Category Archives: General

Happy 4/20!

I’ve never been big on the weed. I stayed clear of it completely during my high school and college years, and by the time I felt safe and secure enough to try it, the appeal was largely lost. That said, every few years I’ll take a toke and laugh my way into oblivion (or become so entirely paranoid that I think everyone is trying to kill me – especially bartenders).

One of the first times I tried pot was in a cemetery. I had finished a shift at Structure with my friend Matt and he drove us to a secluded plot for the dead in the middle of a dark summer night. Any fear I had of the space and circumstances was erased in our laughter – and that was before either of us had taken a single drag.

We talked in the way that some guys talk after feeling comfortable with each other – nothing forced, nothing fake, and nothing too extended. We could get deep, but not on that night. That night was just staving off some summer loneliness and replacing it with some summer fun surrounded by some skunky smoke.

DESTINATION UNKNOWN AS WE PULL IN FOR SOME GAS

A FRESHLY-PASTED POSTER REVEALS A SMILE FROM THE PAST

ELEPHANTS AND ACROBATS, LIONS, SNAKES, MONKEY

PELE SPEAKS RIGHTEOUS, SISTER SEENA SAYS ‘FUNKY’

HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE

OOH BABY, IT’S MAKING ME CRAZY

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND, IT’S IN MY FACE’

‘How Bizarre’ by OMC played on the soundtrack to the store that summer. A ridiculous song – even more-so now – but for that night, and for that summer, it all seemed to work. In my silly 20’s, when I was way too serious for my own good, only occasional glimmers of what should have been a carefree time in my life managed to surface. That night was one of them. I laughed a little, then I laughed a lot. My head felt light, and my mood was mellow. Matt was good in that way, and I always had fun around him. One of my first straight-male friends, he helped me get over my fear of heterosexual guys. For the ensuing days of that summer we forged a friendship built on the doldrums of the Rotterdam Mall Structure store, where six-button polos ruled the wardrobe, and the greatest concern was who was going to do all the mopping on a Sunday morning.

RINGMASTER STEPS UP, SAYS, ‘THE ELEPHANTS LEFT TOWN.’

PEOPLE JUMP AND JIVE AND THE CLOWNS THEN STUCK AROUND

TV NEWS AND CAMERAS, THERE’S CHOPPERS IN THE SKY

MARINES, POLICE, REPORTERS ASK WHERE, FOR, AND WHY

PELE YELLS, “WE’RE OUTTA HERE!” SEENA SAYS, “RIGHT ON!”

MAKE YOUR MOVES AND STARTING GROOVES BEFORE THEY KNEW WE WERE GONE

JUMPED INTO THE CHEVY, HEADED FOR BIG LIGHTS

WANNA KNOW THE REST? HEY, BUY THE RIGHTS.

Eventually our laughter subsided, and the car grew quiet. Insects sang in the spooky air and summer squeezed itself around our heads. If I’d only known then how wonderful those moments were, if I’d only known how happy I was and how my worries were so trifling… But I didn’t know. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe that’s what protected me and kept me safe. Maybe if I had a sense of security, I might have been too reckless, if that makes any sense.

We talked for a bit in our relaxed state, talk that was both silly and meaningful. It felt fraught with import, but for the life of me I can’t recall the details. I guess it doesn’t matter – the important part was that it bonded us in a way, strengthening our friendship and adding a chapter in our shared history. I didn’t know what it was like to have a straight guy friend, and Matt didn’t know what it was like to have a gay friend, so we found our footing together. Those tender steps mattered more to me than romance, even if I didn’t quite believe it then.

HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE

OOH BABY, IT’S MAKING ME CRAZY

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND

EVERY TIME I LOOK AROUND, IT’S IN MY FACE…

There’s something to be said for having a routine.

There’s also something to be said for throwing routine out the window.

This post will hopefully do a little of both.

