Category Archives: General

Poets have a much finer way with words than I could ever hope to achieve. Here are some choice words by Mary Oliver:

“It has frequently been remarked, about my own writings, that I emphasize the notion of attention. This began simply enough: to see that the way the flicker flies is greatly different from the way the swallow plays in the golden air of summer. It was my pleasure to notice such things, it was a good first step. But later, watching M. when she was taking photographs, and watching her in the darkroom, and no less watching the intensity and openness with which she dealt with friends, and strangers too, taught me what real attention is about. Attention without feeling, I began to learn, is only a report. An openness – an empathy – was necessary if the attention was to matter. Such openness and empathy M. had in abundance, and gave away freely… I was in my late twenties and early thirties, and well filled with a sense of my own thoughts, my own presence. I was eager to address the world of words – to address the world with words. Then M. instilled in me this deeper level of looking and working, of seeing through the heavenly visibles to the heavenly invisibles. I think of this always when I look at her photographs, the images of vitality, hopefulness, endurance, kindness, vulnerability… We each had our separate natures; yet our ideas, our influences upon each other became a reach and abiding confluence.

I don’t think I was wrong to be in the world I was in, it was my salvation from my own darkness. Nor have I ever abandoned it – those early signs that so surely lead toward epiphanies. And yet, and yet, she wanted me to enter more fully into the human world also, and to embrace it, as I believe I have. And what a gift [that she] never expressed impatience with my reports of the natural world, the blue and green happiness I found there. Our love was so tight.“

~ Mary Oliver

It was January 28, 1986. I was in fifth grade. We were just coming back from a ‘Gifted & Talented’ meeting (decidedly not my term for the group of loons that lucked out on a certain aptitude test) and our homeroom teacher ushered us back into our usual seats while a television played in the background. Blue – the brightest blue the sky could be – was the first thing we saw. A trail of clouds, then a puff of smoke that was the end of seven lives. Miss Lampman whispered in a stern tone, “The Challenger exploded.”

We sat down quietly, each taking it in in his or her own way. The moment you realize the significance of something happening is the moment you start to grow up. Whether or not we were ready, there was life knocking at our door, in a silent explosion against a blue sky. It felt a little closer because one of our teachers had applied to be on that Challenger flight. The one who was chosen was schoolteacher Christa McAuliffe. Either way, it was a civilian, and somehow that made it sadder.

It was the first time the news broke through my childhood innocence. Until that point, I never really cared, or was even aware, that anything of import happened outside of Amsterdam, New York. Hell, I didn’t care much beyond what went down in my backyard and bedroom. From that moment I was obsessed with everything to do with the explosion – the twin rocket boosters, the various theories as to what happened, and, most importantly, the seven men and women who lost their lives, including the first teacher who was supposed to go into space. I set up a photo album of news events, and it grew from the Challenger news to anything of importance. I remember the stock market meltdown being one of the last items I pasted into the book – a couple years later I had no need for a book. It was occupying my head. It was an awakening, and while not altogether a pleasant one, it was necessary, it was inevitable, and I had no choice.

The best part of childhood – if you’ve had a decent one – is that for a few years you can pretend that nothing bad could ever happen in the world. If you’ve had that freedom, if you’ve had that moment, you might be ok. At least, you might have a chance. What we do with that chance is another story for another post.

“Look for the archetypal trickster in any story of growth, for growth always means moving toward one’s own human richness which, in turn, means the growth of one’s soul.

The Trickster delights in frolicking with symbols… Jumping across boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious, between the psychological and the physical, the Trickster tosses out images in play that express the sheer vitality of the imagination.” ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

One does not have to be psychotic to have an inflated self-image. We are all at times prone to think too highly of ourselves. At such moments the Trickster may pay us a visit in the guise of a prankster, to bring us back to earth, to make us look foolish or ridiculous in little ways just when we want to look our best. He is adept at undercutting self-inflation. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

For the inner, archetypal Trickster, play includes a synchronistic taking hold of whatever materials come to hand in order to break the boundaries of our usual perceptions of reality. In addition, trickster stories almost universally emphasize his doing exactly what he pleases regardless of the consequences. The apparent selfishness is, in part, a way of portraying his sovereign nature as an uncontrollable aspect of the human psyche that originates totally outside the reach of the conscious mind. The meaning of his actions, however, depends not on himself but on some deeper aspect of the psyche in whose service he acts.

