If we have to ask if that’s a chest hair situation, it’s not working. 

Gwyneth Paltrow – When tulle attacks. Brown tulle. Rhymes with ‘stool’. As in sample. 

Charlize Theron – Torn in the best possible way. I am loving and hating it equally, which means it will probably be my favorite of the evening. I still like a challenge. 

Daniel Craig – I miss the baby blue square-cut.

Nicole Kidman – Divine scarlet elegance, and structurally astounding. The epitome of how to skillfully architect a dress. 

Paul Rudd – He can wear anything and look cute. Even that boring tux. 

Nick Jonas – If International Male was still in business…

Keegan-Michael Key – That is one big-ass bow tie, and I dig it.

Ansel Elgort – Cleans up better shirtless. 

Renee Zellweger – Love the color, hate the cut. She’s gorgeous in it, just my personal preference craves something more.

Scarlett Johansson –  When your husband is prettier than your dress.

Glenn Close – Exquisite color, and mentioned solely for the link.

Chris Evans – Finally! A tux with a colorful twist! I like it so much I don’t even care he’s not naked (like he is here). 

Annette Bening – So severe! 

Matt Bomer vs. Sofia Vergara – Best battle of the night! And it wasn’t even over Joe Manganiello. 

Beyonce – Did they have to sit you in a different section for those shoulder puffs? 

Taylor Swift – The requisite curtain-comment moment. Wasn’t sure we’d get one, so thanks Tay-Tay! 

Jason Momoa – Tank top. Naked. Whatever. You win. 

Cate Blanchett – Oh they are going to hate it, but I quite love it. Aside from the hair – why that hair? 

Let’s end this on a high note: Brad Pitt in a tuxedo, serving classic golden tresses and reminding us of who we used to be. (Oh, and Brad Pitt shirtless.)

As anyone who truly knows me will attest, I despise photoshop and filters with a passion. That makes today’s filter-obsessed online world relatively drab and dreary for me. Those big, bulging eyes and animal ears are just obnoxious. It also says a lot about someone’s sense of self-beauty when they feel the need to filter their face all the time. There’s some weird juxtaposition of self-obsession and self-hatred in all these ultra-filtered faces. I find it rather more sad than anything else.

Even so, every now and then I’ll fall into the filter hole to see what the young people are doing (or more likely because a multitude of social media friends are all trying out the latest ‘Which Disney Princess are you?’ feature). That’s how I have a Wonder Woman crown on my head somewhere, and the winter holly growing out of my ear here.

I’m also coming around to the occasional filter to help reverse the aging process. Having unwittingly looked up at the video monitor broadcasting my face in the self-check-out line at Target on a recent Sunday morning, filters may be the way to go.

It looks so much nicer than it really is. The snow appears pretty. The wardrobe seems cozy. The whole atmosphere is a thing of beauty and wonder. But this is just winter, and it’s going to suck. We need to get through the worst of it before we reach the ease. Hunker down and stay close to home. Close the curtains and stock up on the heavy blankets. Put on the soups and stews and crank up the crock pot because this is the time for comfort food.

Hats and gloves, scarves and boots. Winter was designed for accessorizing with a purpose. Personally, I prefer to accessorize for no other purposes than beauty and whim. The necessity of such stuff immediately lessens the enjoyment. Still, no sense to frump out just because it’s cold outside. Let’s lift it.

Looking back over days gone by is mostly a painful exercise. You have no idea how trying it was to compile the Year in Review 2019: Part One, Part Two and especially Part Three. It was positively ghastly. I don’t like rehashing or retreading things, particularly from the near past, but I’ve learned such enterprises are crucial in truly moving forward. Failure to do so can result in some devastating consequences. Let’s just say I’ve got all the anger and resentment to prove it. The problem with not forgiving and not forgetting is that you end up carrying all of it with you, when everyone knows the best way to travel is to travel light.

This year, I’m working toward that goal. Toward letting go of the past after working through it. That means there are difficult conversations to be had, confrontations to be thrashed out, and all sorts of emotional fall-out which will need to be cleaned up and properly eradicated. None of it sounds very appealing, and most of it will probably suck. But I need to do this work if I want things to get better. I’m taking a deep breath, pulling up my big boy breeches, and charging purposefully into the process.

Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night.

“You know, I think I’m in a state of shock…” ~ Madonna, ‘Truth or Dare’

Most years begin with a bang or a whimper.

Most of my life has been the same binary situation.

Either/or, never/always, yes/no, stop/go.

This year comes in somewhere between the two, with a hesitant air of uncertainty. The brighter way of looking at it is as a happy medium at long last. The darker way is as a harbinger of difficult times to come. And there I go down the two-way highway again instead of simply getting off the damn road altogether.

We begin in a multitude of grays. Subtle gradations of shadow, nuanced renderings of light, all the spaces in between the spaces. The stillness and the silence in between the noise. Beauty and madness and sorrowful glee, the mask sheds a tear, and I shed the mask. What will this bold new year bring? What does 2020 have hidden for us? Surprises have always worked better in theory and on paper than in execution. I still remember the surprise birthday party an ex-boyfriend once lovingly, if haplessly, tried to throw for me. It was disastrous all around, as Kira did her best to keep me away from the proceedings and I, thrown by her behavior and strange requests and stalling tactics, grew so annoyed that we ended up having a big fight. I walked away from her to go home and celebrate my birthday alone as she scrambled to find a phone to call the condo and tell everyone I was on my way, ready or not, and I was pissed. Virgos don’t like surprises.

I’m entering the new year with a little bit of hope, and lowered expectations. Better to stave off disappointment that way. Hope can be a dangerous thing. We’ve all been hurt by it. I’m at the age of safeguarding the heart, though in all honesty I’ve been at that age for years, probably before Andy came along. And part of me will always be fortified in the eventual case of hurt. I’m just beginning to see why. At key moments in my life there was no one to protect me, and at every one of those turns a little part of me died. Before the world could take it all, I took up arms to protect myself, and I’ve been safer ever since. We’ll deal with the side effects of such armor later, but to get to that point you have to survive first.

One of the biggest lessons I learned in the past year was how to take things one little step at a time. Instead of focusing on some grand all-encompassing goal and vision, I found it better to break things down into smaller increments, allowing for lots of little accomplishments as I worked toward something greater. It was a way of combatting a tendency toward perfectionism, as well as a way of training the body and mind to engage and act instead of plan and wait. This year I’m aiming to continue along those lines, and while 2020 is a big year for anniversaries of all sorts, I’m starting with this single day, and trying to make every minute of it matter in some way. To take joy in this very moment, in the moment that I write this, in the moment that someone reads it, in the moment that I close the lap-top and take a deep breath.

Outside, the stand of fountain grass is drained of all green, standing stiffly in the wind in shades of raw, stripped pine. The bones, the structure of it all, were still intact. With all that happened in the last year, all the growth and the beauty and the gorgeous straps of tall, healthy leaves, then the slow yellowing and rise of the fluffy seed heads, and finally the drying and decay of the frozen days, it still stood in our backyard. It will remain, beneath all the snow and ice, in the face of whipping winds and plunging temperatures, until I cut the stalks down next spring. It feels a long way off, too far to find any solace in the notion of spring. But the days are already getting longer. There is more light during our waking hours. I will focus on that. Through the storms. Through the chill. Until the light outweighs the dark.

A new year begins.

“I know I’ll feel something later. I just don’t know when that’s going to be. I guess it’s a protection device. I hope I’m in a safe place when it happens.” – Madonna, ‘Truth or Dare’

{See Part One and Part Two.} The higher the glory, the greater the fall. As lofty as the rollercoaster gets, it usually falls further from where it began. if that makes any sense. There is no such thing as rock bottom. The bottom is always ready to fall out again. Hold onto your hats for the last part of the year, then bid it all adieu. Bye bye, baby, bye bye. 

SEPTEMBER 2019:

Sometimes September is for getting naked.

When Maluma got together with Ricky Martin.

The category is Tom Daley.

The hot dog and peanut butter challenge, accepted.

A dozen years wasted on FaceBook.

Madgical mood Music.

Hot hunky miscellany.

Jude Law in that Speedo.

Beauty balm.

My Dad’s 89th birthday.

Beekman euphoria. 

Everyone loves a season premiere.

