Well, let’s just say they don’t hide it. (Dancing with cute shirtless boys rarely does.) The atrocious goatee adds some confusion to the guessing-game, as no self-respecting gay man would do that to his face (I learned that lesson the hard way). As for Mr. Travolta’s sexuality, I cared a lot more when he was cuter.
Growing up in Amsterdam, New York, I never got to meet many people with the name ‘Ilagan’. In fact, aside from my parents and my brother, no one else in the entire state seemed to share our surname. The closest Ilagans we knew were family in New Jersey. When you grow up in a way where you are instantly and always so different from those around you, it sometimes makes you wonder whether you truly exist, and until you have some concrete proof, there is always a bit of doubt.
Proof for me came in the unlikely Christmas gift of the globe seen here. Spinning it around on its offset axis, I ran my hands over the surface, feeling the raised roughness of mountains and the smooth expanses of seas. And then I found my father’s homeland – the Philippines – and examined it closely. There, near the north, was a town whose name I recognized with a thrill: Ilagan. I’d never heard of it, I didn’t know such a place existed. And for perhaps the first time, I felt as if I suddenly existed. My initial unlikely thought was that there was a place where the name ‘Ilagan’ appeared in long lists in the phone book. That was my reference, because the only phone book I had ever seen, the small one that included Amsterdam, merely had our single listing in it ~ the lonely, solitary ‘Ilagan’ that comprised our family, in a town where we were the only ones. Now, seeing that name on the globe, where even Amsterdam or Albany didn’t merit a mark, I felt suddenly part of the world. We were here, or at least we were there.
Being bi-racial never much bothered or even affected me (certainly not as much as being gay would become such a struggle). When some kid in religion class insisted, not maliciously, that I was the Asian character in ‘The Goonies’, I didn’t get upset, I simply thought some people were really, really stupid. (I never did manage to convince him that I was not, in fact, a member of the cast. And to think I worked with Sean Astin before ‘The Lord of the Rings’ and didn’t even know it.)
The power of that moment has stayed with me. The simple act of seeing my own name in print somewhere, even if it was halfway around the world, made me feel less isolated. When you are finally confronted by people who are like you, the world seems a much less-frightening place, and no matter how alone you might be, you feel a lot less lonely.
In a holiday week where we celebrated this country’s Independence, we went from rain to hot-hot-hot in about a day. There is no room for a happy medium here, so hang on, it’s going to be another bumpy summer! Like a tree, I can bend, and you better learn too, or your ass is gonna get broken. Here we go…
We begin with some simple sustenance, and one of the first meals I ever made for Andy. Give me a dish that has some vodka in it, and I’m good to go. It’s the only way to cook. Follow it up with some super scallops, and I’m in gastro-heaven. A beet salad provided some extra color, while this salad had some serious nuts.
 My weekend at Monument Beach, Cape Cod, was remembered fondly, as was this very special meeting.
Libations that begin with the letter ‘L’ provided a light and breezy (if still remarkably potent) accent to the summer scene, with a Lychee Cocktail and a Lavender Cocktail, each refreshing but packing a punch, and both ideal for the season.
The Hunks of the Day were in short supply, represented only by male model Matthew Kirk and reality star Mike Shouhed, but there were a number of random naked men too.
Tori Amos had to go all the way to China to pick up the slack for the missing Madonna timeline.
I got naked not once, but twice. Granted, there was ten years between them, but still…
And last but not least, All American Boy Steve Grand was simply… grand.
It seems that with all the rain this has been one bummer of a summer thus far, but hopefully that changes this weekend. With temperatures slated to soar into the 90’s, and no plans other than pool-side reading and lounging (and perhaps a summer movie), we may conjure the season after all. The book of the moment is ‘The Night Circus’ by Erin Morgenstern, and it’s proven to be perfect summer fare – not too difficult, light on the realism, and just entertaining enough to keep my interest. It’s going quickly though, so I’m on the prowl for the next read. Suggestions are always welcome.
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Vestiges of its power and pull both pre-announce and linger long after its arrival. All that talk of moonlight madness isn’t just talk, it has an effect, I’m sure of it.
It’s pretty too, and mesmerizing, as it moves slowly across the sky, momentarily nestling among the pine trees, dancing with the hawks, diddling behind the clouds. (Yes, I said ‘diddling’.)
June ended on a wild and tempestuous note, with a rash of flash-floods and thunderstorms that shook much of New England up. More on this past weekend’s sojourn to Boston and Cape Cod later, for now let’s put the past in the past, so we can get on with July. Summer needs to turn to high…
It wouldn’t be summer without a Super Speedo post, so that’s how we began.
The pool went and grabbed my iPhone, pulling it to a wet death at the bottom of the shallow end, and despite my quick efforts at retrieval, bag after bag of rice, and a hair-dryer, it was all for naught. $300 later I have a new one (whose battery drains just as quickly as the original) and a new Apple coverage plan to cover two more dips.
Is this the saddest song ever written? I don’t know…
The twins – Emi and Noah – dropped by a for a swim and a cook-out, and they are as cute as ever.
The kitchen was put into use – summer use (which means we grilled, saving the stove and oven for cooler days) – and the results were this quinoa dish and a simple grilled chicken meal.
Shamelessly-shirtless (and pants-less) poses were posted here, here, and here.
