One of my favorite websites recently got a little make-over, so head on over to Boy Culture to see the new digs. That’s where you can find gems like this Zac Efron GIF that I find simply mesmerizing, and a Nightly Briefing that is simply essential.
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October
2012
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October
2012
03
October
2012
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October
2012
Tom Daley & His Bulge, Hugging It Out
Here we find Tom Daley and his Speedo hugging Matthew Mitcham in his Speedo, which can only result in a very happy photographic moment. Enjoy.
03
October
2012
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October
2012
A Pause For A Moment
There’s one story that I remember whenever I wash my hands – which means it crosses my mind a number of times in a day. Well, maybe not every time, but quite a lot – especially when there is or isn’t hot water available (sometimes an issue in my work building). In seventh grade we had an art teacher, Mr. Griffith, who peppered his teachings with a couple of personal stories. I loved art class – it came toward the end of the day, and was in a large, expansive second floor room lit brightly by a bank of long windows. We had space to spread out, at big white drawing tables, and it was a relief to focus on being creative rather than studious. I also got to sit next to my new friend Ann, who would prove to be a lifesaver in years to come. On the day that I’m remembering, we were nearing the end of class. Students were packing up, and Mr. Griffith was washing his hands. I don’t think anyone else was paying much attention to his murmuring, but he started talking about a girl who liked to wash her hands. He said she would stand at the sink and just let the water run over them, taking her time and being completely thorough and fastidious about the whole process. One day he asked her why she spent so much time and care washing like that. She answered that she didn’t have hot water at home, and liked the way it felt. He paused in his story, then said it was something that always stuck with him. Since that day, it has stuck with me too. It’s something I cannot forget, and I’m better for it.
03
October
2012
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October
2012
Nicki vs. Mariah: Round One
If it’s wrong to get such a thrill out of watching these two pop titans go at it like this, I don’t ever want to be right. Thank you, TMZ, for making my life worth living.
03
October
2012
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October
2012
Like A Virgin Suicide
“It didn’t matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn’t heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.” ~ Jeffrey Eugenides, ‘The Virgin Suicides’
Jeffrey Eugenides wrote one of my favorite books, ‘The Virgin Suicides’. At the time of its release, it resonated on a number of levels. Above all else, I fell in love with the beauty of his words – the way he put them together, both sprawling yet sparingly. In the claustrophobic world of the Lisbon sisters, he created an entire universe of the pain and ache of being young and seeing no way out of it. Life expanded and pronounced itself in the details of being a girl – and a boy who watched a girl. In the grooves of a record, in the chopping down of a tree, in the bathroom of adolescent secrets.
While browsing the bookstore the other day, I came upon his latest work “The Marriage Plot” which I happily snatched up for our upcoming trip to Maine. Though I wasn’t the biggest fan of ‘Middlesex’, I’m hoping that this new one has a few gems in it. I tend to be a fan of individual books rather than authors – in the same way that I enjoy singles over albums. Obviously there are exceptions, and notable ones at that ~ Edith Wharton, Gregory Maguire, Shirley Horn, and Madonna to name a few masters and mistresses of words and music ~ but for the most part I get too tired of one voice or sound after a while, and feel the need for change. That restlessness was something the Lisbon sisters couldn’t overcome, not in that house, and not in that time.
“They had killed themselves over our dying forests, over manatees maimed by propellers as they surfaced to drink from garden hoses; they had killed themselves at the sight of used tires stacked higher than the pyramids; they had killed themselves over the failure to find a love none of us could ever be. In the end, the tortures tearing the Lisbon girls pointed to a simple reasoned refusal to accept the world as it was handed down to them, so full of flaws.” ~ Jeffrey Eugenides, ‘The Virgin Suicides’
02
October
2012
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October
2012
Is This Even Legal?
(I was holding off on writing about this when it looked like Ticketmaster and the TD Garden might make right for what they did, but it appears they aren’t going to do that, so here’s the story of our piss-poor ticket experience.)
