10
January
2012
Tags: General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #60 – ‘High Flying Adored’ – Winter 1997

{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.}

High flying, adored
What happens now, where do you go from here?
For someone on top of the world
The view is not exactly clear
A shame you did it all at twenty-six
There are no mysteries now
Nothing can thrill you, no one fulfill you
High flying, adored
I hope you come to terms with boredom
So famous so easily, so soon
It’s not the wisest thing to be
You won’t care if they love you
It’s been done before
You’ll despair if they hate you
You’ll be drained of all energy
All the young who’ve made it would agree

Okay, I admit it: I almost cheated on the Madonna Timeline. When I saw that ‘High Flying Adored’ was up next, I was about to skip over to the next song because this is really mostly Antonio Freaking Banderas. But I stayed true to the method of the madness, and am putting this up now, in the order in which it was received.

Not much to say about this bit from Evita. It takes place when Eva Peron is first realizing her glamour, and a bit of her power, and whenever I hear it I think of Madonna walking up that flight of stairs, impeccably gussied-up in a sparkling evening gown, hair pulled dramatically-high into lofty bun (the start of the transformation into Eva’s signature chignon), and head held aristocratically above it all. It’s the attitude I try to convey whenever I walk into a roomful of people I don’t know, but especially into a roomful of people I know well. Sometimes the latter is harder to do, and for those times it’s nice to employ a little Evita as armor.

High flying adored…
That’s good to hear but unimportant
My story’s quite usual
Local girl makes good, weds famous man
I was stuck in the right place at the perfect time
Filled a gap, I was lucky
But one thing I’ll say for me
No one else can fill it like I can.

Song #60: ‘High Flying Adored’ – Winter 1997

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06
January
2012
Tags: General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #59 – ‘Like It Or Not’ ~ Winter 2006

{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.}

You can call me a sinner
Or you can call me a saint
Celebrate me for who I am
Dislike me for what I ain’t

The iPod has selected ‘Like It Or Not’ from 2005’s Confessions on a Dance Floor album for the first Madonna Timeline entry of 2012. This one bucks the last-song-of-the-album-that-often-sucks tradition Madonna has sometimes employed (‘Act of Contrition’, ‘Gone’, ‘Voices’). Filled with confidence and matter-of-fact defiance, it haughtily exhibits the classic Madonna-mantra of self-empowerment, but after twenty years into her career it wasn’t so much an act of haughtiness as simple truth.

Put me up on a pedestal
Or drag me down in the dirt
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your names will never hurt.

It’s an excellent starter for 2012, a year which will usher in a brand new Madonna album (her first on a new record label), a Superbowl performance, and the wide opening of her directorial effort W.E. Once again, we seem “poised on the precipice” of greatness, and she will be the one to take us there.

I’ll be the garden
You’ll be the snake
All of my fruit is
Yours to take
Better the devil that you know
Your love for me will grow

Even when it seems she has nothing left to prove, there are those who would not have her around at all, so this is a necessary reminder of her power and relevance, her lasting contributions, and the promise of so much more to come.

Her live performance of this song, on the Confessions Tour from 2006, is a simple, straight-forward delivery with some serious strutting, and a chair straight out of Cabaret. It’s Madonna at her best, connecting with her audience, but just as happy being alone and doing her own thing.

Because this is who I am
You can like it or not
You can love me or leave me,
But I’m never gonna stop.
Song #59: – ‘Like It Or Not’ ~ Winter 2006
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06
January
2012
Tags: Bulge, David Beckham, Shirtless Male Celebrities, Underwear
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When Beckham’s Bulge Gets Boring

There will always be some sort of cheap thrill to be gleaned when David Beckham shimmies into his skivvies for a photo shoot, and especially when he releases a line of “bodywear” under his own name. Given that he’s done just that, and we are about to be deluged with an avalanche of moody black and white photos showcasing his shirtless physique and cloth-bound package, I thought it would once again be like those heady (and ballsy) days of that first Armani underwear campaign.