Naked summer reflections. 

Madonna’s Extreme Occident.

The most potent cocktail of them all.

Summer Sunday brunch, family-style.

Sous me.

The Summer Speedo of 2019: Part One, Part Two, Part Three & Part Four.

Confessions of a New York State Worker: my career journey with the government. 

Maybe September.

Beautiful fall day set to music.

A dragonfly visits.

Vision of a starry night.

Autumn enchantment: casting a spell.

Adam Lambert brings the super funk. 

Another September song.

Hunks and their bulges.

Just like that, I was old.

OCTOBER 2019:

A collection of Octobers.

Everybody in this party’s shining like Illuminati.

Losing steam heat.

Burning the wishes.

Shit just got real.

Selfie reflection.

When I’m wrong, I’m really wrong. 

I loved cancelling my Planet Fitness membership more than I enjoyed any of the few times I ever went there.

Sorry, I don’t work here.

The Girlie Show.

The Starbucks struggle is real.

Getting into all the Hocus Pocus of the season.

Follow this popcorn seller.

The day I’m going to die.

A gratuitous Dan Osborne bulge post.

Walking through grief together: Part One and Part Two.

Scary insidious. 

Is this mouse house for real?

Maybe this is where the turn began, I just didn’t see it then. I need a new project.

Our first sleepover with the Ilagan twins. 

The cozy scents of Tom Ford.

Sexy shirtless gents.

Feather delicacy of Algeria.

Andy’s birthday.

Madonna’s sexual anniversary.

Returning to DC under sad circumstances.

Missing mothers.

The world turned upside down.

A night at the Plaza… not yet.

Those pesky facts of life.

The backyard forest.

Velvet robe and unseen underwear.

Dinner at the Blue Duck Tavern.

October lends itself to poetry.

A friend’s mother leaves this world.

Comfort food: making meatloaf.

Soup for the soul and the stomach.

NOVEMBER 2019:

Reaching for the glued-down penny of Amnesia.

RIP Barney.

Words for November.

Quite possibly I’m simply sick of myself. 

Chris Hemsworth shirtless.

All over Albany.

Terror and wind overhead – the storm inside.

Liam Payne in Hugo Boss underwear.

When you need more than a smudging.

Dan Osborne bulges even more.

A rose full of surprises refuses to be bested by the fall.

Shirtless male celebrities: Part One and Part Two.

Saturday night television.

Savannah redux.

Hanging out with my ass out. 

Another fine fucked-up kitchen failure.

Get a lick and load of this cream.

Male celebrities in their Speedos and in motion.

Our family trip to Savannah: Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

Kitchen redemption: some amazing enchiladas.

Another record smashed by Madonna.

Words of Colin.

Mexican wedding cookies by Gram.

The briefs were gone by Christmas, but maybe they’ll be back in stock for Valentine’s Day.

Gender Swatching.

Simon Dunn gets deep, stays handsome. 

Big changes were  in store for this holiday season. Hang on…

The Ben Cohen calendar is always the best.

My first Boston Friendsgiving with Kira.

The days, this one in particular, grew long. 

Simon Dunn bulges through his Speedo.

A poem for late November.

What child is this and why is he talking to me?

Jason DeRulo’s anaconda in his underwear, as banned by Instagram. (Been there, my cocky friend.)

For all the holiday lovers.

Sporting shirtlessness.

The curtain rises on a whole new slew of holiday traditions.

Giving thanks through poetry.

Thankful remembrance.

Baking comfort.

After she bailed on all of her Boston shows, I took a brief break from Madonna.

Of course, it was a quick one, and we were back in good graces by the time ‘Medellin’ joined the Madonna Timeline. 

DECEMBER 2019:

Decembers gone before.

Cyber Monday breakdown.

Shirtless men again.

Wait, Shazam is my doppelgänger? Well follow me to a place I know…

When Charlie Brown met Snoopy.

Sugar & booze… well, the sugar at least.

The Beekman Boys do the holidays right.

The easiest pecan praline recipe ever.

This year’s holiday card was sweet, messy, and burnt the fuck out, just like its maker-baker.

Another friend loses her beloved mother, and the world grows dimmer. 

Beating a storm with teamwork. 

