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Sunday, October 21, 2007
My friend Donna Jacobs was killed in a motorcycle accident 2 nights ago. I found out yesterday and I'm still stunned.
Over the 20-plus years that I knew her, Donna remained perhaps the most bullshit-free person I knew. She spoke her mind with candor, but never with arrogance; she came on tough, and it was no act, but neither was her kindness or her sensitivity. Throughout the comings and goings of the various other friendships, romantic relationships, work and social situations that intersected our lives, we remained close despite having apparently little in common. The reason was simply that we enjoyed each other's company and had some kind of trust... an unforced, unguarded mutual respect that was occasionally contentious, but always with humor and always loving.
I believe she considered me a source of support and optimism (believe it or not) during some of her sadder times. I can say without qualification that in her I found a true friend, one who told me straight out when I fucked up, but gave a damn about why ...and how I'd unfuck back down. Donna was there with hugs when I lost loved ones, and there with more when the kids came along. And afterwards, and in-between. This seems like a given, but I've learned how rare it can be.
I don't want to write this entry, having decided to mainly treat the blog as a repository for silly bullshit and leave the highs and lows of life to those few who actually sit with me and talk about such things. But one of those precious people is gone and a brief toast is due.
I love you, Donna. Thank you and goodbye, dear friend.
Over the 20-plus years that I knew her, Donna remained perhaps the most bullshit-free person I knew. She spoke her mind with candor, but never with arrogance; she came on tough, and it was no act, but neither was her kindness or her sensitivity. Throughout the comings and goings of the various other friendships, romantic relationships, work and social situations that intersected our lives, we remained close despite having apparently little in common. The reason was simply that we enjoyed each other's company and had some kind of trust... an unforced, unguarded mutual respect that was occasionally contentious, but always with humor and always loving.
I believe she considered me a source of support and optimism (believe it or not) during some of her sadder times. I can say without qualification that in her I found a true friend, one who told me straight out when I fucked up, but gave a damn about why ...and how I'd unfuck back down. Donna was there with hugs when I lost loved ones, and there with more when the kids came along. And afterwards, and in-between. This seems like a given, but I've learned how rare it can be.
I don't want to write this entry, having decided to mainly treat the blog as a repository for silly bullshit and leave the highs and lows of life to those few who actually sit with me and talk about such things. But one of those precious people is gone and a brief toast is due.
I love you, Donna. Thank you and goodbye, dear friend.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
ALIVE WITH PLEASURE! When I was a kid, a guy named Wilson Bryan Key published SUBLIMINAL SEDUCTION, a book purporting to reveal, hidden in magazine advertisements, images of a sexual nature. The idea was that products would appear irresistible to consumers drawn to the image of, say, a vagina or penis, subtly airbrushed into the ice in a picture of a cocktail glass. The reader's subconscious mind registered the succulent cho-cha or proud bicho, deciding that if he or she bought and consumed a bottle of Smirnoff, they'd encounter pleasures more profoundly satisfying than a plain old boozy buzz.
The book created a brief stir as Key explained his theory on the Mike Douglas Show and other portals to enlightenment, and I for one spent a few months searching through mags with a magnifying glass in search of such erotic easter eggs; it was like "Where's Waldo" for the nascent deviate. They sure had my number.
I am not sure now that most of the pictures were ever really there, and chalk it up to the kind of creative woolgathering one does while gazing at clouds.
However, there's no doubt that sex is a big part of advertising, and no ad campaign exploited the carnal come-on better or more blatantly than Newport cigarettes' "Alive With Pleasure" series, begun in the mid-70s and, I think, still active in some diluted form (Given the pariah status of smokes in our health-minded era, they seem to have gone the minimalist route, paring down the already scant copy like huckster Samuel Becketts: my local gas station has a big metal sign in the familiar Newport font and colors, proclaiming either "Alive!" or "Pleasure!" ... I forget which).
