Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Preamble to Striking A Pose

It’s been a very long time since our last Madonna Timeline entry, and before getting to that there must be a bit of build-up, as this one not only marks the return of that vaunted feature, but also one of Madonna’s most iconic and beloved tunes. Most Madonna albums have a main powerhouse single that personifies the Madonna moment at hand. ‘Madonna’ had ‘Lucky Star.’ ‘Like A Virgin’ and ‘Like A Prayer’ had their title tracks, as did ‘Ray of Light’ and ‘Music’. ‘True Blue’ had ‘Papa Don’t Preach.’ ‘The Immaculate Collection’ had ‘Justify My Love’. ‘Erotica’ had ‘Erotica’ because it was slutty that way. ‘Bedtime Stories’ had ‘Take A Bow’ (and arguably ‘Secret’). ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor’ had ‘Hung Up’ and ‘Hard Candy’ had ‘4 Minutes’. ‘MDNA’ had ‘Gimme All Your Luvin’ while ‘Rebel Heart’ had ‘Living For Love’ (whether we liked it or not).

Each of those songs was emblematic of their respective albums, and the fact that some of us recall the songs more than those accompanying albums is indicative of the long-held belief that Madonna was, especially for the first part of her career, predominantly a singles artist. Probably the best example of this is our next Timeline selection: ‘Vogue’. Leading the ‘I’m Breathless’/’Dick Tracy’ promotional blitz, ‘Vogue’ stood on its own and actually feels somewhat out of place on something subtitled ‘Music inspired and from the film ‘Dick Tracy’. No matter – it was such a thrilling song that everything around it paled in comparison; it belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.

There are a lot of memories that accompany a chestnut like ‘Vogue’ – going all the way back to 1990 (a time I remember better than anything that happened last year). As such, it’s going to be a hefty timeline entry, meandering and labyrinthine and dense, and it will likely be the only posting of the day because you will probably want to take a break halfway through it to reconvene present reality.

‘Vogue’ is, at its heart, an escape. A place where we can all get away, whether it’s in the literal salvation of the dance floor, or the abstract aloofness of the imagination. It offers a paradise free from the heartache, a land of enchantment and glamour, of gardens and flowers and jewels, of perpetual spring leading to a perpetual summer. The perfumed pages of a decadent novel. The sensual silk scarf of a lover. The obscenely scandalous protuberance of the inner-workings of a calla lily. It was like a scene out of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ – in the bright beginning of that glorious tale, before it went so devilishly wrong, back when we still could believe in beauty conquering all.

“Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe, and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play…” ~ Oscar Wilde, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

In other words, “Just put the ‘Vogue’ costume on, put your jacket on, and that’s your costume… for the night.” ~ Madonna, ‘Truth or Dare’

Ladies and gentlemen, get ready to Vogue…

A new Madonna Timeline arrives tomorrow.

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Beauty’s Where You Find It

Honoring the upcoming return of the Madonna Timeline, this post is a celebration of beauty.

Beauty is, indeed, where one finds it. In the eye of the beholder. Within and without.

It defies definition, but in many ways is universally acknowledged.

More often than not, you know it when you see it, even if you can’t quite adequately describe it.

There is a comfort in beauty, a balm upon the soul in such a restless world.

Beauty calms. Beauty tames. Beauty releases.

Beauty may be found in a flower.

Or in a garden.

Or in the human form.

It’s flying in the sky, swimming in the sea, or leaping across the land.

It is the object and the motion.

The crest and the undertow.

The beginning and the end.

There is everything…

And nothing to it.

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Mood & Attitude

A crisp white shirt hangs on the door. A black leather belt lies coiled on the counter. A shelf lined with Tom Ford Private Blends tempts the eye and nose. Frederic Malle and Jean Claude Ellena are there too. The fragrances of a gentleman – refined and elegant – co-mingle in pleasant camaraderie. Remembering the fragrance counter at Barneys, when the collective scent of the store and all its olfactory offerings struck a resplendent chord of harmony but could not be narrowed down to a single source specimen, he smiles at what the years of procuring cologne have created: a personally-curated collection of scents.

He opens the glass door and carefully procures the bottle of ‘Bois D’Orage’. He brings the bottle to his nose and inhales, confirming the selection. Two quick sprays over his chest, where he will be the one to smell it the most. Some put it on their wrist or other pulse points. He keeps it closer to his heart; the accessory of fragrance has never been applied in the service of anyone other than himself.

