Category Archives: General

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.

Most of us have one of these. The catch-all room that gets turned into a storage den, usually unintentionally and over years of accumulation, until it gets to the point you see here, and you keep the door closed whenever company comes over, hoping vainly that your piece and nephew don’t stumble into it in the way that they usually stumble into the only places you don’t want them to be. In my defense, I’ve been sick lately and haven’t had time to keep things as ship-shape as I’d like. But even that’s a cop-out and an excuse, as this mess has been in the making for years.

Like a junk drawer that never quite gets cleaned out, this is the room that houses both my work-out equipment (hence the sorry state of my rotund tummy) and just about everything else that doesn’t have a spot in the house. The bench-press is more of a shelving unit at this point, and the actual shelving units bend beneath the warped weight of wood that’s been punished by the wayward watering of an ancient Thanksgiving cactus and several butterfly amaryllis. The room is in a very sad way, which is why I’m making it one of my New Year priorities to get it cleaned up. I don’t do resolutions, but I make a few promises and goals that almost always get accomplished. Cleaning out this space is first and foremost among them.

There won’t be any before-and-after comparison shots, and the door will likely remain closed even when it gets its make-over (there’s no reason to showcase a work-out/CD room.) But I’ll know it’s spotless, and that is a burden off my back. I think that’s the point of feng shui. It’s a mental matter. When you know there is clear space and cleanliness, you may just find peace. At least, I’m hoping.

Injecting a dose of rejuvenation into the New Year and this old blog, I’m planning a few different posts for the near and far future, as well as some changes to shake things up. First, the tone. I’ve always been a little hoighty-toighty and lofty and arrogant in the way I write here, mostly because I went to school to study literature and didn’t want to make it seem like a total waste. Since it largely was, however, there’s no point in pretending, so the voice you hear now will be a little more raw, a little less polished, and a lot more blunt. It should also sound slightly more urgent and, ideally, more exciting. Demanding too, perhaps, because I’ve learned that when you ask nicely nothing gets accomplished. Bow down, bow down, Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn!!!

Second up will be a few new posts that require something of you – the reader, the viewer, the wonderful people out there in the dark. One of them will be a guest post or two from some of my favorite people, beginning with this guy: my webmaster and partner-in-Thor-crimes, Skip Montross. Skip is a fantastic writer, but even better than his way with words is his skill at eliciting emotion when he tells a story. I’ve seen him go from hilarious to poignant to gross to touching in a single telling. Those are the skills that dazzle and amaze. That’s the shit I want on this blog. If you’d like to contribute, drop me a line and make your pitch: alanilagan1[@]gmail.com. Batter up, Tom Brady.

Third, the Hunks. Which guys do you want to see? And for those who like the ladies, dare I do a Hunkette feature? (That sounds wrong. Instruct me on the error of my misguided ways with the ladies. Set me straight. Or at least try. You did know my first crush was on Kayla on ‘Days of Our Lives‘ right?) Send me names, send me photos, send me your fantasies. I always aim to please. You aim too, please?

Fourth and finally, I aim to be a little less guarded. For all the chaotic ramblings, the emotional silliness, and the dramatic snit-fits, nothing here is ever out-of-control or spontaneous. It can’t be ~ I plan too far in advance, I’m too much of a perfectionist, I’m afraid to really let go. But this is the year I have nothing to lose. It will be a bit of a high-wire act, and there will be magnificent mistakes and fantastic falls and some days you won’t be able to click away fast enough – that’s all part of this roller-coaster. You can watch from below, or ride up to the top and plummet down with me. Either way, I hope you enjoy the ride.

Behold, the New Year.

A chance to reboot the system,

renew the energy,

restore the tried and tired,

and revamp the reviled.

Every year I like to start out with a whisper rather than a bang,

to ease into the tender early days of a new year,

like a rock-hard erection searching for something soft and welcoming.

Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not doing that this year.

Get ready to bow down, bitches. We go hard or we go home.

This is the year: my final tour, my 40th birthday, and my big reveal.

This is the year it all happens.

Things get more personal, more naked, more daring, and more interactive.

Set your bookmarks, pull up a chair, grab a libation, and hang on to your hats.

w w w . A L A N I L A G A N . c o m

Your guiltiest pleasures are about to come true…

and for this New Year, may all your baskets be bountiful.