When I ordered the tickets from Ticketmaster for the Madonna show at Boston’s TD Garden, the only ones left were with a side view. I’d had side views before – so long as no obstruction was noted, they were always fine. In fact, they were usually good for getting behind-the-scenes views you don’t normally get, which for an uber-fan like me is always cool. Even though they looked like they were somewhat behind the stage, rather than to the side, I still figured we’d get a good enough vantage point. Of course, it can’t hurt to ask, so when we got to the TD Garden, I went to a ticket counter and asked if there was a possibility of an upgrade. I was told no, but that our seats should be fine, as even the side views were pretty good. Emboldened by this encouragement, I relaxed a little, until we found our seats and realized we could not see any of the main stage. I mean – none of it. An enormous bank of lights was set right in front of our section. This wasn’t just a side view – this was a blatantly obstructed view – and none of it was noted on the tickets at the time of sale, or at any point thereafter, or I never would have purchased them. ($380 for two tickets happens to be a lot for me, even if it is Madonna.)
I tracked down an usher and said that our view was completely blocked, asking if there was anywhere else we could be seated, and she dismissed me saying that there were no other options as the show was sold out. She did not mention the option of talking to a manager or checking if there were any other spots in the building to afford a better view. At this point there were a number of disgruntled patrons, as our entire section could clearly not see anything. I hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe, this bank of lights would rise once the show began, and all would be well with the world – after all, how could they sell tickets that had such a blocked view with no mention or notation of it? At the very least, it was misleading, if not completely misrepresentative of what we were paying for.
Of course, those lights did not move. And those big side screens for the people in the way back? They were directly above our heads, so we didn’t even get to watch them. I was lucky enough to have an idea of what was going on (based on far too many YouTube sneak peeks), but Andy hadn’t a clue what was going on, and the show was effectively ruined for him (and would have been for me too if I didn’t have the luxury of seeing her again in New York later). My question is how could Ticketmaster and the TD Garden sell seats like this without any indication of the obstructed view? I thought that such things had to be clearly spelled out, otherwise a refund would be granted. At any rate, I’ll be looking into whether similar incidents have happened at the TD Garden and with Ticketmaster – I know I’m just one small insignificant voice in their ticket monopoly, but if we keep up enough of a battle, we may see some changes. And hopefully no one will have to miss a Madonna show ever again.
02
October
2012
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October
2012
Blast from the Shirtless 90210 Past
Bet you thought this was going to be Dylan or Brandon, right? Or maybe even Steve, lately of ‘Dancing with the Stars’ fame? No such luck – this is the unlikeliest heart-throb of the bunch – Brian Austin Green (well, aside from the nerdy character who accidentally gunned himself off in one of their “very special episodes”. See, once upon a time I did watch television, and quite closely.) Yes, folks, this is the man who deflowered Donna. Though I don’t think he had as many tattoos then. Ahh, memories…
02
October
2012
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October
2012
My Latest Spread
My friend Jim Koury was kind enough to feature me in this month’s issue of Diversity Rules Magazine – Oct. 2012 – so be sure to check out the online version of the current issue here.
“Alan Bennett Ilagan is a gay blogger based in upstate New York and Boston, and the man behind www.ALANILAGAN.com. What started out as a simple repository of his written work has grown into a popular blog that gets updated daily (even on weekends) with photographs and blog posts and the latest in gay pop culture. From David Beckham and Ben Cohen in their underwear to an ongoing Madonna Timeline, it also includes personal essays by Ilagan, and an extensive collection of galleries for those who simply want to look. After undergoing a dramatic revamping, the site is now more user-friendly than ever, with archives and search options and a brand new lay-out. It will celebrate its tenth anniversary early next year – an eternity in the fast and fickle world of personal blogs. Over the years, readers have had the opportunity to witness the evolution of an artist, both personally and professionally, as Ilagan has shared things as intimate as his marriage to his husband Andy as well as his public work as the Manager of the Romaine Brooks Gallery at the Capital Pride Center. As engaging and entertaining as its creator, www.ALANILAGAN.com continues to provide am unabashedly gay take on life, love, beauty, and art.”
01
October
2012
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October
2012
A Brugmansia Grows in Boston
On my last trip to Boston, I passed by this church, and as pretty as it was, I was more transfixed by the two Brugmansia plants potted at its entrance. More commonly known as Angels’ trumpets, these are tropical plants that don’t survive the cold New England winters, but can be brought into a warm garage or unheated basement for the winter months, then brought back out to create the amazing show that is seen here. I once kept a couple of these, in enormous pots, that grew to be about seven feet tall. When they bloomed in summer, their fragrance filled the night – the variety I had gave off a heavy lily-like lemon scent that pervaded the entire backyard. It was especially nice for late-night swims, when the perfume seemed to cling to the water’s surface. I got lazy one year and left them outside in the winter (those pots, and the attendant tree-like trunks that they eventually develop, were not easy to move up and down stairs) so we no longer have any, but I’m tempted to try them again. It takes a year or two to develop them into the tall specimens you see in this photo, but it’s a wait that’s worth it.