Outside, dawn’s soft sky, echoed by some ridiculous late-season snow, lends a cool blue tone to the little square of light, buffered by a soft white shade. The bare branches of a dogwood allow a mostly unfettered view of the backyard. A late-to-arrive winter left most of the tan papery leaves of a Japanese maple intact and hanging onto their perches. The ruminations of a morning. The ablutions of a gentleman.

He tugs his sleeves and folds the French cuffs into place. A shiny new pair of cufflinks catches the light – silver crowns in facetious, fabulous fashion. He threads them through the slits then adjusts the sleeves as gentlemen have been fussing for ages. Sliding into a glen-plaid jacket, he pulls the sleeves out just enough to peek through the edge. A gentleman hints. A gentleman whispers. A gentleman holds his cards close to his chest.

Ladies with an attitude, fellows that were in the mood…

Stepping outside, a Prada bag slung over his shoulder, he inhales. Beyond the ‘Bois D’Orage’, a hint of spring rides on the breeze. No smile betrays his hope, and no one sees behind his Tom Ford aviators. He ducks into the waiting car and is whisked away.

Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.

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Hunk of the Day: Justin Baldoni

A request from the fabulous Brianna, this is Hunk of the Day Justin Baldoni. With one sweet GIF, Mr. Baldoni immediately made a play for the coveted HOD and won it just as quickly. His triple threat status cemented the deal (he’s a successful actor, director and filmmaker). He’s also responsible for creating the most-watched digital digital documentary series in history, ‘My Last Days’. The third season of it is coming this year. 

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Brown Bag Parade

The seasonal clean-up has finally begun, and I’ve been slowly and steadily making up for such a late start with some back-aching work. Typically I fill about 40 lawn bags by the time the yard looks presentable, and this year looks no different. The main difference is how well, or not well, my body handles this annual exercise. Every spring it gets a little harder, the body bends a little less, the pain lasts a bit longer, and I get closer to the point where hiring someone will be a necessity, careful tending to tender perennials be damned. At some point I just won’t be able to do it alone, and the thought makes me simultaneously sad and relieved.

For now, it’s a meditative tradition, a moment of quiet where it’s just me and nature communing in silent fashion. The mad rush of thoughts and the dangers of thinking too far ahead bubble to the surface first as I awkwardly get back into the gardening groove, but soon I find a rhythm, and the Zen-like peace that comes from simple manual labor and the tick-tocking of a spring day. It reminds me of yoga – the way the beginning is always a jumble of crazy thoughts and worries as the daunting idea of cleaning up an entire yard of winter wreckage assembles and then slowly comes together as the days pass. I remember one of my first yoga instructors explaining that it was ok to have whatever thoughts were passing through my head – and it was best to acknowledge them, then let them pass by or simply pause. That’s always easier said than done, but with a task such as bagging up dead oak leaves and winter debris, there’s something to the mechanical process that allows the mind to shift focus and push the pesky over-analysis aside. Slowly, the yard gets cleaned and prepped for another growing season, and eventually the patches of what has been done outgrow the spaces that have yet to be cleaned. At that point the amending and mulching begins – a whole other task, a whole other tradition, and one more grounded in gardening than simple yard upkeep. But that’s still a way off. For now, we struggle through the basic winter cleaning that’s been put off for longer than usual. It’s catch-up time.

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Review: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Parts 1 and 2

Lyric Theatre, 214 West 43rd Street

Outside the theatre, the black abstract rendering of a large wing hovers over the line of attendees waiting to get in a full hour before the performance is set to begin (as instructed by a voluminous collection of e-mail messages). We make our way through the metal detectors and security in excited and orderly fashion, and even the numerous people in capes and witch-and-wizard-inspired wardrobe don’t cause much of a hold-up. Inside the newly-renovated Lyric Theatre, everything is Harry Potter, right down to the red carpet which is emblazoned with a royal ‘H’ design; the interior wall-paper is festooned with the same ‘H’ pattern, and clearly someone is banking on this two-part play being around for some time.

With all the magic that this experience is bringing to Broadway, the main ‘M’ word that strikes me throughout the two-night event is ‘money’. It’s there in the HP details that run throughout the theater, in the little concession stands that offer all sorts of cute libations (at about $16 a pop) and the little store that offers food stuff and merchandise (t-shirts go for $30 and sweatshirts start at $60). Money is the main thing on my mind as I sat through the first night of the magical experience. The bottom line of it, for me, was the nagging notion that this could have, and perhaps should have, been done in one big three-hour show. There’s something very Dark-Lordish about forcing parents to buy two nights of entertainment (as if anyone is going to see one or the other). That automatically doubles the profit. And if you are lucky enough to get face-value tickets for the orchestra, two people seeing both nights will run you approximately $811.50 with all requisite fees and taxes. I don’t know what that is in galleons, but it’s a lot.

