Friday, February 23

The Trouble With Angels

The recent death of Anna Nicole Smith got me thinking of the glamour girls of the past. Under every pair of tight fitting hip-huggers, every pair of cowgirl boots or mukluks, there lies a little bit of the movie vamp inside every girl. Underneath our t-shirts is a tight dressed, stiletto heeled vixen just waiting to jump into a tit clenching bustier, outrageously extravagant heels and saunter through a room while every male stops in mid-sentence and completely loses his train of thought.

It seems like there are so few of the real glamour girls left now. The tragic, dramatic, flying towards the runway at the speed of sound with no landing gear glamour girls. Jayne Mansfield. Marilyn Monroe. Tabloid fodder and outrageous sexuality were their trademarks. Their stars burned bright and fast; super nova, apocalyptic beauties.

Marilyn Monroe

We watched them rise before our eyes and then watched them tumble and fall. We watched the media tear them to shreds, their weight ballooning and deflating, drugs and drinking, their lovers, their husbands... the glamour girls were never the ones to settle down. They were the ones always looking to settle up. The heights they went to were too dizzying for the average woman to comprehend. We all knew in our hearts their falls would be sweepingly devastating.
Spec-fucking-tacular. And they never disappointed.

Jayne Mansfield

Even Savannah, in her short time on this planet, was destined to live a life of hyperbole. Too hot, too beautiful, 'too much' to be contained for long in her mortal shell. Her flame burst at the age of 24 with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

Shannon 'Savannah' Wilsey

I think about Anna Nicole and Marilyn and Jayne - and then I look at Elizabeth Taylor. One of the ultimate sex kittens of her age.

We've watched her go through Betty Ford and diet after diet. From her own perfume to info-mercials. I guess deep inside we are relieved that we haven't had to watch that happen to the glamour girls. I just can't wrap my head around Marilyn Monroe doing denture cream commercials. That thought is just too depressing.

So I was thinking about Anna Nicole, and Marilyn and Jayne... and I was wondering, who's next? Where can we turn our pursed lips and disapproving scowls and just shake our heads as we watch the beginning of another meteoric rise and fall? They are gone I think. Oh, there are still the naughty girls. The train wrecks. The Paris' and the Latoyas, yawn. But the true tragic beauties seem to be lost to us now. And as much as some people enjoyed bashing and knocking them I think we needed them. They were the Zenith of human existence, the ultimate passionate fiery goddesses descended here just to titillate and remind us that we are capable of lives of incredible drama and vivacity. That we can will ourselves strong under any adversity. That woman is the most stunningly brilliant creature on this blue planet.

How many people are capable of becoming famous? Few I think. How many are capable of becoming infamous? Probably any of us. But these were the women who didn't get a choice. Infamy chose them. It was written in the stars. Stamped like a bright scarlet letter on their foreheads for all eternity.

And this planet... and my own heart, feel emptier for their having left us.

This post was featured on Viviane's Sex Carnival.

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    Thursday, February 22

    Featured on Viviane's Sex Carnival

    'The Trouble with Angels' post was featured on Viviane's Sex Carnival.
    Viv, I love you. I adore you.
    I want to have your baby...
    I'm not kidding

    HNT Grave Dancing

    I joined the Grave Dancers Union
    I had to file
    Trying to do the right thing play it straight
    The right thing changes from state to state
    Don't forget to take your mace
    If you're out walking late

    Soul Asylum

    Happy HNT

    See the man OS

    Monday, February 12

    On Elvis Presley .. and Cow Tipping

    When I was young it was a well known fact that I shared a birthday with 'The King'. I heard it all the time. You were born on Elvis Presley's birthday. This little fact was common knowledge in the small midwest town where I was raised. Complete strangers would bring up the fact that Elvis and I were born on the same day. It was a very significant date to this town where 'cow tipping' was actually a weekend event for the local teenagers. (I know you think I jest, but it's true. Even my own uncles were known to get drunk and go tip cows.) It was a shock to me after we moved to the east coast that not everyone knew Elvis' birthday. I actually had to tell people this little jewel when the subject of my birthday came up, usually with some response like 'Really, I had no idea when he was born'. Not to mention 'You can really tip a cow?' Oh yes, you most certainly can really tip a cow. Just need to be extremely careful - my uncles once, in a state of extreme drunkeness, tried to tip a bull - with very bad results I'm afraid.