For someone of his stature to front the original promos with his prominent bulge bursting forth in a tight pair of white briefs was bold and brazen. Instantly iconic, the above pic solidified his gay-pin-up status then and there. In the ensuing ads, artfully styled and lit, he continued to go where no man of his fame-level had gone before.

Now, he has released his very own line of underwear, and the first set of ads has premiered. My reaction: one big yawn. In the same way that Mario Lopez played it safe with his debut underwear line, Mr. Beckham seems to have misplaced his balls (metaphorically at least, as they’re still very much front and center in these pics). 

Beckham simply opts for the ubiquitous gray backdrop, and himself front and center. This would be fine if there were something more exciting to sell. Dull color selections, and even duller styles, do not make for a splashy entrance into the design world. There is nothing very imaginative or exciting about these pieces. Given that they are being sold as bodywear, there may be more of a sense of function rather than fashion to them, but come on – the majority of buyers aren’t going to be soccer-playing DILFs – they’re going to be urban gay guys who expect a little more bang for their buck.

I’m not going to lie and pretend that I’ll never look at Mr. Beckham in his briefs again, but as far as getting excited over this latest batch of bulges, the thrill is gone.

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05
January
2012
Tags: General
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My Old Addiction

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I had an addiction to robes. Silk, velvet, cotton, fleece ~ with feathers, sequins, or embroidery ~ I welcomed all and any to my bedroom closet. It even progressed to smoking jackets and kimono, and at last count I had almost 50. (It sounds worse than it is – if you do the math that’s about three a year since I started “collecting” them.)

As in the rest of my life, my tastes have shifted over the years, and these days I’m more likely to walk by and admire than scrounge the bank account for a way to pay for yet another one. Every once in a while, though, a robe comes along at the right time and place, and it’s exactly what I was looking for without even knowing it. Such was the case when I walked into Pottery Barn the other day. (I don’t frequent Pottery Barn much because I don’t often go to Crossgates Mall. If I wanted to walk that much I’d go to the gym.)

But thanks to a day off and an unintentionally early rise, I decided to brave the behemoth and check out the post-holiday sales. There, in the bed and bath section of Pottery Barn was the robe that I had subconsciously desired since my time at the Mandarin Oriental spa in Washington, DC. For my first spa experience, they provided a waffle-weave robe lined with the softest terry cloth. It was the perfect accompaniment to a ritual of self-indulgence – and would have made the home-made-spa routine I developed just about complete. I hadn’t encountered a similar robe anywhere since then, and had given up on the idea, but here it was, in person and right in front of me – tellingly with its price conveniently scratched off. I dug into the small pile but there were no prices to be found. Another model, minus the waffle-weave, was next to it and listed as $89, so I knew it would be at least that much.

A sales associate ambled along helpfully, heading to the register to look it up, and returned with the expected amount: $99. Now, this is not unreasonable, but it’s at the upper end of what I’ve paid for robes in the past (such as the velvet and ostrich feather number from Victoria’s Secret that was originally $299.99, but that I watched like a hawk until it came down to $99.99). For a cotton waffle-weave and terry cloth piece $99 seems a bit much.

Still, after a few not-quite-exhaustive internet searches, it doesn’t look like I’ll find a better deal, so here’s what will probably happen: I’ll beg and borrow until I get this one, make the promise to myself and others that this is the very last one, but it’s a special one, and an investment in peace of mind and quality of life, then call it quits on the robe acquisitions, at least for a while.

Oh, and this one can be monogrammed. I don’t have a robe with monogramming on it. Definitely a consideration, as every gentleman should have a monogrammed robe.

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02
January
2012
Tags: Shirtless Male Celebrities
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Brad Goreski, Without Shirt or Bow Tie

Having never seen The Rachel Zoe Project, I knew little to nothing of Brad Goreski – and even after being pummeled by the promos for tonight’s premiere of “It’s a Brad, Brad World” on Bravo, the only thing I really got was his love of bow ties and glasses. (Neither of which is in evidence in these beefcake shots by dirty birdy photog Terry Anderson.)

However, it is clear to me that the boy’s got style, and anyone who rocks a bow tie deserves to be given a chance.

