Kids Entertainment
Breasts. Pert. Firm. Lovely. They didn't sit on her chest so much
as stand, at attention, alert, brown nipples perfectly placed in the
bottom third of the breast, evenly spaced, wonderful. She was
standing on a large rock in front of a waterfall, her face a mask of
innocence, ignorant to the magical effect she was conjuring with her
powerfully sexual visage.
He, like her, was an actor. But in that moment I'm sure that he, like
me, was trapped within his masculinity, impelled to do nothing more
than stare in open-mouthed worship. They co-starred in a film called
"Sheena: Queen of the Jungle", an embarrassingly foolish film*.
The movie was a ludicrously stupid attempt to make a star of Tanya
Roberts and her craze-inducing hotness, but all it really did was make
a man out of me. I was in elementary school when the movie came out
so I didn't know why I liked looking at her since girls my age didn't
look like that. But my body understood.
Childhood is a rehearsal for adulthood. Yes, it's more an adept
simulation since you don't have to pay your own bills or make your own
way (in most cases), but the principles are almost exactly the same
for one and the other:
1) We wake up early, every day, to go go into a place where we will be given a large set of tasks.
2) We will be expected to achieve at the tasks given. The various levels of achievement will determine our social rank.
3) Authorities are placed above us to ensure we work within the system present to adjust our placement and to make sure we find commonality amongst those of similar social rank.
4) We will develop and maintain friendships with people we like and learn
to function socially with those we don't.
5) We will seek out romance within these social circles so as to find
emotional completeness and personal validation.
Nowadays we treat our children like they're morons. "Sheena" was rated PG. Tanya Roberts was naked at LEAST twice and topless once more in the movie. Can you imagine a PG movie with exposed nipples and full bush coming out this summer? PIXAR makes The Incredibles which has NO nudity, NO ONE dies, and NO profanity...but it's rated PG? It's a whole other world for films today.
I remember a movie called The Neverending Story. There are a few deaths, a little profanity (from kids, but still), dark storylines, and the creepiest flying entity that ever existed in fiction, but it was rated PG. Now? It would be branded PG-13 right along with The Dark Knight. With the frightful homicidal menace created by Heath Ledger's Joker does that make sense to you? And remember, The Godfather is only a step up from that. What message do we send to our kids when we baby them with light fare before we inundate them with sex and violence? Is it any wonder our adolescents are so eager to grope for adult responsibilities WELL before they're ready?
Television shows for kids were also more mature then than now. Before the fluorescent blandness of "Saved By The Bell", "Diff'rent Strokes" approached dozens of controversial subjects from racial identity to class discrimination to pedophilia to bulimia and all while making you laugh heartily with their oddball family.
Other shows went just as far, if not further. "All In The Family" virtually bombarded us with racial issues as the main character Archie Bunker dealt with his own negative inclinations towards people of color...and everyone else too.
"The Facts of Life" was another show that used humor to share life lessons. It was about four girls going to boarding school, all coming from different backgrounds. One of the girls dealt with an attempted rape while another lost her virginity.
And "Mr. Belvedere" was about a British manservant that was working for an American family. Sounds like a simple context with no possibility for complexity. "Mr. Belvedere" was the television show was the first to introduce me to AIDS.
I'm not saying we need to dump adult themes and concepts on children as early as possible. I'm only suggesting that their young, but perceptive, intellects need be respected. Denying them the facts on adult responsibilities is an excellent way to ensure that they never learn to manage them properly.
Does that mean we need to throw a nipple or two (dozen) into Harry Potter? I don't know. Is Emma Watson 18 yet?
*I've watched "Sheena: Queen of the Jungle" thirty-two times and I don't even own it...yet.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Just Thinkin' Out Loud
Written two hours after the midnight end of Memorial Day:
Today is a good night to be drunk. As the sun dips below the horizon to lay amongst its heavenly harem the wind picks up. The breeze is relaxed. Strong enough to tickle the trees, making them sway with their subtle chuckles, but light enough to cool your freshly perspired brow of the otherwordly heat brought on by this deliciously delicious liquid fire.
My parents gave me a Macbook out of the blue. I don't know if it was because I'm a good son or because I'm spoiled, but I smile just the same typing on it like I am now. The alcohol makes the worlds of words flow easier. Like a breakdancer trying to seduce a ladyfriend with moves as fluid as the waters of Lake Michigan my mind fires soft synaptical seduction to make my fingers do precisely what it desires.