The last look at this past year (and I’m limping through this third installment in all the agony to be expected from one who abhors looking back) features the arrival of fall and winter. Those darker months close out this year in a cozy and sometimes cruel manner. Hold onto your hats, as things are about to get deeply personal. Just remember, it’s going to be a great starting point for next year. The trajectory has just been reset. Get rear to rocket.

September 2014 ~

It always begins so quaintly, with my birthday snuggled into the last days of August. Deviating from tradition, I went to New York City for some shopping and a show (or two). Thanks to the bathroom, the briefs, the brunch, the bubble bath, and the beauty, it was an unforgettable birthday.

September signals a return to school for some unfortunate souls, and I always hated it for that reason.

The year that was all about a shirtless Nick Jonas commenced with this post, when it wasn’t about Chris Evans and his boxing, bouncing butt.

Figs and honey, food and fucking.

The Master of Madonna 101 is about to call class to order again, and I cannot wait.

Transitional fragrances can be tricky, even if the devil wears it.

Coffee and music and everything dreamy. (And then I saw a moose!)

A one poem, two poem, three poem day. Anything to slow the moment, or slow the river.

Another Starbucks episode. I’m entertaining the idea of a Starbucks-fiasco-only blog. It would be filled with shit like this.

I tried my hand at a Bachelor Party for my friend Chris. Afraid it wasn’t your typical Bachelor Party – my fault for inviting girls I guess. Oh well, there was already a baby in the picture.

October 2014 ~

Shit, how am I supposed to get my potty mouth under fucking control with this motherfucker inspiring me like this? SHIT.

Nick Jonas flaunted his crotch and his slightly-hairy ass for all the world to see, and no one complained one bit. Especially when he did it again. Even better was when he talked sex scenes and crotch grabbing.

This mermaid found herself back on Shore.

October is when fall really ripens into itself, and it’s both beautiful and wonderful. It’s also when the one-man-canning-machine goes into overdrive.

One last chance to swim. Without a swimsuit.

We went back to Washington for the wedding of Chris and Darcey, and it was just as lovely as DC usually is. We did a few historical things because I thought Andy would enjoy those – though we all know his favorite part was seeing Stephen Colbert filming a segment on a bicycle. As long as I get a dose of the botanical gardens, I’m good.

Of course our real reason for being there was the wedding of my good friend. Chris and I go way back, and he’s like a brother to me (one who actually enjoys my company, which is rather nice). He found the perfect match in Darcey, who knows best how to handle his moods and whims and sensitive nature. When they walked out with their son Simon I think we all got a little teary-eyed. Even better was when everyone (including the bride in her wedding dress) jumped in the pool at the end of the night.

Why I love my job.

Fall was a time for Passion via Stephen Sondheim and Sex via Madonna.

Thomas Wolski: an artist and a gentleman.

After the fall, but before the fall, and hanging onto my cock for dear life. Sounds exciting, but it made for a dismal Ogunquit stay. Well, almost dismal.

Sometimes this place is better than a Whitman’s Sampler, and without all the messy fruity crap that no one wants. Well, maybe there’s some fruit some of the time.

Get your Kilt on!

November 2014 ~

This is the month when everything changes. There’s nothing to do but hunker down and hold on. Things are going to get very emotional.

The secret to keeping your guacamole green.

Certain artists, like the amazing Joe Phillips, hold a special place in my heart, especially when they’ve been a part of my life since the 90’s.

Nick Jonas lost the purity ring and had sex.

Real heroes don’t call you a fag.

Ben Cohen was finally featured in the Profile of a Straight Ally for all his genuine dedication and hard work.

Gone with the Wind fabulous, from a 30-year-old virgin to a woman who ruled the world, and something decadent for the mouth and for the body.

My first foray into basketball and, you guessed it, last.

The kickoff to the holiday season was madness, rife with emotional land mines and resurrected memories. So I took the road less-traveled-by and I barely made it out alive.

December 2014 ~

Which brings us right to this very month, thankfully on its last legs and ready to depart.

She’ll be back, and better than ever. That’s what she does.

My childhood viewing habits should explain a lot.

Ben Cohen makes everything better.

A December recap within a December recap within a December recap within a yearly recap.

The Christmas season has begun.

My name is not David, but the other impostors didn’t even bother changing my name.

Doing lines, 70’s glam rock style, for this year’s snowy Holiday Card.

A misty water-colored memory brought on by Babs.

