Russell Tovey helms this fine feature spot, as the English hunk currently treads the boards (and doffs his shirt) on Broadway. There’s a bit more bulging action here than on-stage, however, and I hope you won’t take offense at that.
Author Archives: Alan Ilagan
12
January
2016
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January
2016
11
January
2016
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January
2016
A Rainy Sunday Recap in January
Yes, I realize it’s Monday, but as I write this it’s Sunday, and it’s raining, and things look dreary. Mercury remains in retrograde (as it will until January 25) so I am laying low and doing my best to fly under the proverbial radar until this planetary shift calms the fuck down. It’s almost as bad as a full moon. On with a quiet and unobtrusive recap…
Let’s begin with beauty, specifically the form of male model Layton Draper.
Next, let’s have some color – oodles and oodles of bold and ferocious color.
Far better than painting by numbers, this is painting by penis, courtesy of Brent Ray Fraser.
By ‘pussy’ I mean ‘pussycat.’ Don’t bring your own gender hang-ups into this sacred space.
Madonna was ‘Living For Love‘ at a lovely appearance with Sean Penn.
Jason Schwarzman took a bow in his first Hunk of the Day appearance.
Tyson Beckford exposed his naked ass for the briefest of moments, but we captured his posterior for posterity.
Something for the squealing teenage girl (and boy) in all of us: Cody Simpson.
The winter of ‘Evita’ and a memorable chapter in Madonna-lore.
Tim Donkin was a pretty Hunk of the Day.
Your Mint Majesty moment.
Tom Daley & Dustin Lance Black: Men in Love and in Pictures.
Russell Tovey’s shirtless magnificence.
10
January
2016
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January
2016
Snarky Golden Globes Commentary 2016
No apologies – Mercury is in retrograde, I’m feeling fat and in need of a haircut, so I’m taking it all out on the Golden Globes until a new episode of ‘Downton Abbey’ comes on to restore peace in the world. Until then, some rude comments on Hollywood celebrities. They can handle it, I’m sure.
We begin with the obnoxious crew at E! Online.
Giuliana Rancic channeling some sexy but strange Queen Amidala look.
Ick… emerald green all over the red carpet tonight. Personal preference, or the opposite-there-of.
Just when I was on the verge of coming around to navy, there’s Jamie Lee Curtis. And we’re done.
Sam Smith – further proof that money and fame can buy you a better body.
Natalie Dormer is disastrous on every level. The least she could have done is comb her hair.
I like all the ladies embracing the mini-muffin tops.
At this point Ryan Seacrest is just teflon. (And I still want to throw a bunch of eggs at him and make an omelet.)
Jennifer Lopez in a self-described ‘mustardy/marigoldy’ ensemble – love the color and architecture of this one.
Melissa McCarthy in a trash bag, staying true to her own tradition.
Oooh! David Oyelowo is looking chic in that non-traditional suit.
But Eddie Redmayne may be the best-dressed man tonight.
I am desperately trying to get a better view of Cate Blanchett. I saw fringe and pink and that’s always a promising beginning.
Jane Fonda – so ridiculous I have to love it.
Channing Tatum, that hair?
Lady Gaga is totally channeling 1987 Madonna and I’m loving it. Arm-candy Taylor Kinney looks fine too.
Ricky Gervais and that crass opening monologue? It would have been funnier if he’d stood there drinking that ridiculous beer and burping.
I want Viola Davis to be my fairy godmother.
Bryce Dallas Howard: from America’s favorite daughter to grandmother in one ill-advised dress.
Just because your dress has pockets doesn’t mean you should use them when presenting.
Where did Brad Pitt get his Dorian Gray portrait done?
I wonder if Tom Ford was just the tiniest bit stung by presenting with Lady Gaga wearing Versace.
When did Quentin Tarantino turn into my 8th grade social studies teacher?
The lesson gleaned once again from the Golden Globes: I hardly watch any television. Who are these people? What are these shows?