It's on nights like these that I feel my loneliness hardest. Enjoyment is meant to be shared and I'm having the time of my life. Writing on my porch gives me a piece of mind unlike anything else. The only thing better would be sharing it with someone. A lovely lass, fine as the sands of Hawaii and as lovely as the Rockies during a cloudless sunrise.
It's what we're all meant for really. Love. True love. It's an easy concept to imagine but near impossible to bring about. Someone who loves you for you and wants to help you be better. An ideal that we write songs, books, and movies about to no end should be as easily accessible as a pack of smokes or a greasyass hamburger. But it's not. Makes no sense to me. Do you understand?
Anyway, if you're gonna have a buzz alone make it a strong one. That way your senses aren't acute enough to focus on the lackings. The gaping holes in your heart . The empty hands desirous of the soft, giving flesh of another. Mouth closed, engaging no other minds or lips but those of the cold, dispassionate rocks glass.
Eeeeeyup. Nights like these are made for me. Forgetting my loneliness I can focus on the kid down the street in Spiderman pajamis, still up at this hour, and the parents who ain't watchin' him. The cat lady coughed inside her house. Amongst the several dozen cats she is either caring for or holding captive in her backyard I'm shocked I actually heard it. The car across the street is unfamiliar to me, but the one next to my house isn't. It belongs to the boyfriend of the large-breasted be-spectacled neighbor who is so keen to care for a cat that clearly despises her.
Nights like these are like meditation. A reboot for the mind where one can just sit down and let nature restore all the default settings anew, refreshed, ready for another round of corporate drudgery and minutiae minding. So, for right now, while I have the moment I'll take a deeeeeep breath.
*DEEEEP BREATH*
Aaahhh. So much better. Gimme the invisible touch of nature's hand any day. It's been a longass week and a hardass weekend. Thank God for tonight. Thank God for the breeze. Thank God for this computer. And thank God for the alcohol. I am blessed beyond imagining. Hallelujah. *Amen*
Today is a good night to be drunk. As the sun dips below the horizon to lay amongst its heavenly harem the wind picks up. The breeze is relaxed. Strong enough to tickle the trees, making them sway with their subtle chuckles, but light enough to cool your freshly perspired brow of the otherwordly heat brought on by this deliciously delicious liquid fire.
My parents gave me a Macbook out of the blue. I don't know if it was because I'm a good son or because I'm spoiled, but I smile just the same typing on it like I am now. The alcohol makes the worlds of words flow easier. Like a breakdancer trying to seduce a ladyfriend with moves as fluid as the waters of Lake Michigan my mind fires soft synaptical seduction to make my fingers do precisely what it desires.
It's on nights like these that I feel my loneliness hardest. Enjoyment is meant to be shared and I'm having the time of my life. Writing on my porch gives me a piece of mind unlike anything else. The only thing better would be sharing it with someone. A lovely lass, fine as the sands of Hawaii and as lovely as the Rockies during a cloudless sunrise.
It's what we're all meant for really. Love. True love. It's an easy concept to imagine but near impossible to bring about. Someone who loves you for you and wants to help you be better. An ideal that we write songs, books, and movies about to no end should be as easily accessible as a pack of smokes or a greasyass hamburger. But it's not. Makes no sense to me. Do you understand?
Anyway, if you're gonna have a buzz alone make it a strong one. That way your senses aren't acute enough to focus on the lackings. The gaping holes in your heart . The empty hands desirous of the soft, giving flesh of another. Mouth closed, engaging no other minds or lips but those of the cold, dispassionate rocks glass.
Eeeeeyup. Nights like these are made for me. Forgetting my loneliness I can focus on the kid down the street in Spiderman pajamis, still up at this hour, and the parents who ain't watchin' him. The cat lady coughed inside her house. Amongst the several dozen cats she is either caring for or holding captive in her backyard I'm shocked I actually heard it. The car across the street is unfamiliar to me, but the one next to my house isn't. It belongs to the boyfriend of the large-breasted be-spectacled neighbor who is so keen to care for a cat that clearly despises her.
Nights like these are like meditation. A reboot for the mind where one can just sit down and let nature restore all the default settings anew, refreshed, ready for another round of corporate drudgery and minutiae minding. So, for right now, while I have the moment I'll take a deeeeeep breath.
*DEEEEP BREATH*
Aaahhh. So much better. Gimme the invisible touch of nature's hand any day. It's been a longass week and a hardass weekend. Thank God for tonight. Thank God for the breeze. Thank God for this computer. And thank God for the alcohol. I am blessed beyond imagining. Hallelujah. *Amen*
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Too Young To Get Married
She was one of those young women that get overlooked at first glance: a short and skinny mid-40's housewife, she was 108lbs. of nothing special. Then I looked again.