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01
January
2012
Tags: General
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The Dawn of the New Year

It begins with neither a bang nor a whimper, but only the rustling of the duvet, thrown off with the cranky realization that one must get up to begin the day, to get where one is going. It is, in spite of all the hype and nonsense, just another day in winter. It will snow, or the sun will shine, or there will be some gray in-between sky, and it will end with the too-soon darkness of the season.

The Christmas tree still stands in the morning light, turning sadder and sadder the further we get from its token holiday, but retaining some bit of sparkle, some freshness in the way the light strikes the bright green of the newer needles. A pot of paperwhites reaches to the light too, soon to deliver their distinctive scent to the room – for now just a few threads of verdant hope for a coming spring – even if it seems too far in the distance to begin to hope.

This is when the year really begins – not at the midnight toasts and champagne cheers, but rather in the stillness and silence of the morning. The break of the day – one day in the line of millions of days – that we imbue with the significance of starting over, even if every day affords us the same endless possibility

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21
December
2011
Tags: General, Holiday
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Brother Christmas

This is a photograph that must have been taken in the very early 80’s. That’s my brother and me in front of the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, amidst the pile of toys and treasure that Santa brought the night before. After thinking back on holidays past, and present, I realized just how much my brother has been a part of them. Growing up, he was my one constant companion, and until we diverged in adolescence we were quite close.

Like so many Ilagans, we have our flaws, and sometimes I think they were tailor-made to be the very things that antagonized the other the most, but somehow we managed to remain as close as brothers can. No one else has had the same exact experience of growing up – only my brother and I know what it was really like being raised in our home. Even Suzie, who in many ways knows more about me than my brother does, isn’t fully aware of what went on in the Ilagan house. That’s something only my brother and myself share. He is the one single person in the world who inhabited that childhood with me. Even our parents, who were there, can never really know what it was like for their kids. It is an unbreakable bond, a source of understanding that we carry with us for the rest of our lives. I suppose it’s the same for most brothers and sisters.

Every home is distinctive, each has its own quirks and foibles, and because of that no one other than the participants themselves ever has a real inkling of what really goes on. Most siblings have their growing pains, and like any two brothers close in age we had ours. At times adversarial, competitive, cruel, and mean – and alternately kind, comforting, caring, and loving – the ties of one brother to another run the gamut of emotions. I counted on my brother for all of it, the good and the bad, and I gave just as well, and as badly, as I got. Through it all, though, we shared the love of one brother for another.

This was family. This was life. This was the way the world had always been, and will continue to be. We may get older, and hopefully a little wiser, but we’ll always be those two mischievous Ilagan boys, united in blood, bonded by circumstance, and joined in a history that cannot be rewritten. For that I am thankful.

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20
December
2011
Tags: General, Holiday
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The Brothers Ilagan

A few years ago, my brother and I forged the unlikely start of what I hope will be a holiday tradition. I had stopped by his home during a visit to Amsterdam, and he served us an impromptu dinner of fettuccine and shrimp in a sherry cream sauce. I must say this about my brother – the man knows how to cook, and he can do it without a recipe. After finishing the meal, he suggested that we head over to a childhood haunt – Samuel Fariello’s – an old-style candy shop that serves ice cream and sundaes. We used to ride our bikes there when we were kids, bringing a pocketful of change and buying gum and candy sticks and baseball cards.

All these years later, it was still open, with a different set of owners, but the space was exactly the same. It was just a few days before Christmas, and the shop was decked out for the holiday. Baskets of chocolate confections and nuts filled the shelves, and a few treasured jars of turkey joints (one of the best bits of candy mankind has ever created) stood on the counter. We sat at a booth and ordered a couple of sundaes.

Suddenly I was a kid again, and it was summer, and my brother and I were passing the day away in Sammy’s.

From the simplest of actions and the plainest of places, a magical moment can sometimes be created through the power of memory and the pull of family. It was a night I’d remember fondly, a quick unplanned evening of brotherly bonding with the only boy in the world who knew exactly what I went through as a kid because he went through the exact same thing – a childhood in the Ilagan family, with all its privileges and difficulties, and the normal ups and downs of any family.