I had the best of intentions this holiday season, but my family sometimes has a way of making me feel unwanted. I’m probably partly to blame for that, or for allowing it to happen, so I’m going to try to work it out here. The best part of this blog, and its most valuable aspect, is the way it can be a catalyst for catharsis.

My favorite Christmas moment of the year, with the possible exception of this moment in Florida, this stroll along the Gulf Coast, or this mash-up of palm trees and Christmas trees. I may have to spend next Christmas in Florida.

A pair of fragrances took me away better than Calgon: this Jo Malone creation, and this beauty by Diana Vreeland. Sometimes a girl has to treat herself.

The midsection of the year finds the seasonal highlight that is spring turning into summer. Weather-wise it is the most glorious time of the year, for gardeners and non-gardeners alike. It’s as if the world is fulfilling the promise it made in the dark moments of winter, and all the tears get washed away beneath the sun.

May 2014 ~

May is the month of Mothers, and I celebrated with mine on our annual Broadway adventure – and an extra surprise. While we were in NY, Hedwig put on a grand show, we strolled through Central Park, saw other ‘Mothers & Sons‘, crossed some beautiful Bridges, had a lovely dinner with Suzie and Adrien Grenier, a lovely brunch by the park, and took in Neil Patrick Harris and his Tony-winning turn in ‘Hedwig and the Angry Inch.‘

It’s also the month of my wedding anniversary. And peonies.

A fountain runs dry and a lady gets naked, while a mother and daughter get real.

OMFG.

One of the saddest moments of the year was the loss of a dear friend. This one’s for you, Lee.

A lighter fragrance for the season.

The Profile of a Straight Ally feature was back in effect with the amazing Hudson Taylor.

Another straight ally, Ben Cohen, got this definitively sexy post, perhaps bested only by this skin-heavy post of his arch-rival in the hotness department, David Beckham. (And Mr. Beckham got a bonus.)

My bottom hurts just thinking about it.

Memories of Ogunquit, made anew, along with an additional port of call. In its peace and beauty, Maine is where I can get undressed and let my hair down.

June 2014 ~

The month that summer officially begins is a welcome one. It provides the weather to get shamelessly shirtless. And it’s not just me.

The deliciousness that is a properly-made fish taco.

Olfactory anticipation awaited in this post, and came to fruition in this one.

The annual explosion of color, and this colorful character kept the season hot and exciting, especially when in the city seeing ‘Here Lies Love.’

Summer means more family fun, thanks to these two. Not yet sold on the dance recitals, however.

Sometimes summer means Madonna, and summer games both wicked and wonderful.

Summer also means Tom Daley in a Speedo. Oh, stretching too.

June means Father’s Day and these memorable DILFs.

June is also the time for Gay Pride in many cities, which means sparkle and sequins.

July 2014 ~

While our family vacation technically began in June, it didn’t get posted until July. I just didn’t want the fun to end, I guess, and putting it down in a post meant it was already over. But there were a trove of beach memories, days spent in the sun and sand, and the general merriment that goes along with a family vacation in Cape Cod. That sort of beauty and goodness stays with one long after the fact, after the delicious seafood dinners and the games of miniature golf. Like all good things, it was over much too quickly. But summer had just begun…

A bit of preening and rose-posing in front of the air conditioned bedroom in Boston, while memories of Russia bobbed in my head.

A naked Michael Phelps got into the water and out of his Speedo, while Zac Efron got onto a horse and out of his shirt.

Flowers, posies, and splashing around the pool – these are summer things.

A Summer Superhero, with a very visible cartoon bulge, who happens to smell really good too.

Anxiously awaiting the next Madonna Moment.

July marks the month I met Andy, and we all know how that turned out. This year, it also marked the arrival of a bundle of joy.

It wasn’t the beach, but it was almost as fun. Chalk it up to the right people being involved.

I’ve got a galaxy you can guard.

August 2014 ~

The last full month of summer began with a capital ‘F’ in it, and the anticipation for a certain movie adaptation started then too.

Lavender dreaming, and more family fun that had to be extended here.

Family isn’t always fun, however, even in the summer, and at times like that it’s sometimes best to get away. All the way to Park Avenue, where I spent my birthday  (but that story didn’t get posted until September…)

A birthday suit post. You’re welcome.

Not quite a good spanky, but you’ll make it through the wilderness like a virgin.