The diminutive clothing was part-uniform and part-tactical camouflage. Her body wasn't "short and skinny", it was petite and lean. Maintained by either a high metabolism or Sensei-level StairMaster-ing she'd somehow managed to fight off the tricks of nature to retain her fighting form from high school.
She hid the good stuff under a blue apron the grocery required. Her lime green polo underneath it hung loose enough to disguise the bustline, but not the waistline. It was tucked into jeans that hung carefully on her soft, womanly hips but spread too far to reveal anything else. Looking at her sent my mind spinning around hints and allegory, pouring over all her physical details such as to stir fantasies about what she does when that blue apron hits the floor.
I'm lazy so I go grocery shopping every week. Unlike most people who seem to enjoy lugging hundreds of grocery bags into their homes once a month, I prefer to get it done with two or three bags once a week. I'd been at work, but I had some time still before I had to be on air. The grocery store was just across the street and I'd finished all my pre-air responsibilities. Off I went.
I was done in five minutes: Cabbage rolls, Mexican rice, fruits, chicken, soap, toothpaste, and I was walking up to the front to check out. She was waiting for me, all smiles. While she scanned my goods...wow...yeah, while she scanned my goods we spoke general pleasantries.
I wear one silver ring on the middle finger of each hand. I don't know why, but for whatever reason my mind insisted on it one day several years ago and I bought them.
"Oh, on your MIDDLE fingers. Ok. I thought you looked too young to be married!"
*Huh?*
"Ah! Heh heh, thanks!"
She spotted 'em while I was signing the credit card slip. I should have taken it as a compliment, but I couldn't. On the way back to my car I found reason after reason to discredit any favorable intent:
1) Calm down, everybody's nice in that grocery store.
2) Dude, you know she's probably half-blind, right?
3) Did you check behind you? Who knows who was there?
4) Probably a manager. Crowd was kinda thin. Maybe she's trying to increase return customership?
5) Maybe she knows I'm on the radio? I AM a celebrity now.
6) Did you look close? Maybe she had the crazy eyes?
7) Three words: New. Baby. Daddy.
8) You're three times her size. She was probably terrified!
9) Maybe her credit's bad and she needs a co-signer on a new car/new house/new implants?...
It went on and on. Odd thing is, I'm confident in myself and how I look. So why discredit her statement? Why would I care enough to spend so much mental doing so? Plus...I AM a celebrity. Shux, I'm hovering around local superstar now. Why get so peppered over a statement someone said in passing?
What bothers me most though is that I missed out on a PRIME flirting opportunity. Usually it takes some doing to turn my Flirt Switch to the "OFF" position, but somehow this cute little dame caught me without my Juju-Mooshoo. For that I am MOST ashamed.
So...I'm going back next week. Same time. Same place. I'm always good for an adventure.
The diminutive clothing was part-uniform and part-tactical camouflage. Her body wasn't "short and skinny", it was petite and lean. Maintained by either a high metabolism or Sensei-level StairMaster-ing she'd somehow managed to fight off the tricks of nature to retain her fighting form from high school.
She hid the good stuff under a blue apron the grocery required. Her lime green polo underneath it hung loose enough to disguise the bustline, but not the waistline. It was tucked into jeans that hung carefully on her soft, womanly hips but spread too far to reveal anything else. Looking at her sent my mind spinning around hints and allegory, pouring over all her physical details such as to stir fantasies about what she does when that blue apron hits the floor.
I'm lazy so I go grocery shopping every week. Unlike most people who seem to enjoy lugging hundreds of grocery bags into their homes once a month, I prefer to get it done with two or three bags once a week. I'd been at work, but I had some time still before I had to be on air. The grocery store was just across the street and I'd finished all my pre-air responsibilities. Off I went.
I was done in five minutes: Cabbage rolls, Mexican rice, fruits, chicken, soap, toothpaste, and I was walking up to the front to check out. She was waiting for me, all smiles. While she scanned my goods...wow...yeah, while she scanned my goods we spoke general pleasantries.
I wear one silver ring on the middle finger of each hand. I don't know why, but for whatever reason my mind insisted on it one day several years ago and I bought them.
"Oh, on your MIDDLE fingers. Ok. I thought you looked too young to be married!"
*Huh?*
"Ah! Heh heh, thanks!"