It sounds like such a simple thing, but I always cherish any time with my brother, as odd as that may sound to those who know us. We are two very different people – about as completely different as two brothers could possibly be, yet we come from the same place, and that’s something that can never be changed. On that cold candy shop night, we came back to where we once were…

This year I called my brother up and asked if we could do it again, so I met up with him at Fariello’s. He brought his son Noah with him, the next generation of Ilagans being indoctrinated to the candy store.

(We’d bring a sundae home to his wife and their daughter Emi – well, I would bring one home, my brother forgetting that it was on his car as he peeled away, leaving me to pick it up on the street behind him as I followed in my car.)

As I sat there feeding Noah bits of my sundae, I wondered if I’d be the Uncle I always wanted my Uncle to be. It was an impossible wish, really, and I would always demand too much. I watched my nephew, feeling the tug of my Uncle on my heart, and the tenderness for a child who may or may not know what to do with my love.

Later on, I stopped by their home to say hello to Erin and Emi, who was already in her pajamas. She showed me some of the ornaments on the tree, and I was once again touched by the wonder of a child at Christmas.

As we get older, more traditions seem to fall by the wayside. People leave, things change, and as much as I embrace the new, part of me still clings desperately to what little can be preserved, what can stay the same, and in our own way this is a little chance to hang on. It’s too soon to see if our sundae holiday tradition sticks, and maybe we’ll only do it every few years, but you have to start somewhere.

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18
December
2011
Tags: Fashion, Holiday
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A Night of Holiday Revelry & A Perfect Martini

After being derailed from a couple of holiday parties by a pesky cough, I was back in ridiculously-red-plaid form for Rob’s annual fete last night. Andy and I stopped by the bar at Jack’s Oyster House for a proper martini, where we had the pleasure of meeting the man behind Fussy Little Blog in person. Daniel is indeed fussy regarding his cocktails, but in the best possible way, and I love when someone I met online turns out to be more affable and friendly than you expect.

I’ve always had luck and great experiences meeting bloggers and online aquaintances, and this proved no exception. Of course, I don’t meet people I haven’t corresponded with or researched, so it’s not like they’re total strangers. Still, one never knows how someone will be in real life, so it’s always a reassuring moment when the idea of a person matches the reality, and sometimes exceeds it. Daniel was as articulate and enthralling as his blog and tweets would lead one to believe, but funny and friendly as well – which, as we all know, doesn’t translate as readily to the written online world.

I also got to shake hands with Steve Barnes of Table Hopping blog fame (and a fabulous writer/critic in Times Union print form as well). Writers are my heroes. Like Daniel, Steve has the envy-inducing luck to be better-looking in person than in photos.

When cocktail time was done, we went a few streets over to Rob’s, where I got to see friends I’ve now known for over eleven years one last time before Christmas. It is one of the greatest, and rarest, treats for me to walk into a room and know almost everyone by name, and it’s one of life’s most warming comforts. This is the best part of the holiday season.

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16
December
2011
Tags: Gratuitous Nudity
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Desire/Movement/Place/Memory

Desire is movement rather than place. But even more, the memory of that long and haphazard pursuit speaks of a certain kind of relation to the rest of the world: experience rejected in favor of remembrance, the center rejected in favor of the margin. A sense of the beautiful hovering just beyond your reach, to be reflected upon and considered. The reflection becomes, in its own way, another kind of possessing.

– Daniel Mendelsohn

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15
December
2011
Tags: General, Holiday
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I Played My Best for Him

One of my favorite Christmas songs as a kid was ‘The Little Drummer Boy’. The simple, insistent drum rolls, the intoxicating cadence, and the sentimental tale of a little boy who had nothing to give but a song – a small piece of self-created art – spoke to me more than any angels on high or Santas en route.

On one Christmas, my parents gave me a toy audio recorder that recorded a couple minutes of sound, which you could then play back. I was too young for a proper stereo, and I don’t even think cassette tapes had come into mainstream play yet, so this little recorder was all we had. After all our gifts had been opened, and we were shifting into the lull of a post-Christmas morning moment, Mom suggested I try it out.