Most cigarette firms pitched their wares with lifestyle images of classiness, virility, youth, and even political empowerment (Virginia Slims, the liberated woman's very own cancer stick), but Newport went directly for the crotch with stunning audacity. For someone attuned to the hidden image scare, Alive With Pleasure's unapologetic randiness was a reliable hoot. The ads appeared in mags ranging from Playboy to People to National Lampoon, and for maybe 15 years I'd eagerly seek out the familiar full-page ad to see what smut they cooked up this time.
I collected them, in fact, and here are a few for you.
(Well, I didn't collect 'em really... or "per se", to you pretentious types... I just remembered this crap and looked thru my archive of old mags)
As I locate some of my misplaced favorites, I'll add update entries, but for starters...
We begin with a less overt image, only to guide you gently into what will soon become a sucking maelstrom of sleaze. It nicely introduces the fundamental components of "AWP!" Note the young couple having outdoor fun. Note the Pet Sounds type and the vivid green (for the lights, yellow was used, and for some misbegotten non-menthol version, red, but this green is The Green).
Several other features will become familiar: the jizzmic splashes of water (or snow, in others, or even dripping white fringe on garments and cloth accessories)... the wide-eyed, wide mouth look of ecstasy on the gal - often on the guy as well - and the unorthodox handling of an inanimate object, in this case a raft.
Or IS IT just a raft? Here it is both yoni and lingam... she "alive" with the "pleasure" of coitus to the degree that her entire body is obscured... nay, overtaken by that one very special part. Brought to the fulfillment of erotic joy, she is "all 'gine" at last. He, grunting amidst the spuming sploosh of love's labors' won, carries his overinflated vehicle of lust like a man both burdened and suddenly, overwhelmingly free. Muscles tensed and eyes squeezed shut, he, also, is "all peen." The two-tone raft suggests this duo-genital conceit; in this ad, Newport artistically illustrates the vaunted ideal of man/woman physical communion: they've become as one in 'gasm.While we wind down this particular pictorial appreciation with a post-schtup cig, note also the catchphrase: "After all, if smoking isn't a pleasure, why bother." So casual! Why bother? Maybe 'cause I'm a HOPELESS FUCKING ADDICT, you bastards!
Dig this one, perverts! >>>>>
What can I possibly say? She's letting the hose discharge well clear of her mouth, the crafty vixen, but the blonde boy ain't complaining. After all, with that kung fu grip and the gentle application of teeth to her task, this gal ain't skimping on the technique.
Also observe the little array of Newport packs below the main image, all up 'n' at 'em like a mob of happy voyeurs.
But it ain't only the fellas who bother with this kind of pleasure!
Turnabout is fair play.
Eat that "pie", you rascal you! She raises her arm, victorious, now that she's found one hungry hunk adept at gobblin' the sweet treat to full complete (the guy to the right of them has a forlorn handful of drippy leavins; methinks he gave up early).
But Prince Charming didn't disappoint his lady fair. He's just come up for air with a look of "what a good boy am I" ...and how, brother!
But get a lungful quick... by the look of her hand pressing on your head, I think you're going down for seconds!
I feel like a porno Pete Smith.
How about a gallery of others... I'll let you supply the leering interpretations:
Bear in mind that the human psyche is a sophisticated, mysterious, complex and filthy thing. Advertisers know that by using certain "cues" they can inspire a circus of pornographic excesses in a reader's head. Let me show you a few Newport ads, and then clarify the intent by my own demystifying re-arrangements of the already hubba-hubba contents.I'd do anything for you, friends.
Now, my detail work only represents one interpretation... on aspect of the fuck-jolly madness implicit in these images. How about this, though?
Look at the size of THAT! Also, see any resemblance to the PLAYBOY logo?Sure, but consider:
Nannng! Naannnnggg!!!
I mean, it's there, if we have but eyes to see.
Well ain't this a happy foursome?
I mean, say no more, right? Sure, but dig deeper...Brokeback mountin' anyone? Howdy, pardner!
You SEE? THIS is what they want us to think about... all subconscious-like!!!!