She spotted 'em while I was signing the credit card slip. I should have taken it as a compliment, but I couldn't. On the way back to my car I found reason after reason to discredit any favorable intent:
1) Calm down, everybody's nice in that grocery store.
2) Dude, you know she's probably half-blind, right?
3) Did you check behind you? Who knows who was there?
4) Probably a manager. Crowd was kinda thin. Maybe she's trying to increase return customership?
5) Maybe she knows I'm on the radio? I AM a celebrity now.
6) Did you look close? Maybe she had the crazy eyes?
7) Three words: New. Baby. Daddy.
8) You're three times her size. She was probably terrified!
9) Maybe her credit's bad and she needs a co-signer on a new car/new house/new implants?...
It went on and on. Odd thing is, I'm confident in myself and how I look. So why discredit her statement? Why would I care enough to spend so much mental doing so? Plus...I AM a celebrity. Shux, I'm hovering around local superstar now. Why get so peppered over a statement someone said in passing?
What bothers me most though is that I missed out on a PRIME flirting opportunity. Usually it takes some doing to turn my Flirt Switch to the "OFF" position, but somehow this cute little dame caught me without my Juju-Mooshoo. For that I am MOST ashamed.
So...I'm going back next week. Same time. Same place. I'm always good for an adventure.
Bone-Chilling Wednesday Wonderment
If you don't feel every inch of the first four minutes, then you may be a little broken inside.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Just When I Thought...
I was done being angry with these idiots.
REPORT: Cheney says Bush left GM bankruptcy for the next guy
REPORT: Cheney says Bush left GM bankruptcy for the next guy
Monday, June 8, 2009
Monday's Good Thing That Went Wrong:
MTV
Where once we watched normal-looking VJ's, music videos, technicolor promos, and out-of-control Spring Break Parties we have been overrun with the wet dreams of the beautiful people.
The gritty flavor of New York used to dominate popular culture from Headbanger's Ball to Yo! MTV Raps. Now, orange-skinned fake 'n' bake soccer moms and their spoiled broods determine what's fashionable through fakeass reality television while boys with pointy hair and skinny jeans play "rock music".
I was never a fan of long hair, makeup, and spandex. But there was no denying the supercharged masculinity of hair metal or the bare-chested, throaty magic of the blues-y, soul-powered rock that preceded it. And it was into this era that a young boy watched music be formed and reformed and translated through a channel dedicated to the celebration of the Treble and Bass clefs.
Watching MTV hurts now. Not just because it's no longer for me. More because what happened to MTV is what happens to all things: Bad people move in and steal the soul of the thing. The cancer of the Steroid Era hurt baseball. David Stern sold the soul of basketball to the highest bidder. And football is more concerned with having the latest American Idol participant sing the National Anthem than taking care of the men who bashed their heads to pieces in their service.
The death of MTV is the path all good things take to die. Thankfully their souls live on is us. But as I live and grow and think...I'm not so sure that's a good thing anymore.
Oh well. There's always SCinemax on Friday nights. And I hear Beach Blanket Bimbos 23 is gonna set the record for most nipples-per-minute!! BOOM!
Where once we watched normal-looking VJ's, music videos, technicolor promos, and out-of-control Spring Break Parties we have been overrun with the wet dreams of the beautiful people.
The gritty flavor of New York used to dominate popular culture from Headbanger's Ball to Yo! MTV Raps. Now, orange-skinned fake 'n' bake soccer moms and their spoiled broods determine what's fashionable through fakeass reality television while boys with pointy hair and skinny jeans play "rock music".
I was never a fan of long hair, makeup, and spandex. But there was no denying the supercharged masculinity of hair metal or the bare-chested, throaty magic of the blues-y, soul-powered rock that preceded it. And it was into this era that a young boy watched music be formed and reformed and translated through a channel dedicated to the celebration of the Treble and Bass clefs.
Watching MTV hurts now. Not just because it's no longer for me. More because what happened to MTV is what happens to all things: Bad people move in and steal the soul of the thing. The cancer of the Steroid Era hurt baseball. David Stern sold the soul of basketball to the highest bidder. And football is more concerned with having the latest American Idol participant sing the National Anthem than taking care of the men who bashed their heads to pieces in their service.
The death of MTV is the path all good things take to die. Thankfully their souls live on is us. But as I live and grow and think...I'm not so sure that's a good thing anymore.
Oh well. There's always SCinemax on Friday nights. And I hear Beach Blanket Bimbos 23 is gonna set the record for most nipples-per-minute!! BOOM!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)