Suddenly I became shy and self-conscious: the budding stages of stage fright and a heart-bursting aversion to public speaking or unwanted attention reared its debilitating head. I hesitated and proffered excuses, saying I would do it later. Upon further pressure, I caved, but only on the condition that I could record a song alone without anyone watching.

Mom took me into her bedroom, where we sang ‘The Little Drummer Boy’ into the machine. Even then I was embarrassed and awkward about it – the pressure of performing, even if just for family, wreaked havoc on my nerves. Yet somehow I got through it, and my recording of the song was complete. We went back downstairs to play it for the rest of the family, and when it started I literally hid under a blanket – so suddenly bashful was I upon hearing my voice for the first time.

It’s a feeling I’ve never gotten over, and whenever I hear that song it is imbued with a slight bit of tension and apprehension, and a requisite sadness that accompanied more than a few childhood moments. An indication of what was to come, there was the voice that everyone heard, coming forth from some mechanized machine or computer – in someone else’s song, in a story, in a photograph – and the internal voice of a scared little boy, cowering from the world and begging for protection when none would be found. The safety of separation between the artist and the art – the perceived image of a man and the reality that will always pale beside it.

On that single Christmas morning, I learned more than I would from a whole year of school, and the knowledge would burden and terrify me.

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13
December
2011
Tags: Bulge, Shirtless Male Celebrities, Underwear
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Harry Judd Gives Good Attitude

My virgin brush with the UK Publication Attitude came in 1997 when I was visiting London for the first time. Finding this magazine in the midst of my coming out process was a fortuitous bit of timing and destiny. Since then I usually check it out whenever I find it at a newstand, mostly for its eye candy and cheeky British writing.

This month’s issue features Harry Judd. I have no idea who Harry Judd is, nor does it really matter. He’s in his tighty-whities, and he fills them out quite nicely. Enough said.

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13
December
2011
Tags: General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #58 – ‘Buenos Aires’ – Holiday 1996

{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.}

What’s new Buenos Aires?
I’m new!
I wanna say I’m just a little stuck on you,
You’ll be on me too.

Not-so-secret confession: I don’t sing. Well. I don’t sing well. But I love to do it, when alone, usually in the car on a long-distance drive in some strange state where passers-by don’t stand a chance of recognizing me. (Once I was belting out a Norma Desmond aria on Western Ave. and my friend Paul was sitting in the car next to me laughing his ass off. I’ve never sung on Western Ave. since.) What does this have to do with the next iPod selection for the Madonna Timeline, ‘Buenos Aires’? Well, back in 1996, as I was preparing for the Royal Rainbow World Tour, I recorded myself singing this song, over and over, on a cassette tape, and then sending it out to a highly-select group of friends. It remains one of my most embarrassing moments, in a lifetime of embarrassing moments (mistaken for a clown at Ponderosa anyone?)

I get out here, Buenos Aires
Stand back!
You ought to know
What you’re gonna get in me
Just a little touch of star quality.

At the time I didn’t care – it was such a fun song, and I was so excited about Madonna in Evita that I would have done just about anything to express my joy. That’s the problem when I get really psyched about something – I want to share it with everyone, and I can’t contain the exuberance inside, so it ends up spilling out in all sorts of silly manners. Case in point: me singing ‘Buenos Aires’.

Fill me up with your heat, with your noise
With your dirt, overdo me!
Let me dance to your beat, make it loud
Let it hurt, run it through me!
Don’t hold back, you are certain to impress
Tell the driver this is where I’m staying.
Hello, Buenos Aires!
Get this, just look at me dressed up, somewhere to go
We’ll put on a show…

Putting on a show is all I wanted to do, so when I was visiting my friends, I made them all see Evita with me. I took troupes from Ithaca, Rochester, and Boston to take in the spectacle of Madonna as Eva Peron in a big-budget musical extravaganza, and for the most part people were politely impressed. Granted, it would never quite reach the excitement that I was experiencing, but most were good sports about it (especially Suzie, who took in a 2 AM showing of it in NYC AFTER seeing the musical Chicago – that’s a musical-soaked evening for anyone, and she was a trooper.)