As for the plays themselves, if you love Harry Potter you will love this experience, and may even wish for a third night of magic. If you don’t love HP, or if you’ve never read the books or seen the films, you will likely be extremely confused and possibly even unmoved or unimpressed by what’s happening on stage. More than any other theatrical event I’ve been to, this one relies on an audience’s knowledge and understanding of the wizarding world that was conjured so memorably in the novels. The program goes some way toward clearing up that bit for the rare audience member who has shelled out all that money without knowing anything about HP, but even I, avid reader of Playbills, lost interest by the recap of Year Five and the glossary entry of ‘Patil, Padma & Parvati’. If you have to supply that much background information for the newcomer to enjoy the show, you’ve already lost. That’s wholly beside the point here, as I happen to love Harry Potter, and the people seeing the show seemed to love him far more than me. But if you think you can go in and enjoy this production without knowing anything about its storied past, you may be sorry.

Billed as picking up the Harry Potter saga nineteen years after the last book was completed, J.K Rowling, Jack Thorne and John Tiffany wrote the new work in traditional play format. As such, it is very true to its source material, and for a world starved for anything new in the Harry Potter canon, it made for a quick read. It’s less of a quick play, and to answer whether it really needed two parts, I’d argue no. If they took out the flashy flourishing of capes alone and the unnecessary transitional bits, they’d shave off half an hour instantly. A slightly repetitive beginning, reminiscent of the way most of the Potter books opened with a chapter of two of dreary Dursley recapitulation, extends things unnecessarily. And I strongly contend that there is one narrative thread too many, but these issues aside, the play’s magic is undeniable. That’s in no small part due to the impeccable cast.

Casting the grown-up versions of Harry, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy as almost-forty-something parents is risky work, but each choice pays off solidly. As the iconic title character, Jamie Parker delivers the requisite angst and agitations of a father coming to terms with his child and his childhood at the same time. Noma Dumezweni brings a commandeering presence to her Hermione Granger, and there is delicious pay-off in seeing this beloved character in her current Ministry position. As Ron Weasley, Paul Thornely gets some of the night’s biggest laughs, who perceptively describes himself as the least ‘intense’ of the lot. Alex Price nails the duality of Draco Malfoy, himself struggling with a son who may or may not live up to expectations. As their children Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, two youngsters match the emotional high-bar set by their parental counterpoints: Sam Clemmett and Anthony Boyle. Clemmett shines darkly as the son of Harry Potter, an impossible-to-live-up-to position, while Boyle sets the stage on fire with comedic flair and endearing dorkiness. The two of them set the real plot in motion for this clock-turning two-evening journey through time. The themes are familiar and universal: parental love, childhood loneliness, and the enduring sustenance of friendship, and whenever the play returns to these core pillars, the cast is able to shine (most of whom remain intact from the London world premiere).  

The magic of the beloved books is brought to remarkable life thanks to some amazing special effects. Hermione’s library comes alive, swallowing several characters whole. Dementors take fearsome flight, and the time-turning sequences are spectacular. The stagecraft wizardry is a magnificent wonder, almost worth the price of admission alone, and the way they execute the magic is a seamless feat of how-did-they-do-that jaw-dropping wonder. Yet none of that matters if you can’t touch the heart. The time-honored crux of where parents and children meet is here, marred and scarred by love and loss, touched and tinged by sadness and elation, and each emotion gets its center-stage turn. By the end it’s a mish-mash of emotional ‘murkiness’, which is both good and bad for a play of this scope and size. I maintain that a streamlined version could more effectively crest such emotional waves, and a more focused concentration on delivering the quiet, impactful moments might better serve its emotional arc, but that might be too picky. Sometimes, the spectacle is enough, and a return to this magical world should more than satisfy anyone who misses the enchantment that Rowling conjured for so many summers.

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Post-Potter Recap

Andy and I just returned from the two-part Harry Potter play in New York (review forthcoming) so there’s no time for anything more than a quick recap of the previous week. Here we go…

It began with reservations Andy made at the Muse Hotel, a gorgeous Kimpton property that more than delivered for us this weekend. 

Before we made our way to NYC, however, there was a fun family weekend in Boston. It came complete with nasturtiums, and a dinner at the Beehive

Back on the homefront, the yards are still way behind thanks to the weather.

Salomon Diaz brought the heat in his Calvin Klein underwear.  

On the avenue… Fifth Avenue!

Madonna’s sorely under-appreciated ‘American Life’ album celebrated its 15th anniversary. 

Lofty aspirations

The secrets of my success.