Chris Evans… let me go to bed with his dapper image in my head.
Jim Carrey, channeling Merlin Olsen. That’s how far my TV-watching experience goes back.
They really ARE actors – they’re laughing at Ricky Gervais!
10
January
2016
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January
2016
Tom & Dustin: Men in Love
Let’s not beat around the pubic bush: this is nothing more than an excuse to post some shirtless Tom Daley photos. For that, you are very welcome, but it’s also to showcase the love affair between fiances Tom Daley and Dustin Lance Black, as photographed for Out Magazine. How my heart aches to have witnessed such affection as a little tyke growing up without any notion of what two men in love might look like. At any rate, I’m glad it’s here now, and I’ll do everything in my power to celebrate it, and share it, and make things a little easier for the next tyke who finds himself fancying blokes over dames.
10
January
2016
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January
2016
Mint Tea Ruminations
Sipping a cup of mint majesty tea, I looked up briefly from my book, ‘After Alice’ by Gregory Maguire, as the door opened. A cutting wave of cold winter air rushed over those of us by the door, as a family of three entered. A bearded gentleman, with a slightly receding hairline, guided his daughter as she walked awkwardly and unsteadily in front of her mother. Something was different about the girl – some disability or affliction left her footing unsure, and her over-exuberant and loud talking bursts signified deeper issues. I gave a faint smile as they passed, then listened as the barista greeted them with exaggerated friendliness. I felt a little relieved. People can be dismissive and cruel to anyone different, even children.
The barista asked the girl if she liked stickers. She clung closer to her Dad, seemingly trying to disappear into the folds of his jacket. He said she did and though I wasn’t watching, I assume some stickers passed from the barista to the girl. They placed their order and moved down to the pick up area.
A row of four empty stools stood near them, and the girl patted the seat of one, saying, “For Mama!” Her mother gratefully took the seat, and her daughter joined her as they watched another barista make a grand production of their drinks. He indulged the girl and performed fanciful feats of dairy art, granting some extra whipped cream to her delight and her parents’ appreciation.
I hoped the rest of the world would be this kind to her always. Maybe we each have to do our best to make sure it is. Even though I know it won’t be, I want to believe we could each reach deep inside and conjure such care for those who need it.
09
January
2016
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January
2016
The Winter of Evita
“One shouldn’t ask oneself how a person flies or why, but simply start flying.” ~ Tomas Eloy Martinez, ‘Santa Evita’
It was a frigid evening in Rochester, New York in the earliest days of 1997, made more brutal by the fact that I had just come from a spell of 80 degree days in St. Croix. The sky was dark, even with all the snow on the ground. No more snow would come tonight – it was too cold. Strange, the way that works, and the way we understood it. I pulled the ridiculous faux leopard fur coat tighter around me, its satin lining sliding against my fuchsia satin shirt. Along with my dark tan from the few days of sun that now felt so far away, I made quite an absurd visage. A heavy black cross topped with a silver Christ figure dangled from my neck on a black silk cord. Taken together, this was my get-up for the Rochester stop of The Royal Rainbow Tour 1997, and I was heading to the movie theater with friends to see ‘Evita.’
The lead-up to the new Madonna movie – the pre-comeback to ‘Ray of Light‘ – had been incredible, and I was visiting all my friends and making sure they watched the movie. (Super-fandom in full effect.) This time around the stop was Rochester, city of several watershed moments over the years, and that night we were making another one. Madonna was wowing audiences and critics alike with her star-powered turn as Eva Peron in the cinematic version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s classic musical. She’d fought hard for the role, and her performance proved that she deserved it.
With each red-carpet event, she appeared in Eva-inspired fanciful dresses. Demure yet glamorous, elegant yet over-the-top, classic and timeless. Madonna had just had her first child – a daughter named Lourdes – and her focus was also on that joyous event. I had nowhere near as important events going on in my life: a fake tour, a shambles of a romantic history, and a rudderless idea of any career. Looking back, however, I don’t think I’d been happier. I couldn’t see that then, even as I tried.