There are no limits to his antics. It is his delight to shatter our boundaries, borders, and frames, stripping us of our protective coloration and baring us helplessly to something new. This is his play, and when we ourselves are playful, we are in harmony with him. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

Allowing our imagination to play, letting our fantasies have their day, is to honor him. Utterly to deny this natural tendency of the mind, to suppress the imagination, to refuse to give it a hearing, to refuse even to honor it with our momentary attention, will cause it to carry its case to the shadow where the sympathetic ear of the prankster awaits it.

Allowing the imagination to play means to lighten up from time to time, to let our fantasies run free. To do this we must relax rigid attitudes or moods, even perhaps our concepts of morality… Temporarily relaxing your morality means putting aside your culturally created and therefore limited conception of reality, including the reality of your own self. The Trickster can then reveal aspects of our selves that are hidden from our scrutiny. Growth of the personality is certainly not guaranteed by this. But if we allow the Trickster to be our guide and we follow his play consciously, we are given the very real possibility of expanding our sense of who and what we are. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

The last week of January has begun! I was quite over this winter before it even began, and I’m not going to say anything about it just yet as we’re still not quite over the hump. Let’s just take a quick look-back over our shoulders to survey what damages came before – and some of these damages are hot hot hot!

Take for example the Hunk of the Day. These guys kept things scorching in the face of sub-zero weather and snow storms. Four-name wonder Francisco Javier Gómez Noya started things off on the right foot, whizzing through triathlons like nobody’s business.

Hot on his heels was Cam Newton, who kept things thrilling by his winning smile (and a body to-die-for.)

Not one to let the fit and hairless have all the fun, Brian Maier brought hirsute hotness to the proceedings.

Taking a break from the hunkdom, we paused for a moment of love, or at least love of fragrance.

Sometimes something smells so good that I have to have it right then and there. Mandarino di Amalfi was one of those times, but this week it was Black Saffron.

It turned out that hunks weren’t the only thing that could keep things hot, as evidenced by this steaming bowl of Tom Yum soup.

A onesie kept my package warm in Boston.

These guys certainly helped.

Barrett Pall is in a class all his own, and is a prime example of when the Hunk of the Day becomes so much more than just a hunk.

Music makes the people come together. It also makes the winter more bearable.

Family does that too.

Once upon a time, I was a Trickster. (And at my best moments, I still am.)

Finally, the most important invitation of the year was posted. I’m opening up this platform (isn’t it pretty?) to you. Yes, YOU. The reader, the viewer, the up-to-now-silent partner in all things to do with this website. On certain Sundays I’ll be hosting a “Special Guest Blogger” with someone else helming the post of the day. The best part is that all content and submissions will be up to you. (For those who like a few guidelines, you are welcome to stick with the tried and true themes you see here on a regular basis – all things gay, beautiful, fabulous, fun, deep, moving, disturbing, decadent, depraved, sexy, seductive, scented, tumultuous, sweet, upsetting, depressing, wonderful, melodious, deleterious, witty, courageous, touching, calm, and daring – oh, and if you want to throw in your take on Tom Ford, Madonna, David Beckham or Ben Cohen, be my guest.) In other words, sky’s the limit. Oh, close friends, ex-boyfriends, and former-crushes are especially encouraged to apply, as they may give the other side to all the stories I’ve spun over the years. (I may end up regretting this, but it will be well worth watching.) Hit me up at alanilagan1[@]gmail.com if you have something to say.

Sarah Palin, the person who quit midway through her governorship, is hinting that she may run for President. Personally, and all politics aside, I hope with all my heart that she does throw her hat into the GOP nomination ring. There is no greater spokesperson for the Republican Party. Go Sarah!

“The man can only ride ya when your back is bent. So strengthen it! Then the man can’t ride ya!” – Sarah Palin

To be fair, I’ve always found this to be true.

[See also “Bat-shit crazy.”]

“Through synchronistic coincidences the Trickster can sometimes confront us with what we do not know about ourselves but must recognize if we are to know the whole of our own reality… As a creature without boundaries, his existence and activity are never absolutely fixed in place. He makes connections across the limits we ordinarily set for life, bringing together polar opposites and disclosing that which is hidden.