And well, this one looks innocuous enough, but wait...
Boing!!!!
Kinda surreal, eh?
Sur-real it scares me!
How's that for getting "a little head?"
Ha ha ha!
puff puff... man I dig these menthols.
If you think I'm way out of line, check the position of the mandatory pack-o-smokes below the main photo. It says what I said, but ...like... subliminally.
And don't miss the slogan in this ad. Just so you don't waste a drop of my incredible wit. HA HA HA!!! What a cut-up!
Maybe I'm getting a little too into this...
...but after all, if creating a saucy blog entry isn't a pleasure, why bother?
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Some cogitations inspired by an entry in my buddy Don's excellent blog "Isn't Life Terrible" in which he notes a few things that rankle his ass.
"Not for nothing, but..." A phrase that has maddened me for years. The grammatical logic of it eludes me; it should mean "the following is being said for a good reason..." so why the "but?" I've often tried to break it down to explain its popularity... its "pop-necessity" or at least some credible theory as to its origin. For instance, there's this annoying "That's what I'M talking about!" The pop necessity here is a desire to sound like a confident jock. It's "I like this (car/song/member of the opposite sex/bar-b-q/etc.)" with an added air of playful arrogance culturally associated with "regular guys." These days, such catchphrases do well when they evoke the swagger of hiphop or cowboy hat bellicosity; they get old faster than you can say "bling" but that's part of the point of those things.
A great many people seem to relish the opportunity to groan in mock horror at the reminder of some personal fashion folly of yore: take the recent hubbub about mullets. I suspect that people wore these 'dos solely to wince at the memory of having done so; it's some kind of collective, long-term self-effacement ritual. Some guy who wore matching acid-washed jeans and jackets in 1986 even while delightedly noting how dweeby he looked in a leisure suited wedding photo from 10 years earlier now looks at an old vacation snap of himself in that acid-washed ensemble and "oh brothers" that same "oh brother, what was I thinking?"
Maybe you were thinking of this moment, o brother; you were anticipating another go at the ritual. This eventual opportunity to demonstrate that your taste has advanced since those silly days of yore but that, after all, you were one of the many and therefore not really so dorky after all. It's harmless enough, like the bogus "spontaneity" of wedding schtick: "Oh man, they shmushed cake on each other's faces... haha the best man is insulting the groom during the toast..." sanctioned, codified irreverence that points up the (real or imagined) warm camaraderie of the occasion.
But anyway, "Not for nothing, but..."
The gist of this cliche is actually: "I'm gonna put in my two cents here... it may sound mildly controversial, but is essentially the truth. It is the kind of commonsense observation I pride myself on having the chutzpah to state outright. You may or may not have thought of it and said nothing, but by gum I thought of it and here I am saying it. You are expected to agree, as it is inarguably factual and worth noting as such."
It's a fanfare that announces the variable statement which will follow; it's a bolder version of "Uh, confidentially..." which gets your attention by implying the secondary gist of the device.
This secondary gistage is invariably some sort of critical observation. One never says "not for nothing, but good pumpernickel is a real pleasure to consume." (for that you simply take a bite, swallow with satisfaction and bellow "now that's what I'm talking about!")
It's more often something like "not for nothing, but that pumpernickel he was raving about tasted more like an old Converse sneaker." (which you may well say privately, out of earshot of your sandwich-serving host, to whom you just bellowed "now that's what I'm talking about!")
"Not for nothing, but if that band succeeds it'll be a miracle." (Muttered confidentially after leaving your brother-in-law's showcase gig in Wantagh.)
"Not for nothing, but you'll never see that 20 again." (muttered knowingly to a pal who just loaned money to another pal.)
I have little doubt that numerous versions of these very "not for nothing, buts" have been invoked in reference to me, by the way. And not for nothing, as it turns out. But...
Is the "but" a buffer? A kind of "I sorta hate to say this..." added to cushion the main phrase? Dig: "Not for nothing: that guy should lay off the booze." I'm sure people use it this way, but it rings wrong. No longer conspiratorial, regular-guy observation, it now becomes didactic. "Now hear this..."