The bright, bouncing beats of ‘Buenos Aires‘ and its wondrously escapist theme lent the world endless possibilities. I criss-crossed the country, from New England to California to Florida and back – and then the world – jetting from Puerto Rico to Canada, London to the Philippines, Ireland to Hong Kong, and ended up right where I began. Whether I admitted it to myself or not, I was on the hunt for love. For the one person who would make it all ok, who would put me back together and reclaim the person I’d once set out to destroy.
Yet every one-night-stand or doomed affair took its toll, in ways apparent and hidden. ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall‘ seemed to be the way a life lived on the road might be. I sent postcards to friends, quoting the song in a vaguely-veiled cry for help: “Call in three months’ time and I’ll be fine, I know. Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow…” Surely there was more.
I practiced my powers of seduction, such as they were. Obsessed with being someone that somebody could love, I honed heartless nonchalance, casual apathy, and a killer wardrobe. I wanted to walk into any room and be the one that all eyes traveled to, whether or not they wanted me. The art of being fascinating. It was something that proved elusive to me whenever it mattered, whenever I most wanted to impress someone. More than anything, I wanted that person to know ‘I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You.’
In between my travels, I stayed up late into the night, reading ‘Santa Evita’ by Tomas Eloy MartÃinez, which followed the tracks of Eva Peron’s preserved body as it made its storied journey amid mystery and intrigue. Macabre stuff, and it haunted me into the early morning darkness. I was as lost as her embalmed body, traveling under the cloak of anonymity, grasping for something, but what… I did not know. I still don’t.
Madonna seemed closer to finding her way to it, whatever it was. When she sang ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina‘ the world bowed down to the balcony of the Casa Rosada, and we were all, for that one electrifying moment, Argentina. If we couldn’t help but cry, it was because she so moved us. Through it all, we only wanted to be ‘High Flying, Adored.’
I made my way in the only fashion I knew: shake it, fake it, and try not to break it. Soaring above the world and removing myself from the confines of reality and the constrictions of common sense, I crafted a persona that would carry me over the rain-soaked dreariness of a love-barren land, catapulting me into the light-filled realm that rose ‘Rainbow High‘ and outshone any blood-letting past.
In the end, it was fantasy, like so much of my life. When I danced the ‘Waltz for Eva and Che‘ I did so by myself. I moved alone, and no one saw my fancy footwork. Such a wonderful waltz brought me around the world, but in the end I wound up exactly where I was at the beginning. My heart had been broken, or so I thought, and everything I did at that moment was done to impress the ones who got away. There was always more than one, always more men unmoved by anything I could muster. I didn’t know how to make my favorite song come true: ‘You Must Love Me.‘
On that wintry night in Rochester, as I sat in the movie theater flanked by friends on each side, I watched the life of Eva Peron – and the life of Madonna – play out on the screen, so much bigger and grander and better than I could ever hope to be. At that instant, it was enough to simply brush such greatness. It made one feel less alone.
My biggest fear in life is to be forgotten. ~ Evita Peron
08
January
2016
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January
2016
A Gratuitously Nude Tyson Beckford
Every now and then one must begin the day with a superficial bit of man candy. Not an official Hunk of the Day (he’s already been that here), but a sexy tribute nonetheless. For today’s opening, we have the naked Tyson Beckford, who recently posted (then quickly deleted) the bottom photo. When Tyson Beckford bares his naked ass, that’s more than enough for a blog post of its own.
07
January
2016
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January
2016
The Madonna Timeline: Song #118 – ‘Living For Love’ ~ Winter 2015
 {Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
THIS WILL BE A REVOLUTION OF INQUIRING FURTHER
OF NOT WORRYING ABOUT WINNING OTHER PEOPLE’S APPROVAL
OF NOT WISHING YOU WERE SOMEONE ELSE BUT PERFECTLY CONTENT TO BE WHO YOU ARE:
SOMEONE UNIQUE, AND RARE, AND FEARLESS.