You may have come to expect a Hunk of the Day in the spot, as this is usually the reserved time an place for that popular feature, but I don’t like such predictable plots, even if they afford some sense of surety in a world gone increasingly mad. The good news is that the Hunk of the Day is not going away anytime soon, it will just shift around a bit. It may also not be an everyday thing – I never claimed it was the Hunk of Each and Every Day.

For spring and possibly beyond, I’d like to switch things up and inject new life into this blog. It seems that it’s a common wish every few months, and that’s been keeping things fresh and engaging to me, but after thirteen years of this, I give in to ennui and autopilot. The only way to keep me on my feet is to do new things, try out new formats, embark on new projects. This is as much a diary as it is a repository for my work, equal parts of revelation and creativity. Hopefully it’s a wee bit entertaining as well (even if most of you like to see me fall flat on my face – it’s ok to admit it).

I’m starting to think of this like those islands that form personality in ‘Inside Out’ (please don’t watch that movie without tissues handy). The first time you see some of those islands fall – Friendship Island, Honesty Island – it’s heartbreaking, and hard to let go. Only after going through the hard stuff do you realize that other islands have formed in their wake. Better islands, more beautiful islands – the islands that will see us through this wild and crazy life together.

This is my afternoon post for a Monday. There is no shirtless Hunk. There is no Madonna. There is just us. That’s pretty exciting. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was the week that I went to Washington, DC and came back a free man. My complete banishment from FaceBook – for supposedly pretending to be someone else and using a name that was not authentic – formed the brunt of my big news of the week, but on more careful contemplation it turned out to be one of the best things that could have happened. Especially as the gardening season is about to begin and I need all the daylight hours I can get. Onto the other days that came before…

The muse is Madonna.

The beauty is Tom Berklund.

The hope is a crocus.

The majesty is Matheus.

The shadow is pretty.

The beginning is extravagant.

The hunk is Frankie Z.

The man is Mr. Wilson.

The warrior is ready.

The tour is bloody.

The question is valid.

The song is for Sunday.

The designer is naked.

For anyone who needs a little help just to make it through the day…

To make it through a Life.

The way it carries us forward, in the actions of a day, an hour, a minute.

We complain of the mundane.

We want for so much more.

We miss the beauty in front of us.

Sometimes I feel
Like I am drunk behind the wheel
The wheel of possibility
However it may roll
Give it a spin
See if you can somehow factor in
You know there’s always more than one way
To say exactly what you mean to say

Was I out of my head? Was I out of my mind?
How could I have ever been so blind?
I was waiting for an indication
It was hard to find
Don’t matter what I say only what I do
I never mean to do bad things to you
So quiet but I finally woke up
If you’re sad then its time you spoke up too

Was I out of my head? Was I out of my mind?
How could I have ever been so blind?
I was waiting for an indication
It was hard to find
Don’t matter what I say only what I do
I never mean to do bad things to you
So quiet but I finally woke up
If you’re sad then its time you spoke up too…

To my recollection (which is not all that impressive these days) I have never carved someone’s name into a tree (not even my own, which is the way I usually roll). It’s always struck me as the ultimate (and most damaging) form of vandalism, but I can also see a romantic aspect to it. I just love nature too much to mar its beauty with my own vainglorious self-promotion, and whether motivated by love or romantic notion it’s still wrong.

The scars that this tree in the Boston Public Garden carries may fade over time, but they’ll completely go away. This is the sort of cut that can’t be washed away, and that breaks my heart a little whenever I see it. Kind of like love and romance.

When last we left The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book, I had donned warrior garb and taken up the battle in fighting form. Now we delve a little deeper, and no one is going to escape without a little blood on their hands…

“The urge to destroy is also a creative urge.” ~ Pablo Picasso

If you had to make a bet on how I’d get kicked off of FaceBook, the safest way to make some money would have been in guessing I’d be reported for nudity or pornography. I would have bet on that too. Last week, however, I got kicked off and my account was disabled for something entirely different. It’s been seven days, and shows no signs of coming back, despite repeated attempts at explanation and enough government-issued ID documents to run for President three times over.