Hunks of the Day included Iann PastorFinn Bálor, Blake McPherson, and Yona Knight-Wisdom.

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Secrets of My Success

This post may come off as me tooting my own horn, but since when have I been concerned about anything I do coming across as such? Strike up the band! This is actually more of a gentle guide for anyone who needs it, as I had a brief recollection of a question I used to ask people when I was 21 years old. At that time in my life, I just wanted to know the secret to adulthood, and I whittled it down to one question I would ask everyone I met who happened to be over 40 years old. Now that I’ve passed that demarcation, it’s only fair that I answer to the best of my ability. Here is what I wish I’d known two decades ago, as it might have set my mind at ease and lessened the constant worry and fear I carried with me for much of my working life. It’s a simple percentage of what needs to be done to maintain a job, and the rules apply for just about every position I can think of:

–       70% is showing up.

–       20% is dressing up.

–       10% is shutting up.

Showing up: 70%– This was a lesson I learned in one of my first college courses. One of my professors made it known early on that just showing up to class would go a long way toward passing it, and being that physics played a larger role in that Astronomy class than I counted on, my presence was my only chance of making it through. Since then, I’ve seen far too often that showing up on a consistent and timely manner is more important than being the best at anything. I’ll take a semi-decent performer who’s there every day over a stellar performer who only deigns to appear now and then.

Dressing up: 20%– The old adage that one should dress for the job one wants is old for good reason. For the most part, dressing up only enhances opportunity to be taken seriously and advancing. People can argue (not wrongfully) that what one wears should not be a factor in how one performs, but the reality is that it does matter. To ignore it and claim that without a dress code anything goes is to make a fatal error in getting ahead. Just because you don’t think it should matter doesn’t mean it won’t. To put effort into one’s wardrobe and appearance is a show of respect to everyone who comes into contact with you, and that sort of thing makes a good impression on bosses and supervisors.

Shutting up: 10%– Despite the bravura of my voice here, I’ve always known when to shut my mouth and remain silent. It is often better to keep quiet and not say anything about the tiny trivial matters that bother you during the day. If one makes a habit out of saying everything all the time, when the moment comes for something important to be told, why would anyone even bother to listen? Too many people talk far too much, and most of the time it’s to their detriment. Listening – that’s the real secret to making one’s way in the world.

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A Literally-Lofty Goal: The Australian Tree Fern

Every time I walk into the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum the want and the desire come flooding back: I covet the tree ferns. There are four, one in each corner of the grand central courtyard, and each one towers upward, stretching to the ceiling windows and unfurling their magnificent fronds over the space, offering delicate shade and gorgeous designs of green against the soft-hued stone. They immediately induce peace, halting the rush of everyday life and hushing the noise of the outside world. They echo a time gone by, when we paused to indulge in simply existing, when it was enough to sit on a bench and just be. Of course, they go back to long before then too, when a different terrain was in place and when ancient species roamed the land.

I’m told there are some places where these hardy denizens have colonized and become ubiquitous to the point of invasiveness. That’s certainly not the case in upstate New York or New England, where one fall’s day could easily fell the tallest fern. And so we place them inside, coddled and pampered in the greenhouse environs they prefer. That may make my personal cultivation of them an impossibility, seeing as how I do not live in a humid greenhouse, nor have access to a sun room where such conditions might be approximated. Still, if I happen to find a small specimen at Faddegon’s I may give it a whirl. Who knows, our living room might provide just enough light to make a pleasing home. It certainly works for us.

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‘American Life’ A Decade & A Half Later

Listening to the title track of Madonna’s 2003 album ‘American Life’ fifteen years after its debut, I still get goosebumps. It’s just as jarring, seering, and provocative as it was when it first premiered, and perhaps even more resonant when one thinks of our country’s state today. Madonna couldn’t have known (could she?) what we were in store for, but the album’s political concerns with consumerism, selfishness, and work ethic holds up even better all these years later. On April 21, 2003, it suffered under the post 9/11 nationalism that spawned one of the worst thought-out wars in our history, but in retrospect Madonna gets the last laugh. 

While a fan favorite and semi-critical-darling, the album was widely viewed as disappointing, certainly by Madonna standards, and the absence of a hot lead single (ignoring the soundtrack-throwaway ‘Die Another Day’) did nothing to help that. In a way, this perceived ‘failure’ would lead to even greater things, such as the ‘Confessions on a Dancefloor’ album. But that’s to ignore the intrinsic charms of ‘American Life’ on its own, and its merits are as magnificent as they are mixed. 