The Trickster puts life in our path in spite of our denials. We continue to stumble over his gifts, ignoring their disturbing nature when our luck is good, cursing some vague fate when our luck is bad.”

~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

He is the mythic embodiment of the unexpected. He symbolizes the unexpected eruption into awareness of truths hidden away from the ego. In a psychological sense, the Trickster is one mode by which other archetypes, such as the archetype of the self, assert themselves.

This appearance of the Trickster is characteristic of his style: he pops up unexpectedly. The quality that he brings to synchronicity, however, is not simply that of surprise. his manner has the impish charm of cunning and magic. There is a flavor of roguish enchantment to the situations he orchestrates. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

One has the feeling that in synchronicity the Trickster engages in the fabulous play of a divine jester; he is a “juggler of reality.” It is in the notion of play, we believe, that we may find the key to understanding our best relationship to the Trickster and thus to synchronicity. It is also the key to discovering his divinity in ourselves.

As a messenger and herald he represents the interests of a considerable range of unconscious or mythic figures. The most roguish play of the Trickster, however, is in the role of the prankster. In these the Trickster acts on behalf of an unconscious structure known as the shadow. ~ Allan Combs & Marl Holland

 The Trickster’s play frequently gives us opportunities, usually unwelcome, for personal growth by flaunting our most private secrets for the whole world to see. This seems to be the Trickster’s delight.

Thus, the play of the Trickster makes us confront our own faults in the everyday world, much as we are forced to confront them in our dreams. These instances offer the opportunity to recognize our faults and, by owning them, to take away their sting and in the bargain render ourselves more whole.

This is the Trickster as the shadow, stealing our purpose when we want to appear flawless – just to amuse himself with our foolishness. If we are open to this impish play, we realize that we have been reminded that we are only human, that we have limitations, no matter how perfect we might wish to appear. ~ Allan Combs & Marl Holland

“Virtually all cultures have stories involving the Trickster, most notably connected with the related ideas of creation, boundaries, and change…

Since synchronicities abound at times of transition, we can also expect to find the Trickster present at such times, giving with one hand while he might take away with the other, but he will certainly play a few tricks in the process.” ~ Robin Robertson

Of all the mythological characters, it is the Trickster who is most associated with chance and synchronicity, who is the bearer of good or ill fortune, who stirs the sands of fate and melds together glad and unhappy chance in patterns guessed only in the gleam of his eye. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

But the Trickster is nothing if not paradoxical, and so he is also the joker, as selfish and unreliable as they come. His faults are ridiculously evident:

Sometimes he made mistakes, and although he was wise and powerful, he did many foolish things. He was too fond of playing tricks for his own amusement. He was also selfish, boastful, and vain.

~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

The world of modern mechanistic science is a world bounded by the rigid constraints of causality. It is the Trickster’s predilection to cross such boundaries, bringing the unexpected to the commonplace. His gift of synchronicity, however, seems dark, sinister, and threatening to that world, because it appears to be an intrusion from an alien landscape, a world that mechanistic science cannot enter. Synchronicity plays the devil with the myth of causality. The expressions of the Trickster, who returns to us the life that our boundary-making tries to exclude, raises a satanic specter in the eyes of science. Its qualities are the most offensive: it cannot be objectively tested, and it makes itself unavailable for prediction and control. Synchronicity represents a hostile other because it is acausal, and as such blasphemes against the mythos of the causality principle. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

Earlier this year I promised a few changes on www.ALANILAGAN.com, and one of those was the implementation of a Guest Blog feature. In an ongoing effort to make this site slightly more interactive, and to give voice to better writers than myself, I’m opening a few select spots up to those who have something to say. It need not be ground-breaking or earth-shattering (and I’d prefer if it wasn’t the latter as I know I wouldn’t fare well in an earthquake) but I know some of my friends have a gift for gab, as well as some sharp minds and wonderful wits.

First up is my pal Skip, for whom this feature was pretty much created. I begged, pleaded, and bothered him until he agreed to spill some words for the cause, and after reading his virgin entry it’s just as impressive as I knew it would be. He’ll premiere the Guest Blog spot with a two-part introduction that’s as hilarious as it is moving.