We have to go back a week to explain how this all came about. I was alerted by a girl who sent me a message that someone else was using my photos for their profile. Three different accounts under the same name had my profile photo attached to them, so I reported them for pretending to be someone they’re not. I didn’t think much more of it, until the next day, when I got a report stating that I had reported someone for pretending to be me, and that my account was being disabled. Umm, what?

That message, seen below, also instructed that if I thought it was a mistake to reply with a government-issued ID. I promptly submitted a photo of my driver’s license and waited to hear back. The next message, also below, reiterated that my account was disabled for pretending to be someone other than myself.

I responded and sent back my reply, explaining that I had been reporting someone else for using my photos, and I got the following message:

“Your account was disabled for not following the FaceBook terms. FaceBook requires everyone to list their authentic name on their account. Fake accounts and accounts created to impersonate someone or something else are not allowed. If you think your account was disabled by mistake, please file a report here… Make sure to attach a valid ID to your report. We won’t be able to process your request without it. Thanks – The FaceBook Team”

Wait. Hold up. Now they’re saying I’m not using my authentic name? If it’s not ‘Alan Bennett Ilagan’ what the hell is it? Princess Pink Feather? Merry Making Tricksie? I’ve done a lot of things on FaceBook since I joined back in 2007 or 2008. (Yes, look at all my entries since then, FaceBook police. It’s pretty substantial for a supposedly fake-named account.) I’ve posted some questionable content, I’ve had a couple of photos removed for being too risqué (though most pass FB censor muster), and I’ve pissed off more than a few people who didn’t like my views, but not once have I pretended to be anyone other than Alan Bennett Ilagan. That’s the name my parents gave me. It’s on my birth certificate, my driver’s license, my passport, my check stubs, my credit cards, my credit card bills, and all those catalogs that come in the mail. It’s the name I use on Twitter and Instagram, and it’s the name of the website you’re reading right now. But for whatever reason, FaceBook needs further proof that I’m me.

After re-sending my license, I got the next message, which, up to this point, has been the most disturbing:

Essentially they are telling me that someone submitted my driver’s license info as well, and now I have to submit ANOTHER government-issued ID. My license has only been in my hand and perhaps the hands of a police officer for a minor speeding infraction a number of years ago, but no one else has had it long enough to jot anything significant down. Hell, I don’t even get carded at bars anymore. So for FaceBook to say that someone else had provided the same information to them was upsetting to say the least.

At this point, since the only people I had sent my license to were those AT FACEBOOK, I hesitated sending another copy of a government-issued ID. And though I finally had a contact name at FaceBook, assuming Ali Khoush is a real employee of FaceBook Community Operations (if you are, hello Ali! It’s really me, Alan Bennett Ilagan!), I had a very sour taste in my mouth over the entire ordeal. FaceBook had made it clear that they would never understand me. The break-up, even if it had a chance of being patched-up, was irrevocable. We would never be the same.

In the ensuing days, however, I found that I didn’t miss FaceBook as much as I thought I might. I’ve never been one to suffer withdrawal from social media or being plugged-in. On most vacations, I set up a few pre-programmed blog posts, post those links on FB or Twitter when I think of it, but that’s basically it. I’d rather inhabit the moment and be present in the place than constantly document and be bound to a smart phone.

I also got to realize how much time I was spending on FaceBook, which required more focus and attention than Instagram or Twitter. The audience I got on FaceBook was also a small fraction of the numbers who can see my stuff on Twitter or Instagram. In other words, what was FaceBook really providing for me, other than a time drain and a brain waster?

As I write this, my account is still happily disabled, but my life is more vibrant, active and real than it’s been in years. I also have oodles of time that was apparently going into browsing and getting upset over the latest political rant or comment war. (To give you an idea of how much time it was taking up, a task that normally would have occupied at least an entire week ~ organizing and storing my winter scarves ~ took but a single evening. Yeah, that’s the kind of time we’re talking about.)

Whether it was my intention or not, I managed to quit FaceBook cold turkey, and it’s made me realize that having 4000 FaceBook friends means less than having one or two people who really matter. For years I wondered why those who weren’t on FaceBook seemed so happy. Didn’t they know what they were missing? Didn’t they feel left out? Now I know, and I’m a little happier for it too.