Back then, the world felt in peril. Our innocence had been robbed. Madonna offered criticism, commentary, and a voice of reflection backed by folk electronica. The juxtaposition of simple folk melodies with the modern electronic flourishes, along with some of Madonna’s most distorted vocal effects combined for a sonic landscape unlike any she’d ever conjured, even in the ‘Music’ album

‘American Life’ Tracklisting:
  1. American Life
  2. Hollywood
  3. I’m So Stupid
  4. Love Profusion
  5. Nobody Knows Me
  6. Nothing Fails
  7. Intervention
  8. X-static Process
  9. Mother and Father
  10. Die Another Day
  11. Easy Ride

Instagram rumor has it that Madonna is once again working with her ‘American Life’ producer Mirwais on her upcoming album. While I enjoy what they have already accomplished together, I do like when she branches out. Still, perhaps returning to this well is a good thing. As she sings in ‘Easy Ride‘, life goes round and round just like a circle…

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Easter Parade, Delayed

With all of the nasty weather this spring, the sickness and the hold-ups, I didn’t get to watch our usual Easter viewing treat ‘Easter Parade’ until long after the fact, but it’s better to document it now than never, as it makes for a perfectly fine spring viewing party whether or not it’s a little after-the-fact. It won’t be anyone’s greatest cinematic masterpieces, but Judy Garland and Fred Astaire together can’t be all bad, and it’s a delightful confection for a rainy day when the technicolor outfits are more than enough to satisfy the desire for inspiration. 

My heart yearns to be in a time when hats were as fabulous as they were commonplace. It also longs for a feather-accented outfit like Ann Miller wears in one delicious dance sequence. 

Mostly, though, I wish the “Happiest Musical Ever Made” held more than the power of suggestion and inspiration, that we could set a day to music and make all our problems go away. Until it does, I’ll keep hoping… and dressing up…

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Salomon Diaz for Calvin Klein Underwear

It’s been more than a hot minute since we’ve had a notable face front for Calvin Klein underwear, but Salomon Diaz may change that. In a clear bid for future Hunk of the Day status, Mr. Diaz slips into his Calvins and fills them out so nicely he’s all but guaranteed an HOD post in the coming weeks. Until then, enjoy this red-hot sneak-preview. 

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Rising From a Rain Haze

It’s 4/20.

{Insert requisite pot joke here.}

Now that we’ve moved beyond that, let’s also hopefully have moved beyond my recent bout with the flu, and our recent bout with endless awful weather. At the time of this writing, my flu has limped mostly away, but the day is soaked with a vicious downpour so I’m not going anywhere anyway. By the time this gets publicly posted, however, I’m hoping to be in happier spirits and better places, so my eye is on that. In the meantime, may all this rain be healing, and may it fortify the land to give us a beautiful crop of summer foliage and flowers. 

Not all rainy days are washouts. Some give flights to fancy, others give rise to creative urges and exploration. A few simply pause the relentless rush of everyday activities, forcing us inside into contemplation and rumination. I am grateful for the respite. That outside mess can wait. 

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Boston Family Weekend Part 3

My favorite time of the day in the condo was at hand, as the afternoon sun was slanting through the bedroom bay window just as we returned from our museum visit (and a bit of shopping). We planned on meeting my Mom and Emi for a pre-dinner snack and cocktail/mocktail at the condo. Suzie and I tried on a few new purchases, then got down to slicing some French bread and stirring up a Shirley Temple just as they arrived.

It was a perfect cocktail hour with three of my favorite ladies in the world, and then it was time to head to dinner at the Beehive, where I hoped Emi would enjoy some live music. 

It was a lovely dinner, mostly because of the company we kept. 

The night was nice enough for us all to walk back to their hotel, where we got some chocolate and then took a quick look at their view. The unexpected adventure is always the best kind. 

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Boston Family Weekend Part 2

This time of the year sees the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum unleashing her long hanging drapes of orange nasturtiums – an annual tradition that marks the arrival of spring in happy floral fashion. I love the idea of that. My own spring traditions have been pushed back due to weather and health issues, but they’ll arrive, just a little later than usual. The Gardner Museum is right on track, and all the more beautiful because of it. 

The wonder that Ms. Gardner conjured in her home, and the vast, sumptuous, gorgeous collection of artwork that she amassed, always inspires me to do better. Not merely artistically, but in everyday life – the way I arrange our home, the design of our garden, or the simple set-up of a sitting corner. 

We paused where she may have paused, stood in the same sunlight she may have stood in, and basked in the beauty all around us. 

Giving good face…

We exited the museum and made our way back to the condo, where we awaiting the arrival of Mom and Emi for pre-dinner snacks and cocktails…

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