A host of holiday hunks.

My nine topped out at ass and cock.

Facing loss at the most wonderful time of the year.

The casket that got away in Albany.

Midnight colloquy with owls. 

I am officially in therapy for all sorts of shit. Watch out. The past is back.

Tree-trimming melancholy.

This is easily my favorite holiday tradition now. 

The calming crunch of biscotti.

Steve Grand selling underwear in his underwear.

Finding the next Madonna Timeline. 

The best preparations sometimes come crashing down. 

Hometown hero wants to make movie magic again.

A mixed batter.

A Hambone Holiday with Suzie.

The second go-round with this song because it’s so good.

Holiday Stroll 2019 with Kira.

Even more Holiday hunks.

Christmas Eve memories fading…

The Boston Children’s Holiday Hour 2019: Part One and Part Two.

A comprehensive Merry Christmas retrospective.

The anti-climax of Christmas. 

The Hunks of 2019 in one convenient link-filled post. 

The year crested in may ways during the high summer months, as is often the case. Most of our happiest moments fell during the stretch from May to August, so enjoy them now. They are fewer and further between once the fall arrives.

MAY 2019:

Adding some spring to my step.

The weekend everyone went to Boston: Part One and Part Two.

Zac Efron gets nude and shows off his ass.

Met Gala 2019.

A quiet nine-year anniversary.

And a bang-up anniversary recap.

Balls, balls, balls.

Annual Broadway weekend with Mom.

Madame is on the move. 

Channing Tatum naked.

My turn as a Carpool Mom.

‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ on Broadway. And ‘The Cher Show‘ for sparkle.

How I turned down the road rage. For the moment.

JUNE 2019:

A Yellow Dress Debuts in Boston: Part One and Part Two.

The flower clock begins its countdown to a new project.

Jason Momoa shirtless.

A few new spins on an old tradition: Boston baseball. 

A kick-off to a family summer.

Summer fun with the Ilagan twins.

 Summer love in bloom.

BroSox Adventure 2019: Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.

Madonna on the horizon…

Decades into a storied career, Madonna releases her gutsiest record ever: ‘Madame X’.

Hot hunks.

Summer song: ‘Sit Down’ by James.

‘Borrowed Time’ by Madonna joins the timeline.

Signs, signs, everywhere signs.

Flowers.

Superhero hunks in their flesh. 

We like it best doggystyle.

The gay parade.

Massacre of the Madame X masterpiece.

Courting summer.

Summer fizz.

Boston summer day in Saigon.

Boston summer night in Saigon.

JULY 2019:

Shirtless hunks heat up.

The turkeys across the street.

Delta Dawn in Provincetown.

Connecticut Idyll: Part One and Part Two.

When summer gets to be Too Much.

Rib rubdown.

Seeing Faye Dunaway before, and apparently after, she went ballistic. 

My naked ass on Instagram.

A man sandwich: Jake & Tom.

I’ll be the king of wishful thinking. 

Painting a project.

Upon a teasing.

A summer read.

Painting a Press Release.

A watercolored interview: Part One and Part Two.

The Future.

The infamous tale of how Pier 1 Imports refused to sell me a pillow. 

Nineteen years with this guy.

Stretching with Roger Frampton.

Pool breathing. 

Summer hunk break.

The robe of falling flowers.

Florals for fragrance. Groundbreaking.

Once Upon A Watercolor: the new project.

AUGUST 2019:

If Nick Jonas has a Dad bod, call me Daddy. 

Taylor the Archer.

The underwear merchant in his goods. 

Beauty & evil intertwined. 

A gratuitous post of Chris Evans and his ass.

The voluptuous fig.

The Beekman Boys left my skin soft as a baby’s bottom.

Bopping around to this summer song.

The families you choose. 

Why do I even bother with these gift wish lists?

The days were gently tinted lavender pink, lemon and lime.

Madonna’s birthday.

‘Batuka’ joins the Madonna Timeline ranks. 

Sexy Simon Dunn on full display.

Betty Buckley just keeps on getting better. 

Hunky bulges.

My birthday suit for #44.

My real birthday suit.

‘Faz Gostoso’ from ‘Madame X’ shows Madonna in party mode. 

