Alan Ilagan

Feel free to click on any part of Zac Efron’s body to make the image a bit bigger. That’s all I’m going to say…

Yo, it’s about that time to bring forth the rhythm and the rhyme…
Actually, it’s time for Mark Wahlberg’s 40th birthday, and no matter how serious an actor he has become, he’ll always be Marky Mark in his underwear to me. Long before David Beckham stripped down to his skivvies, Marky Mark was running around in his tighty-whities, breaking it down to the Good Vibrations. And thank God – what would Calvin Klein and the 90’s have done without him?

I wonder if anything does come between Mr. Cohen and his Calvins. No matter – based on his anti-bullying efforts, he’s hot on the inside and out. It’s always nice when someone you admire for being cute turns out to be someone you admire for being noble.

I’ve been given the chance to carry my catty snarkiness to PinstripeMag.com - where they promote, “Genius. Gear. Girls. Gadgets.” I guess I’m contributing to the “Gear” part with a few fashion reviews (because I’m certainly not hitting any G-spots).

I started with a blurb about the Prada mesh vests that I was on the fence about and most recently gave my take on the new Calvin Klein campaign starring Kellan Lutz (whom I had not heard of before this). The site is sort of an online Maxim, but looking beyond the scantily-women there is some useful info on men’s fashion and accessories, and this is the part that interests me.

And for those who know and care, here is Kellan Lutz in all his Calvin Klein glory:

I’m a big fan of underwear, and I make it a rule to never leave home without it. However, there comes a time in every man’s life when he must forego his skivvies and, like Brooke Shields in those Calvin Klein ads so many decades ago, do without something between him and his Calvins. Whether it’s from lack of clean laundry, poor luggage packing, or simple forgetfulness, we’ve all had to do without at one point or another. Today was that day for me.

My usual habit is to put whatever I’m going to wear in the bathroom while I take my morning shower (particularly in the winter, when running around naked is not so much fun as it is an episode of Bear Grylls-like Arctic survival – minus the homemade enema and animal dropping appetizers). This includes my underwear (as it is, like my outfits, selected the night before so as to avoid mismatches made in the poor light and mental fatigue of early morning). For whatever reason, the underwear I had selected last night – a simple pair of striped boxer briefs from Banana Republic, in a soft shade of green– did not make it into the bathroom with me this morning.

Sure, I could have walked across the hall and found them, but I didn’t bother. It’s not like I’ve never gone commando before (though it’s usually on a spur-of-the-moment trip to the store or something, not for an entire work day).

It wasn’t a totally disagreeable experience. I was expecting to freeze certain body parts off, but I’m pleased to report that everything is still intact. It was made bearable by the type of pants I had on too – this wouldn’t have worked nearly as well in jeans or wool. As it was, my pants were mostly-cotton, and worn in enough to be softer than most of the regular boxers I wear.

Even so, this isn’t a practice I’m going to continue. I’ve invested too much time, effort, and money into amassing a sizable collection of undergarments to ever give them up. Our Latin teacher had a silly joke that she used to make all the time: Semper Ubi, Sub Ubi. Literal translation: “Always Where, Under Where.” She was so ahead of her time, if a little ridiculous.