{Mysterious Post Script: My best guess as to why my account was disabled goes back to the person whom I originally reported for usurping my photos for his profile and setting up accounts under the name ‘Richard Helm Laurence’ from Lander, Wyoming as seen below. The only thing I can surmise is that once I reported him, he may have reported me, and somehow FaceBook believed I was the imposter. (I’m told his accounts are still up.) Like most things involving FaceBook, it is likely to remain a mystery unsolved. I do, however, remain a believer in justice.}

“There’s things half in shadow. And half way in light…” ~  Mary Poppins

Without shadows, light wouldn’t mean as much as it does. The same can be said for darkness. For better or worse, I’ve never shied away from either. At this time of the year, however, I like to emerge from the blackness of winter and focus on the light. We began the day with a poem by Mary Oliver, and it’s just as lovely to end it in the same manner:

THE SUN

By Mary Oliver

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone –
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance –
and have you ever felt for anything

such wild love –
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a world billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed –
or have you too
turned from this world-

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Having spent the weekend on tour, this blog has been on auto-pilot of late, and this little recap is part of that pre-programmed majesty. ‘Tis the season of change, and the air is filled with renaissance and destruction all at once. A perambulation about the gardens will reveal what the winter may have taken away, and what it has spared. I’m ambivalent about the whole thing – the mildest winters can be the most horrid without an adequate cover of snow, and even at this late date there are possibilities of hard freezes and even, yes, more white stuff. I wouldn’t put anything past Mother Nature this year. Onto the recap…

Tadeo Fernandez slipped into his briefs for the week’s first Hunk of the Day.

In the midst of a winter storm, the day’s eye.

The thrilling and hunky star of the new ‘American Psycho’ musical, Benjamin Walker.

Broadway was on the mind, as exemplified by Audra McDonald’s brilliant turn last year.

A very cute Broadway butt was on display thanks to Andrew Glaszek.

Why are David and Jason Benham so obsessed with gay sex? (This in no way implies that the Benham Brothers are gay.)

Remember Nick the Gardener, better known as Billy Reilich? He got naked.

Speaking of gardening, this little flower bloomed before the snow returned.

Way too young for my taste, but perfect for any teeny-bopper readers, this is Hunk of the Day Cody Saintgnue.

The battle of The Delusional Grandeur Tour raged on, as our Warrior raised the sword and the stakes.

The Madonna Timeline stepped back into the ‘Spotlight.’

Shirtcocking. It’s happening.

Hot as ice, this is Guillaume Cizeron.

Having missed a lovely trip into NYC for a friend’s wedding thanks to snow squalls and winter-in-April insanity, I was hungry for something hopeful, something sunny, something that elicited the promise of spring in the face of all the cold and wind. I turned to future plans for Boston, as well as warm and fuzzy memories of fun times past in that fair city.

When I did that, I started thinking: so much of my life is about the planning and the anticipation. Very rarely do I inhabit the moment and let loose, and for the longest time it’s what I’ve strived to do. There have been periods of happiness when I managed to succeed. As silly as it sounds, Madonna’s ‘Ray of Light’ album helped me do that. It was all about the moment, and making the most of it, and I truly lived in the moment the summer after its release. To this day, I try to reclaim that freedom. Maybe this is the spring and summer it will happen. I hold out the hope…

Even so, it’s fun to plan ahead, and it’s always good to have something to which we might look forward. I know no other way to get through the difficult days. Not in dwelling in the dismal past do we find a way forward. And so, I look ahead to the next party, the next vacation, the next big thing. And the new… always the new… ever the new… Cheers to the new.

Well, an April shower recap to be more precise. In the last week we’ve had hail, snow, rain, wind, sun, and 70 degree temps. Don’t ask why I’m so nutty. If you lived in these extremes you’d be batshit cray cray too. I’m hoping things level off – they’re better when they’re placid. Let’s get into the recap…

The week began with this cock (tail).