I WANT TO START A REVOLUTION OF LOVE…
A grand orchestral introduction and a parade of shirtless minotaur-men ushered in the Madonna of 2015, as she took to the Grammy stage to kick off the ‘Rebel Heart’ era. Most pop stars have only one or two ‘eras’ for which they are known. Madonna has had many: ‘Like A Virgin‘, ‘True Blue‘, ‘Like A Prayer‘, ‘Blonde Ambition‘, ‘Erotica/Sex‘, ‘Evita‘, ‘Ray of Light‘, ‘Music‘, and ‘Confessions on a Dancefloor’. Her ‘Rebel Heart‘ era may be the most interesting and compelling, at least for long-time fans, as it is the first in which she has not enjoyed major mainstream success. And yet it may be her most artistically powerful and critically lauded.
In early 2015, after the gut-wrenching leak of much of the ‘Rebel Heart’ album, she set out to do a proper intro to her new work with the first single ‘Living For Love’. With an updated 90’s house feel and some gospel backing, it was first-rate Madonna – an ‘I Will Survive’ for the current generation – rousing, empowering, and gloriously uplifting.
FIRST YOU LOVE ME AND I LET YOU IN,
MADE ME FEEL LIKE I WAS BORN AGAIN
YOU EMPOWERED ME, YOU MADE ME STRONG
BUILT ME UP AND I COULD DO NO WRONG.
I LET DOWN MY GUARD, I FELL INTO YOUR ARMS
FORGOT WHO I WAS, I DIDN’T HEAR THE ALARMS
NOW I’M DOWN ON MY KNEES, ALONE IN THE DARK
I WAS BLIND TO YOUR GAME, YOU FIRED A SHOT IN MY HEART.
This was a Madonna draped in the richest red, her passion and heart on full unabashed display, but shot through with a prickly world-wariness that read less as bitter and more as wise. The anticipation and excitement for new Madonna music was always grander than it was for others, and this lead single was a throwback and a step forward. Like a phoenix, she would be called upon to rise a few times, and even though she’d always succeeded, nervousness greeted the arrival of any new work. It was as if I had some vested stake in the reception and success of one of her projects, as if somehow my existence depended in part on the existence of Madonna, as if a failure for her would somehow be a failure for me. That’s a little crazy, but that’s true fandom, and I’ll never apologize for it.
Thanks in no small part to its early leak, the song and video for ‘Living For Love’ failed to catch fire on the charts (with the notable exception of the Billboard Dance charts, where she would land a history-shattering #1, breaking her own record). In a landscape where melody and meaning are losing out to shock and salaciousness, the OG shock mistress barely made a dent. As for the video, I find it may be too deeply beautiful and symbolic to find a place in the current pop world. Yet it appears that Madonna is far beyond that, and has been for some time. For die-hard fans such as myself, the charts no longer as much, if anything at all. The lack of airplay and Billboard numbers has not diminished my love for Madonna’s music; if anything, I listen to it more intently and defiantly.
TOOK ME TO HEAVEN, LET ME FALL DOWN
NOW THAT IT’S OVER I’M GONNA CARRY ON
LIFTED ME UP AND WATCHED ME STUMBLE
AFTER THE HEARTACHE I’M GONNA CARRY ON
LIVING FOR LOVE,
I’M LIVING FOR LOVE
NOT GIVING UP
I’M GONNA CARRY ON
LIVING FOR LOVE
I’M LIVING FOR LOVE
NOT GONNA STOP
LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP
As for my own little maelstrom of a life, at the time of this song’s release – right around the holidays – I had my own bit of family business to move beyond, so this song doubled as more than just a break-up rebound anthem. It was a clarion for anyone who’d been hurt or wronged, a way of working out the pain in a piece of pop music, the kind of therapy that Madonna has been giving me for years. The best kind.