After that, I’ll be opening the series up to anyone who has something they’d like to contribute, particularly on the issues of love, life, sexuality, Tom Ford, Ben Cohen, and Madonna. (And pretty much anything else.) If you think you have what it takes, or just have something to say, contact me at alanilagan1[@]gmail.com.

The title of this post is slightly misleading, as it would seem to imply some sort of excitement or event that made the past week extra-special or noteworthy. In reality, nothing much happened other than the usual parade of Hunks and interludes of incessant complaining about the weather. (We get it, it’s cold.) Still, maybe something resonated with you, so let’s recap.

Murray Swanby rounded out the Andrew Christian explosion of late, and did it in fine underwear-clad form.

Tiffany unveiled its first-ever advertisement featuring a gay couple

Jerrad Swodeck made all the gay boys, and more than a few straight gals, swoon. (I think some straight men and gay ladies swooned too.)

Perfumed punctuation.

Ning Zetao got into the pool, and into a Speedo.

The best memories can be conjured by the cheesiest pop songs.

Hanging with a very hunky Mr. Cooper (Helfet, that is.)

Deep in the heart of Boston…

…with a little help from a few friends.

A ginger with an ass made fine from curling ~ Niklas Edin.

An Andrew Christian bonus: Daniel Sisniega.

Finally, Rob Gronkowski got his official honor as Hunk of the Day, mostly because someone pulled his pants down.

Today marks the birth-date of the woman who (whether you like it or not) brought me into this world. That’s right, it’s my Mom’s birthday, so if you see Laurie today wish her a happy one!

In their first same-sex marriage ad, Tiffany is proving to be as forward-thinking as it is venerable. Like everything the sterling company does, this is classy, timeless, touching, and beautiful.

Strangely, or wisely depending on bank accounts, I own only one Tiffany item: a gorgeous pen given to me by a dear ex-boyfriend. It’s still the best pen I’ve ever owned, and writes better than any other I’ve ever tried. I’ve had it for over sixteen years (I save it to use on special occasions). Like the company that made it, it’s classic, timeless, touching, and beautiful.

Oh brutal winter, you are delivering some cruel blows. The temperatures, as I write this, are well below freezing, and the wind is kicking up a storm. It’s awful stuff, made only barely bearable by long-johns and velour track suits. Don’t cast your stink-eye at me: when you know the rules of fashion you can break them. On to the week gone by…

Beauty’s where you find it, and this week it was found in the eyes (and hair) of Walter Savage.

It can also be found in a book, especially when it’s as gorgeous a read as ‘The Perfect Scent’ by Chandler Burr.

Put up your dukes for Luke.

From the land of ice, the music of winter.

The very first Non-Hunk of the Day, Justin Bieber, who completely ruined Calvin Klein underwear for many of us. And I mean forever.

The most powerful memory-conjuror: fragrance. (Even when it’s so-so.)

An unlikely Hunk, by request: John Cusack.

This Charlie is a man of eloquent words.

It was a week filled with scents, even one as light as snow.

A trio of Hunks rounded out the chilly week: Jeffrey Hawkins, Jerrad V. Swodeck and Ashley Parker Angel.

Most people would say that there is no smell to snow, but I disagree. It’s nothing strong, it’s nothing you might notice, but it’s there, in the air, this metallic tinge of ice crystals. There would be no point in trying to capture this for a fragrance or a candle. It’s not substantial enough. The only route would be to incorporate some other ancillary scent – maybe the pine trees, or the smoke from a fire, or even the acrid notes of exhaust and snow-blowers that can’t help but attach itself to the scene, in the way that gasoline from a lawn-mower is inextricably bound to the smell of freshly-cut grass.

Yet in its purest form, the scent of snow must exist. There must be some combination of molecules in the air when it snows that combines to form the fleeting fragrance, like the scent of ozone after a summer rain. Technically speaking, this wouldn’t be the scent of snow, exactly, but whatever else was in the air at the time of its falling. These are the circles the mind traverses as the temperatures chase us inside. Really, who would want to smell snow at this time anyway? We’ll get more than enough in its natural form, no need to put it in a bottle when it will surely overwhelm.

Still, it’s tempting to capture it, so beautiful is the scene at hand. So much of life is driven by that quest for the sublime, but the only thing that can truly convey the wonder of snow is, well, snow. Everything else is but a poor substitute, a hollow echo of the real thing – and an echo of something as ethereal as snow is hardly a thing at all.