A love letter to Betty Lynn Buckley.

Kids today.

Finally, a fig or two.

I’ve been working for the state of New York for 18 years.

Boston birthday adventures: Part One and Part Two.

A message for 2019, directly from me: get the fuck out of here yesterday. I’m in no mood. I have no patience. And you have tried me with all sorts of fuckery. As of this moment, I officially have no more fucks to give. Now let’s look back at this bad boy of a year and do our best to move beyond it! That warrants a dreaded exclamation point.

JANUARY 2019:

It began with a bang and a circus, and I had no idea what a fitting start that would be. 

There was peace if you sought it carefully. 

A birthday and a coveted pencil.

Pietro Boselli’s naked ass.

Sliding my ass into a onesie.

Bringing sexy back, Part One and Part Two.

Mary Poppins returned in fine form.

This still brings tears to my eyes, in the all-too-rare good way. 

A glimpse behind the curtain at the inception of a new project.

Brother can you hear me?

The passing of a favorite poet.

Madonna’s Secret Garden.

Zac Efron shirtless.

Tree cemetery.

Whaling in Oklahoma, in Boston.

Hunky odds and ends.

A mocktail hints at ways to come. 

‘Spamalot’ galloped to Proctors.

The art of the abelskiver.

Boston winter respite: Part One and Part Two.

Quirky brunch. An experimental meal ends in success.

James McAvoy naked.

FEBRUARY 2019:

Ahh, the months of February.

Jake Gyllenhaal nude.

Text me.

Super jock post.

Adam Levine’s shirtless climax.

Chris Hemsworth shirtless in motion.

Adam Levine’s nipples.

Best life hack of the year.

Iris eyes smiling.

My roller-skating days.

Zac Efron’s bulge.

My friendly Valentine. (Broken wings.)

Valentine music by Madonna.

Shirtless Shawn Mendes. And the Shawn Mendes bulge.

Boston warmth in winter.

The very first time I rescinded a Hunk of the Day for being so awful.

Tom Ford’s ‘Beau de Jour’.

Beneath a winter sea.

Summoning the sun.

Mike Rickard’s ‘Out Loud’.

A gratuitous Nick Jonas post.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s underwear package.

Oscars 2019.

Madonna & Lady Gaga.

Meditation.

A Japanese hot pot.

Pat the puss.

 

MARCH 2019:

All these Marches.

Do you feel the magic?

This American life.

Sexy suckers.

Let there be Light, Madonna-style.

Gratuitous underwear guys.

Friends & lovers.

Sexy (naked) Ass Wednesday post.

Shirtless Sunday studs.

Celebrating Skip’s birthday.

A boy babysitter.

The little prince (and I still need to find someone who can make me that coat).

Madonna’s ‘American Life’ gets a proper timeline write-up.

Hot half-naked ginger guys.

Adam Levine nude for his birthday.

A song that inspired two posts.

Spring cleaning, summer coming.

The 30th anniversary of Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’. And my crotch pays homage.

Savannah approaching.

Absolutely some regrets.

Desperado.

The naked footballer.

Beekman Boys beauty.

Let’s dance... you can do a little two-step!

Chris Evans owns America’s ass.

No one got me this robe and now it can’t be found. Another one of life’s little fuck-overs. 

APRIL 2019:

Full-frontal male nudity by Cristiano Ronaldo of all people. 

A duck crossing caught in Saratoga.

Rob Gronkowski sniffs Zac Efron’s Speedo, and it’s on video.

Naked in my bed.

Chromatic colorbleed.

Madonna’s ‘Forbidden Love’ brings back the dreamy soundscape of ‘Bedtime Stories’ and that poignant time in my life. 

More of Shawn Mendes shirtless.

Suzie had no idea who Diana Vreeland was. Scott would be so disappointed. 

Broadway plans with Mom.

Don’t look back, don’t ever look back.

Newsflash: Walmart sucks.

When and where men get shirtless.

A new Madonna can now begin.

Summer by Louis Vuitton never panned out. 

Making your first-born cry like the baby he was. Yeah, boy. You sit on that thing and you like it. 

Boston about to bloom.

Family Easter.

A trip to Savannah with Andy.

Artful and shirtless.