I COULD GET CAUGHT UP IN BITTERNESS
BUT I’M NOT DWELLING ON THIS CRAZY MESS
I FOUND FREEDOM IN THE UGLY TRUTH
I DESERVE THE BEST AND IT’S NOT YOU
YOU’VE BROKEN MY HEART, BUT YOU CAN’T BREAK ME DOWN
NOT FALLING APART, ONCE WAS LOST NOW I’M FOUND
PICKED UP MY CROWN, PUT IT BACK ON MY HEAD
I CAN FORGIVE, BUT I WILL NEVER FORGET
The best revenge is happiness. The best way to finding peace is to put your faith in love. Not in being loved, but in loving even when it’s not returned. It’s a waste, and, worse, a source of anger, to continue to wish for people to be fair and righteous, to love you as you have loved them. It’s a certain guarantee of heartbreak to rely upon others to provide such a safe haven.
Yet in spite of this, I will love, without condition or expectation, and I will put my faith in that.
TOOK ME TO HEAVEN, LET ME FALL DOWN
NOW THAT IT’S OVER I’M GONNA CARRY ON
LIFTED ME UP AND WATCHED ME STUMBLE
AFTER THE HEARTACHE I’M GONNA CARRY ON
Â
LIVING FOR LOVE,
I’M LIVING FOR LOVE
NOT GIVING UP
I’M GONNA CARRY ON
LIVING FOR LOVE
I’M LIVING FOR LOVE
NOT GONNA STOP
LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP
As I watched Madonna at the Grammy Awards last winter, premiering her new song for most of the world, I felt a little better, the way Madonna always made me feel a little better. At one point she spun in a circle, tossed her hair forward and back, then led her dancers in sweetly-choreographed abandon, much the same way she bounced around to ‘Like A Virgin’ three decades ago.
The spark was still there. The girl was still inspiring. Best of all, I still needed her.
LIVING FOR LOVE,
I’M LIVING FOR LOVE
NOT GIVING UP
I’M GONNA CARRY ON
LIVING FOR LOVE
I’M LIVING FOR LOVE
NOT GONNA STOP
LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP
SONG #118 – ‘Living For Love’ ~ Winter 2015
06
January
2016
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January
2016
Emily Dickinson Was Not A Pussy
Somewhere along our literary history, people started to think of Emily Dickinson’s poetry as cute and harmless fluff. In truth, it was far darker and more sinister than surface readings or historical reputation would allow. As is often the case with poets and poetry, things were never as simple as they seemed. Ms. Dickinson was a complex character, and her work often delved into the introspective reaches of the soul. What she brought up was not always pretty or nice, and she didn’t disguise it as such. It just took the rest of us a little longer to catch on.
One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted
One need not be a House
The Brain has Corridors surpassing
Material Place
Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior Confronting
That Cooler Host.
Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a’chase
Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter
In lonesome Place
Ourself behind ourself, concealed
Should startle most
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror’s least.
The Body borrows a Revolver
He bolts the Door
O’erlooking a superior spectre
Or More
~ Emily Dickinson
05
January
2016
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January
2016
Saturation Explosion
I love color.
Strong, bold, bright, jarring, shocking color.
I love shades that are saturated with pigment, rich full hues that challenge the eye and prove formidable matches to any decorative environment.
It’s a polarizing preference. In today’s bland world, there is safety in beige, and mainstream acceptance of pastels. To sell a house, you will be told to paint the walls white (no matter how exquisite your taste). To select an outfit, you will be told that basic black can never go wrong. I’d rather risk it all and make myself happy before bowing down to any sort of safe choice.
These photos were taken in Cambridge the last time I was there. Cambridge is more colorful than Boston, less prim and proper. I don’t know why I don’t spend more time there. Well, yes I do. It’s the Red Line. The brightest T line often takes the longest time to move passengers along, especially during rush hours. Still, for a jolt of inspiration as seen here, it may be worth the wait.