The beautiful Matt Vose inserted some hunkiness into the early days of the week.

Things shifted to family affairs, beginning with this look back at my brother’s birthday.

Easter was spent in Amsterdam this year, with Andy and Emi mugging for the camera.

It was the weekend that the twins turned six, and they are as precocious as ever.

A reminder of what this site has always striven to be.

And proof that contradiction is the sign of true genius.

Things returned to their dirty gay porn ways with Hunk of the Day Leo Giamani.

Continuing that thread, a full-frontal cock-tease.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour continued its merry march.

The Warrior Retribution section saw me looking all sorts of ridiculous.

Sunday in New York, backed by Shirley Horn.

Since the cock seemed to rule the week, here’s the Hunk of the Day feature for Joaquín Ferreira.

This Sunday Suzie and I are attending a wedding in New York (and lunching at the Plaza) as part of The Delusional Grandeur Tour, and next week I touch down in Washington, DC, so our Delusional trek is back on track. Tomorrow’s Tour Book installment features the start of the ‘Warrior Retribution’ section, in which our protagonist fights to win back all that may have been lost in the forest or forgotten in the winter.

Until then, a look back at the sections that have already appeared online:

1) INTRO/CURTAIN

2) SUNSET POOL

3) ON THE ROAD HOTEL

4) ROCK STAR ADDICT

5) ANIMAL DEMONS

6) STEAM PUNK BIRDCAGE

7) RED RIDING WOOD

8) WINTER TOP HAT

“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 truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for it! Don’t turn the light on!” ~ A Streetcar Named Desire

Lately I’ve found myself veering away from the social media saturation that gains followers and friends. It’s been a rather natural progression as the internet and the online world seems to get more and more vitriolic. Maybe it’s the upcoming election cycle, or a world gone mad with dismal prospects, but whatever the case it hasn’t been as fun being online, so I’ve delved into other pursuits. The timing is good for such, as the gardens will soon be beckoning for attention and revamping. I’ll also be setting up some travel plans for upcoming tour stops, and being online will take a second or third seat to all that real-life excitement and enjoyment.

If there’s one thing I try to create with this blog it’s an atmosphere of calm and peace – yes, I want it to be fun and thoughtful and sexy at the same time – but most of all I want it to be a respite from the rest of the chattering and screaming and arguing that constitutes an average visit to any site that enables comments – or the general madness of FaceBook and Twitter.

I’m not promising there won’t be the occasional bit of political commentary (we have crazy clowns running for President right now) but that’s not the main theme of this place, and it never has been. Like Blanche DuBois in ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ I want beauty most of all. Kindness and beauty and a belief in the possibility of redemption, no matter where we’ve come from, and no matter what we’ve done. There’s a world full of Stanleys out there – people who will do their damnedest to lay a Queen low, people who exult in the destruction and downfall of others – but fuck all of that. Naysayers and negativity will have no place here or in my home, and I’ll banish all such nonsense even if it means leaving behind those who have been with me for many years.

Nobody can argue that I don’t face the cold hard truth head-on, but this is a choice I’ve made and will continue to make. Those who want to indulge in their bad moods and antagonistic tendencies will not be tolerated. I’m too old to care about hurting feelings. Let this be a space for kindness and contentment, for fun and frivolity, for the occasional bit of snarkiness and sarcasm, but certainly not only for that. Above all, let it be a space for beauty and prettiness and glamour and the very best version of ourselves that we can be.

Behold the pig. Both beloved and bemoaned, adored and abhorred, what other animal garners such extremes of praise and condemnation? I’ve been in a pig state of mind lately, from all the Easter ham to a recent revisit of the amazing movie ‘Misery’ – which remains a frightening film.

When you think about the pig, for purposes of eating, it’s also quite a variable creature. The traditional pork – nicknamed the other white meat – is from the same source as those spirals hams, yet they look nothing alike. And where does bacon come into play in this conundrum? So much confusion, all from a single oinker.

Porky or Peppermint, give me a pig and I’m a happy camper.