Far better bodies were displayed by the Hunks of the Day, Victor Ross and Soren Gear.
Why I don’t need a vacation (but want and will take one, or several, nonetheless).
High-blooming escapades by the likes of lychnis, a variegated dogwood, and some hydrangeas heralded the arrival of summer proper.
Meet the Wolf’s Eye Dogwood. A variegated version of the traditional Chinese dogwood (Cornus kousa), this one packs a double-cream wallop when in bloom. Quite honestly, I’d never been a big fan of variegated foliage until I saw one of these beauties in bloom. The effect was enchanting. I thought the foliage might subdue the power of the blooms, but instead it highlights them, not vying for affection but working in tandem to produce the airy results seen here. As for the leaves themselves, they are little works of art on their own, edged with a creamy border, then dappled with a soft wintergreen center. The look is one of cool elegance, ideal for when the summer kicks the temperatures up.
We can get only so close to the baby robins.
But they are leaving the nest soon.
It goes so fast…
A lot of people tell me (usually when I’m complaining) what a charmed life I lead. Well, duh! I’ve never contended otherwise. I’m extremely lucky and blessed in many ways. But, despite the effortlessness I strive to portray, it’s not easy, and whether you want to admit it or not, I do work hard. The difference between me and many others, from what I can tell at least, is the way I approach the day. And this is a secret that is only a secret because I never thought much about it until a friend mentioned how it seemed like my life was so carefree and easy. Well, it’s not. No one would admit theirs is. But what I try to do is live each day as if I was on vacation.
A vacation need not be constituted by travel around the world or expensive hotels or catered dinners. For me, a vacation is a frame of mind. All the joy and exuberance I might outwardly muster is from this unconscious (up until now) effort to behave as if I was on perpetual vacation from the drudgery of life.
First off, when most of us are on vacation we don’t care what other people think – mostly because we’ll likely never see them again. In far-off lands and foreign climes, we let our guard down because we’re relatively safe in assuming that the people we encounter won’t be following us back to the workplace or the Thanksgiving Dinner table. There’s safety and security, and more than a little freedom, in anonymity.
Second, we wear crazy and fun outfits when we’re on vacation – whether that’s in more relaxed beach garb, or fanciful formal couture for dressy dinners. We dig out the cocktail dress or the bow tie, we try out hats that we never would have looked twice at when home. Some guys might even squeeze into a Speedo on a beach outside of America. It’s the time and place when we dare to be what we’ve always wanted to be, and it’s all okay because we think what happens on vacation stays outside of real life, and judgment, and criticizing homeland eyes.
Third, on vacation we splurge and treat ourselves to things we normally wouldn’t. Whether that’s dessert, or an expensive piece of jewelry, or an extra cocktail, we relax and indulge. We take the time to pamper ourselves, to give in to the pleasurable impulse, to seize the day. And through that, the important things suddenly come to the forefront, and when you realize what really matters in life, it makes everything that much easier.
Finally, we learn to relax and let go of the trivial things that bother us every other day of the year. Strict schedules bend and sway, tight rules break and unbind, and rigid countenances melt away. We laugh a little easier, we look with a little more wonder, we stop sweating the small stuff. What was initially a physical, concrete form of change and transformation takes on a mental and emotional aspect too. A vacation doesn’t just change your outer surroundings, it changes the inner workings too.
If you think I lead a charmed life, it’s probably no more charming than yours – I’ve just learned to treat it a little differently. Yes, there are costs to such a lifestyle (American Express can back me up on that), but for peace of mind, for happiness and contentment, well, it’s worth it. There’s enough sadness and anger and insanity in this world. Why begrudge yourself a little fun in the midst of such madness? Take a vacation – starting today, and starting again on Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday… and …
On certain summer afternoons, when the sun is slanting just so, and the breeze is warm but not hot, there is a feeling of ripeness and ethereal wonder. Through eyes hazy with sun and chlorine, the light dances on the water, bending through the banded zebra grass or alighting on the shiny chrome of a ladder.
Thanks to the forces of a full moon, Sunday proved a very trying day. Not content to have my back thrown out, or my nephew pee on the patio, the universe also conspired to have my iPhone plop into the pool. Strangely enough, I was NOT taking pictures of myself at the time (I’d finished doing that earlier in the day). I was simply moving it, placing it on top of the book in my hand as I walked by the shallow end, and it slipped right in. I jumped in and pulled it out within seconds, but the damage was done.
The recommended course of action is to place it in a bag of rice and seal it up, so the rice can pull the moisture out. The only question was: white or brown rice? I ended up opting for the latter, as seen in these photos. A few hours later, I went to check on the phone, and in the dim bedroom the bag was glowing orange. What kind of E.T.-phone-home-bullshit was this? It cast an eerie glow, like it was possessed, powering up a life of its own. It was warm to the touch – maybe its survival instincts were kicking in, as it tried to dry itself of its own accord. Whatever the case, it was unsettling. And it didn’t go off when I tried to power it down either. I left it there, alone in the cool dark, glowing strangely, either in death throes or rebirth.
The next morning, the glow was gone. I tried to turn it on, and it indicated a low-battery. This was a good sign, or so I thought. I plugged it into the charger and let it charge for a few hours. And then… nothing. If this is the universe’s way of telling me that I’m too dependent on my phone, I didn’t need the message.