04
January
2016
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January
2016
The Very First Recap of a New Year
Smack that little baby New Year on the bottom and send him on his way, we are charging ahead into the wide-open expanse of a full twelve months of possibility and hope. Of course, we need to close the book on last year, which will finally take place with this post, a recap of the week that came before, which straddles this year and last like… some really amazing straddler.Â
The very last Hunk of 2015, Harry Lawesdy.
A winter wonderland in transition.
Zac Efron naked, and in motion.
New York, gorgeous in Oud.
2015 in Review: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.
New Year’s maintenance.
The Delusional Grandeur Tour continues into the New Year.
SteamPunk baby!
BirdCage baby!
The first Hunk of 2016: Alex Mytton.
03
January
2016
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January
2016
The Winged Hat of Truth
We seek the knowledge and the truth, hoping that they will bring us into a happier awareness. Where we ever got the idea that understanding could lead to contentment is a notion I’ll never quite grasp. There is bliss in not knowing, and an innocence that can, not wrongfully, be mistaken for happiness. Everyone says they would rather know the truth, no matter how difficult it may be to fathom and process, but I rarely find that to be true. It’s something they say to sound noble or enlightened, but it’s a fool’s wish.
When you ask me if I like your outfit, you are not asking for my honest opinion. You are asking me to echo the idea – your idea – that your outfit is fine. When I don’t do that, when I don’t conform to your pleasant expectations, you end up getting stung. It’s much easier, and better for all involved, to go along on your merry way, not inviting an opportunity for disagreement. I have learned not to voluntarily offer my opinion. I play the game myself, from both sides. It doesn’t matter much. Everyone gets burned.
I’ll hold onto happy ignorance, blissfully pulling the wool over my own eyes, if it means blunting the blow of a hurtful bit of truth. Like Blanche Dubois, I will clothe a naked light bulb in gauzy make-believe and magic, for the benefit of all involved. Like Norma Desmond, I will live in my own little cocoon of silky splendor, subsisting on delusional grandeur, happy and satisfied with the sandcastles of self-importance I’ve erected upon the shores of my mind.
03
January
2016
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January
2016
The DG Tour: Steampunk Birdcage ~ Part 2
“There is something sinister, something quite biographical about what I do – but that part is for me. It’s my personal business. I think there is a lot of romance, melancholy. There’s a sadness to it, but there’s romance in sadness. I suppose I am a very melancholy person.” ~ Alexander McQueen
02
January
2016
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January
2016
02
January
2016
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January
2016
Falling Back on Tour
This weekend brings the next stage of The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book: SteamPunk BirdCage. It’s far less inflammatory than those fucking-bunny shots from the ‘Animal Demons’ section, so those who are easily offended may return, for the moment, and pick up where the journey last left off. For those who enjoy those sensational moments, stay with us through this relative lull in action.
I tend to like the quieter moments, particularly when backed by a Northeastern fall. The photos from this segment are framed with shots captured at Thacher Park, one of upstate New York’s gorgeous hiking spots. I managed to be there just as the foliage was turning – a few more days and the brilliance you see here would be blown away.
A fern retained its bright green hue, though it was on the verge of going pale yellow. As the nights cooled and the ground dried out, it would eventually turn a ghostly cream color, the leaves almost transparent when backed by a dying sun.
Fall has often proven to be fertile ground for my creative fire. The bite in the air, the chill in the night – they each served to spark a drive that may have slowed and softened in the summer sun. In the fall, I usually felt reinvigorated – and the beauty of the season was its own inspiration.
{A behind-the-scenes note: these photos were taken a couple of years ago. I wasn’t sure how or when or where I was going to use them, but when this section of the Tour Book was being created, they fit into it perfectly – the colors acted as an entry point for some of the browns and burnt umbers that are coming up. The changing of the leaves was also a signifier of transition – and following the scorching ‘Animal Demons’ section, we needed a little transition.}