    In 1976 my father was a DJ at the local radio station that was sponsoring what would be Elvis Presley's last tour in Ohio. My father got me two tickets for the show. He said that it would only be right to give me his 'promotional seats' since this is the man who shared my birth date. I chose one of my aunts to go with me. She, who had never tipped a cow in her life, was 18 and thrilled to be the one I chose. I had 5 uncles and 2 aunts who were all trying desperately, with different creative tactics, to convince, cajole and bribe me into taking them. It finally came down to my aunt throwing herself dramatically across my bed, pulling out her hair and saying that if she didn't get to see Elvis in concert then life would not be worth living. I melted under the pressure of her suicidal proposals; the many ways she might employ to do herself in. Most to do with committing Hari Kari with a myriad of blunt kitchen objects or possibly throwing herself from a moving vehicle. The females of my family have always had a flair for the dramatic and this was one of the greatest performances to date. She still re-enacts it from time to time during family get togethers as my uncles scowl at how she cheated them out of their chance to see The King perform live.

    So that is how I came to be sitting in the 8th row, front and center at my first concert watching The King perform - as women hurled underwear and bras over my head at the stage. At one point a pair of panties landed right on my head. I picked them off with two fingers, they were the size of a small house, and handed them to my aunt, who, with a shrug, finished their trip to the stage. 'God, I hope he doesn't think those are mine' she giggled as she cast them over her head right at the floor in front of him.

    It was a remarkable night for me. I have often been asked since then if it was 'Skinny Elvis' I saw or 'Fat Elvis'? It was, unfortunately, Fat Elvis. Not the Elvis that my aunt had been expecting when she swore herself to death by lethal spooning; she just sat, jaw dropped as Fat Elvis took to the stage and kept pinching my arm saying, 'What the hell happened to him?' I could only respond 'I don't know, but he sure does sweat a lot.'

    Still - I got to see Elvis perform live and it was an incredible experience.
    He died less than a year later at Graceland on August 16, 1977.

    Here he is in better days, singing one of my favorite Elvis songs.
    My God. He was beautiful.

    Happy Musical Monday to you all.
    And here's to first concerts. The ones we never forget.

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      Thursday, February 8

      HNT - Black and White

      "You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
      And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
      In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
      [For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind!
      How keen you are!]
      To find a friend who has these qualities,
      Who has, and gives
      Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
      How much it means that I say this to you --
      Without these friendships -- life, what cauchemar
      T.S. Eliot

      I just wanted to send a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been here for me during this difficult time.

      Thou hast committed --
      Fornication: but that was in another country,
      And besides, the wench is dead.

      (The Jew of Malta)

      Thank you all and happy HNT!
      May you all fornicate with wenches in other countries.

      See the man... Os

      Monday, February 5

      A Bitter Pill

      "Evil prevails when good people do nothing."
      - Renee Firestone, 1995.

      There comes such a time when every woman must make a decision to do something - a task of compulsion, one that, to others, may appear unreasonable or neigh impossible. But the compulsion to go forth is overwhelming, and, in this, she is beyond doubt that what she does is right.
      And Just.

      There are certain rules for anonymity on the Internet.
      And rules for blogging from work.

      But the most important rule is to always be very careful about who you give personal information to. This is, after all, a cyberworld, and there are individuals out there who blur the line between reality and cyberlife. They don't see the people they meet on-line as 'real', to them everyone is just a persona.

      In this they are dangerous. They would post information that could lead back to you or your children. They may even contact people associated with you or your job. They have no respect for anonymity nor for the real lives of others.

      For tips on how to stay safe on the Internet you might check out these hot blogging women.

      Is it any wonder that they are my Blog Goddesses?

      Wicked smart and incredibly hot.
      A perfect combination.
      Always Aroused Girl
      Chelsea Girl

      The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change & control your life; & the procedure, the process is its own reward.
      — Robyn Davidson

      Friday, February 2

      Snow Day!

      The residual the night's bliss left on my Jag.

      It finally snowed here. I stood outside and let the big, fat, wet flakes fall on my hair and my face. More often than not we get ice storms; frozen drizzle that sticks to the trees and downs power lines with its weight. Icicles that form into crystal stalactites that drop off onto the road making crashing noises all through the day. A wonderland where everything is covered in dazzling crystal. It's the most beautiful devastation I have ever seen. And terrifying to walk around under the trees, with their moaning creaks from the weight of the ice.

      The most amazing thing about our ice storms is the sound in the morning. As the sun beams down it's warmth, the giant icicles begin to melt, they make loud crackling noises that I can only equate with the distinct sound of cicadas. A sound that fills the air all around and lasts throughout the day and into night. You can hear the crackling thaw as you lay in bed at night, punctuated by the intermittent thundering crash as one of the behemoths makes landfall.

      But not this time.
      This time it was real snow. It reminded me of my Northern past except that the flakes that fall here are heavier, wetter, more fragile. Most hit the ground and are snuffed out immediately, so I took the most pleasure in walking around in it and leaving footprints with my new fur mukluks. Not enough to make a snow angel, but enough to blanket the night in white.

      It was short-lived of course, as I awoke there was only the barest hint of the beauty from the night before. I should have saved a bit in the freezer. Just a reminder of what real snow looks like. It's all just cold mud now.