01
October
2012
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October
2012
Sunday Football
Yesterday I watched the New England Patriots tear up the turf against the Buffalo Bills. At first I wasn’t all that enthralled, especially when it seemed like it was just one long series of commercials. After a while, though, and a big glass of beer on ice (at which Andy laughed hysterically – apparently drinking beer on ice is not the traditional manner to drink it) I started to get into it. Early on, the Bills were ahead, and I thought my usual curse of watching and having my team of choice lose was back in effect [See Red Sox circa 1986], but then they turned it around, Tom Brady ran a touchdown himself, and the excitement of being on the side of the winning team was suddenly contagious. I finally got be part of a football game that other people were talking about on FaceBook and Twitter, and even though I knew little to nothing of what was happening, a few rules of play crept back from my Marching Rams days, and it began to make some sense. I may succumb to Sunday Football after all. (The beer’s going to take a little more time.)
01
October
2012
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October
2012
A Gay Soccer Player
My friend Rob alerted me to the story of gay soccer player David Testo, who came out in November of last year, but hasn’t played since. In a candid and compelling interview, he tells some behind-the-scenes stories of what it’s like being gay as a professional soccer player, and, on a larger scale, what it’s like to be gay in the sports world.
One day we will reach a place where coming out won’t even be an issue. It likely won’t happen in my lifetime, and that will always make me a little sad, but it’s heartening to see us inch toward that. My admiration goes out to guys like David who take those first brave steps in a vocation where it has traditionally been – and to this day remains – something kept silent and secret.
30
September
2012
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September
2012
One Day More!
This is for my friend and co-worker Sherri (long-suffering wife of Webmaster Skip), who tomorrow shall return to join us in the trenches of employment after being out on a well-deserved maternity leave for the past few months of hell. No one is happier for her return than me, and not just because I get to give all her wretched program work back to her – but because the office was a lot less fun without her. Welcome back Sherri!
30
September
2012
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September
2012
Squeezing the Sperm
“Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me, and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-labourers’ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally, as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill humour or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.â€
~ Herman Melville, ‘Moby Dick’
30
September
2012
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September
2012
Apple Crisp Fall Day
Baking and cooking are things that I usually only get into during the Fall and Winter seasons. Cocktails can be done year-round, but to turn on the oven or stove requires cooler temperatures and the desire to get cozy. To that end, this weekend marked my return to the kitchen. A bag of Macintosh apples was resting on the kitchen counter, so when I woke up I did a quick online search for an apple crisp recipe and used the following, as it seemed the easiest:
Apple Crisp
5 cups apples, peeled, cored, and sliced
1/4 cup flour
1/2 cup oats
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup water
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
Peel, core, and slice apples, then add to baking dish with water and lemon juice (I added the latter to keep the apples from going brown, but it’s probably not necessary as once they’re coated it doesn’t matter). Mix the dry ingredients with the butter, then pour over top of apples. Bake at 375 for 40 minutes.
Waking Andy for a demonstration of the assembly and operation of the apple-peeler-corer-slicer that we bought from some Pampered Chef party many years ago seemed to go against the surprise element of the breakfast I was making for him, so I did it the old-fashioned way, peeling them without mechanical aid, then slicing them up without a corer. Once I got the hang of it things went smoothly, but I was thankful for the lemon juice.
I may have had too many apples, but they filled the baking dish so I let it go – next time I’ll go heavier on the crisp – as that’s the best part of this whole thing anyway.
30
September
2012
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September
2012
Sexiest Sunday Post Ever
Meet male model Joseph Sayers, whom I recall from an ‘xy magazine’ spread he did about 15 years ago. He’s aging much better than me, but rather than envying that I’m going to be happy for him. It’s always nice to see someone from xy make something out of their life. [See: Benoit Denizet-Lewis.]
But enough of my blabbering…
What would you do for an uncropped version?