Take me in at your flood, give me speed
Give me lights, set me humming
Shoot me up with your blood, wine me up
With your nights, watch me coming
All I want is a whole lot of excess
Tell the singer this is where I’m playing
Stand back, Buenos Aires
Because you oughta know what you’re gonna get in me
Just a little touch of star quality…

Fortunately, when all we need at this time of the year is a break from holiday madness, this song lends itself to silliness – and if you read the lyrics alone you may want to take Tim Rice to task for some of them. It’s one of the dancier-ditties from the Evita opus, with some Latin-inspired percussion and a driving beat. Personally, I love it, and it’s the moment when the movie truly starts to soar.

And if ever I go too far
It’s because of the things you are
Beautiful town, I love you
And if I need a moment’s rest
Give your lover the very best
Real eiderdown and silence.

At this point, Eva was just starting out on her own, making her way to a strange city, and doing whatever it took to get by. That sort of struggle was familiar to Madonna as well, and to anyone who got away from home and had to learn to be all right alone. It’s a time of desperation and desire, a drawn-out moment of being on-the-verge – of your future, of your life, of the person you were destined to become. For those who dare to try, who dare to dream, there is always the threat of extinction, but it is always worth the risk. We thrash ourselves about and put it all on display so you don’t have to.

You’re a tramp, you’re a treat
You will shine to the death, you are shoddy
But you’re flesh, you are meat
You shall have every breath in my body
Put me down for a lifetime of success
Give me credit, I’ll find ways of paying…

In the midst of holiday mayhem, sometimes you just need to get away from the insanity, escaping to a place of fantasy and make-believe, the idealized city-scape of Eva’s Buenos Aires for example, where all you need to conquer the world is a dance and a dream, and just a little touch of star quality.

Song #58 – ‘Buenos Aires’ – Holiday 1996
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12
December
2011
Tags: General, Holiday
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The Most Shocking Holiday Card of Them All

I never thought I’d see the day when I shared top-billing with a couple of babies, but everyone was right – it’s different when they’re related to you, and you look into their eyes and see a little bit of your childhood, a potent blast from the past, and a thrilling peek into the future. This was taken over the summer, on one of my first babysitting attempts. They sat in that Radio Flyer as I pulled them all around the backyard and the block, content to watch and ride in the summer sun.

The sweetness of blooming privet hedges floated in the air, and the breeze was light and cool. Ahead of us the summer sprawled onward, with its promise of carefree laziness and hazy laughter – the promise of a new pair of childhoods being borne out upon the same backyard where my brother and I used to play.

There was no other image I wanted to conjure or create that would so perfectly encapsulate the year, and what I held most dear, than this one. We’ll return to our regularly-scheduled raunchiness and debauchery in 2012. For now, let there be peace and wonder.

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08
December
2011
Tags: General
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A Suitcase of Scarves

Happiness is a suitcase filled with scarves of silk, in every imaginable color and design. When I was a little gay boy, one of the most magical places in my home was the dresser in my parents’ bedroom. In the center of it was a door fronted by an intricate grate of diamond-patterned metal mesh, backed by a tiny ruffled curtain.

The door opened to revealed three drawers – one of which housed my Mom’s collection of scarves. Never a flashy dresser, my Mom saved her daring color selections for her scarves, and in this drawer were the colorful accents that caught my young eye. It was where I first experimented with color combinations, laying the silk squares and rectangles out in varying patterns, seeing what pleased my vision, and what didn’t quite work.

Scented by lavender-hued circular tablets of some sort of pressed powder, it was a gauzy world of feminine mystique, a behind-the-scenes preparatory place of seduction and beauty. This is what women did to makes themselves pretty for men. I didn’t necessarily see that in what my Mom did for my Dad, but on some level I detected the power of beauty, the spell that we would try to cast upon others. Maybe – just maybe – that was the way to love.

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