There are good gays, and there are bad gays – and then there are just plain dumb gays.

Yes, I did the ice-bucket challenge, and here’s the video to prove it.

A few favorites got totally starkers and buck-ass naked on the blog, including Matthew Camp, Steve Grand, and Orlando Bloom.

Riding the Trojan horse.

Last year it took three posts to capture what happened in 2013 (Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3, for those who want to look even further back in the annals of this monstrosity.) This year I’ll do another trio to encapsulate the previous twelve months, but I’m only hitting on the major high points (and several low ones as well, because every dose of sweetness needs a bit of bitter.) For this first post, we return to the beginning of 2014, and the month that started the whole tumultuous journey…

January 2014 ~

It began with one missing finger, lost in the name of our kitchen renovation. No, it’s never been found (even if the hand to which it was attached was later located), but at night sometimes you can hear a nail scraping along the garage floor. Just kidding.

The Year of the Selfie looked to extend its stay, thanks to Jimmy Franco and myself.

Boston memories, Part 1 and Part 2, were glorious reminders of one of the few places I ever felt at home. There were new memories made in Cambridge too, where Japan met Porter Square.

Sometimes the only way to get through a dark January is by remembering Mary Poppins. Or Harold and Maude. Or just Suzie.

The final stretch of a renovation project always feels like the longest. That’s when you need to get away.

What have you done for eleven years?

Pretty but dumb, and even a little hateful.

One of my favorite singers, and one of my favorite albums: Standing At The Edge by Casey Stratton.

What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man.

Finally, the new kitchen was completed! (And that merits another exclamation point!)

February 2014 ~

Is there a more brutal or mercifully-brief month than February? I don’t care if the Superbowl is on. (I did keep an eye on social media to see if David Beckham got naked as promised…)

Like nephew, like Uncle Andy.

A first dinner from the new kitchen kept things cozy, while an angel watched over us.

Naked Olympians in the middle of winter, and Tom Daley in a Speedo.

Kristin Chenoweth proved wicked popular at Proctors.

This is precisely why we got the new kitchen. It ain’t the meat, it’s the motion. But even I couldn’t work this kind of magic, new kitchen or not.

From your head down to your toe… and a digital get-down.

One of the biggest studs of the year was Dan Osborne, who had a lovely little professional relationship with Tom Daley, and took all his clothes off.

Tom Daley got nude too.

They light up my life.

March 2014 ~

Whether it came in like a lion and went out like a lamb will be left up to others to judge.

Back in Boston, back in the beauty of the night, back in briefs black or white, back in the light, and back in the back alleys.

You flush it, I flaunt it – naked more often than not. Jake Gyllenhaal got naked as well. So did Harry Judd.

Flower Power, a Sublime Scent, and a good friend and amazing artist.

Another friend who knows how to write and exploit my former glory.

Bringing fur back, even if for some of us it never went away.

Leading us into temptation was one of the greatest songs ever written, Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ – on its 25th anniversary no less.

It was the year that some of us put our cocks into socks for a good cause. I stayed in jeans and a t-shirt. Well, almost. Oh who the fuck am I kidding?

Family fun and birthday mayhem.

April 2014 ~

This sort of nonsense will always make me cry.

Another meal worthy of another post, wherein we eat around my ass.

More Harry Judd nudity, this time with video. Go deeper. And deeper. Wait, not this deep…

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, my butt. Go ahead, poke fun all you want.

A river runs through it, and the month closed with an escapade in the city Janet Jackson once squealed about: Minneapolis! The Mall of America was a big fat bust, but the city held other allures. Art proved a balm upon the heart, as it always did, and this sweet suite helped. A last look at the Walker… before saying good-bye.

Spring had arrived, and just in time.

Now for the next two installments, come back tomorrow…

Despite the flurry of impostors of late, there’s still only one Alan Bennett Ilagan on Twitter, and it’s me, Helen Sinclair! So Follow if you dare, to a world of inappropriate Tweets, racy photographs, ribald behavior, and the general mayhem of my responses to the trolls who call me out on a daily basis. It’s a shit-show in the style of James Franco, with the vain egotism that goes along with moving from 10,000 to 12,000 based less on the quality and more on the shirtlessness. Social media, man, that’s where it’s at. Run and tell that. Hide your kids, hide your wives! There’s only one Capri Sun. And Coke is it. The one that never lets you down. (PS – I abhor capris.)

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