Alan Ilagan

Since our engagement announcement was in various newspapers, Andy and I have received three separate mailings from Men’s Wearhouse offering specials on wedding packages. The first time I didn’t mind so much (though I did wonder how they got my mailing address since we’re not supposed to be listed anywhere). When Andy got his, however, he was a bit more bothered (being a retired police officer, it should not be so simple to find out his home address). Now, after receiving the third mailing, I’m getting a little annoyed as well, as it’s becoming intrusive (and was always unwanted – neither of us are wearing tuxedoes, or even suits for that matter).

I wouldn’t mind if there was something of use or value in it, but we have no need for “five paid tuxedo rental packages” in order to choose one of the following: Free Tuxedo, Free Suit, or Free groom’s tux rental. (And who would choose the rental over the free tux? Am I missing something? No, I didn’t read the asterisked fine-print, so maybe the confusion is cleared up there.)

Finally, I guess the reason I’m so offended by the repeated attempts to lure me into the nearest Men’s Wearhouse store (”Across from the Colonie Center” as their note so helpfully informs) is that I’m not a Men’s Wearhouse kind of guy. It’s just not my style. The last time I was in there a few years ago, they didn’t have any flat-front pants with their suits. I’m hopeful things have changed since then, for their sake, but I don’t feel the need to revisit the scene of such a crime.

If anyone has a need for five tuxedo rentals, let me know (that is, if Men’s Wearhouse hasn’t already tracked you down).

It is that greatest of days in the sports world - Superbowl Sunday – and I want absolutely nothing to do with it. You would think that I’d enjoy events that involve sweaty muscular men running around in tight shorts and bending over periodically, but football is just not my scene.

In its stead, I am posting a most incongruous photograph of the last rose of the season, taken this past November. It is but a dim memory now, replaced by a brown, shriveled rose hip, and shivering in the winter wind. But I know it’s just biding its time, slumbering while the winter lumbers through.

Wake me when the Oscars are on.

Last night’s 1st Friday exhibition at the Romaine Brooks Gallery went splendidly, and I was glad to see so many friendly and familiar faces. Now it’s back to the weekend wedding grind, as I begin to churn out a bazillion intricately-detailed wedding invitation packages. There may or may not be tulle involved – I haven’t decided yet.

Andy has managed to come up with amazing seats for Spring Awakening when it comes to Proctor’s this month. (I think we’re fifth row center – after Wicked we decided front row at that theater was sorrowfully over-rated.) I actually purchased the Spring Awakening soundtrack when it debuted on Broadway a few years ago, but after one or two half-hearted (and half-heard) spins in the CD player it went onto the rack and never surfaced until this morning. I was pleasantly surprised (and relieved) by how much more I liked it this time around. It’s just further commentary on second chances, first impressions, and blah, blah, cliched blah.

Next weekend I’ll be back on the road, resuming the 21st Century Renaissance Tour down in New York City with Suzie and Chris. Until then, it’s all work and little to no play.

The Romaine Brooks Gallery of the Capital District Gay & Lesbian Community Council will be premiering a group show this Friday, February 5, 2010 from 5 to 9 PM. Entitled “Pathways & Portals”, the exhibition features the work of ten local ladies and is the perfect antidote for the winter blahs.

You are invited to stop by while making your 1st Friday rounds (there will be cookies and wine!)

Romaine Brooks Gallery

Capital District Gay & Lesbian Community Center

332 Hudson Avenue – 3rd floor

Albany, NY 12210

From the moment Johnny Weir triple axeled onto the figure skating scene, I hated him. Whether it was his diva-like antics, fashion freak-outs, or temper-tantrum-throwing attitude, there was something about him that I simply didn’t like. Only after watching his new Sundance reality show did I realize the rather obvious reason for such heated hatred: he is exactly like me. Or I am exactly like him. The point is, we’re scarily similar, and such similarity has always been a turn-off for me.

In the words of one of my best friends, I can be, and often am, an insufferable little bitch. (Okay, I added the “insufferable”, but only because it’s true.) I’ve long ago reconciled myself to this, as has my inner circle, but the beauty is that I’m the only little bitch in said circle.

When questioned if I have a “type”, I always think “anyone different than me”. Fuck the notion of successful relationships being built on similarities. I don’t think Andy and I could be more different – what’s important, and what has made our relationship work for so many years, is the fact that we’re compatible. It’s possible to be total opposites in every way, and still get along.

It’s also the subconscious way I’ve chosen my friends over the years. A quick survey of those friends who have lasted a decade or more in my life reveals that not one is anything like me. I live with myself 24/7 – why would I want to hang around a carbon copy, or even someone remotely like myself? There’s nothing attractive about that.

Which brings me back to Johnny: I thought I would rather pass a kidney stone than sit through a reality show (yuck) about a bitchy queen (double yuck).  But after watching the first episode, I was pleasantly surprised, and wildly taken aback by how much I grew to like him. Even Andy didn’t think it was a total train wreck, and actually found himself laughing at some of the familiar antics (especially those that found him in the more ridiculous clothing pieces). After the second episode, I had come to admire the flamboyant skater, for refusing to bend to “proper” figure skating etiquette, and for doing it his own way.

True, he has not publicly and officially come out – but is that even necessary? The man has more sequins and furs than the entire Gabor family, and he wears Galliano underwear. With nothing but a pair of skates. How could I have ever hated someone like that?