Anyway, it is truly a conversational gambit of, by and for dicks.
I conclude this topic with a digression about my Dad, who at some point in later life took up the pop witticism "that's what she said!" with alarming and inappropriate gusto. I say "inappropriate" not in the sense of "boorish" ...the whole idea of the phrase is to sound comically boorish:
Speaker A (trying to force a sofa through a narrow doorway): "...c'mon, push it harder! It's almost in!"
Speaker B (leering): "That's what she said!"
Speaker A (disgustedly chewing a bite of a sandwich on bad pumpernickel): "If I try to swallow this I'm gonna fucking hurl"
Speaker B (leering): "That's what she said!"
Now I like this kind of humor, to the chagrin of many people I know. Crude scatological, sexual or ethnic cracks uttered in full awareness of their turd-in-the-punchbowl potential. I may or may not appreciate it when others "play the boor" but I give myself wide berth, assuming that I am already viewed as an asshole anyway, and may as well enjoy the role's perquisites. But Dad, he was different. When I say "inappropriate" I mean "what th'...??" to wit:
Speaker A (game show mc announcing a player's status): "You are 2 questions away from winning that Pontiac!"
Dad (grinning widely): "That's what she said!"
Speaker A (family member noting the weather): "It's gonna start pouring any minute!"
Dad (grinning widely): "That's what she said!"
Now, my Dad was no idiot. So that leaves two possibles. Either he was losing his mind completely, which I doubt, since he also coined such late-life phrases as the sublime "that was a real roundabout nothing-of-shit!" So, then, Dad was an absurdist. That gentle version of Dada which his son relishes and his grand-twins have perfected. And absurdism is, triumphantly, for nothing. No buts about it.
"Not for nothing, but..." A phrase that has maddened me for years. The grammatical logic of it eludes me; it should mean "the following is being said for a good reason..." so why the "but?" I've often tried to break it down to explain its popularity... its "pop-necessity" or at least some credible theory as to its origin. For instance, there's this annoying "That's what I'M talking about!" The pop necessity here is a desire to sound like a confident jock. It's "I like this (car/song/member of the opposite sex/bar-b-q/etc.)" with an added air of playful arrogance culturally associated with "regular guys." These days, such catchphrases do well when they evoke the swagger of hiphop or cowboy hat bellicosity; they get old faster than you can say "bling" but that's part of the point of those things.
A great many people seem to relish the opportunity to groan in mock horror at the reminder of some personal fashion folly of yore: take the recent hubbub about mullets. I suspect that people wore these 'dos solely to wince at the memory of having done so; it's some kind of collective, long-term self-effacement ritual. Some guy who wore matching acid-washed jeans and jackets in 1986 even while delightedly noting how dweeby he looked in a leisure suited wedding photo from 10 years earlier now looks at an old vacation snap of himself in that acid-washed ensemble and "oh brothers" that same "oh brother, what was I thinking?"
Maybe you were thinking of this moment, o brother; you were anticipating another go at the ritual. This eventual opportunity to demonstrate that your taste has advanced since those silly days of yore but that, after all, you were one of the many and therefore not really so dorky after all. It's harmless enough, like the bogus "spontaneity" of wedding schtick: "Oh man, they shmushed cake on each other's faces... haha the best man is insulting the groom during the toast..." sanctioned, codified irreverence that points up the (real or imagined) warm camaraderie of the occasion.
But anyway, "Not for nothing, but..."
The gist of this cliche is actually: "I'm gonna put in my two cents here... it may sound mildly controversial, but is essentially the truth. It is the kind of commonsense observation I pride myself on having the chutzpah to state outright. You may or may not have thought of it and said nothing, but by gum I thought of it and here I am saying it. You are expected to agree, as it is inarguably factual and worth noting as such."
It's a fanfare that announces the variable statement which will follow; it's a bolder version of "Uh, confidentially..." which gets your attention by implying the secondary gist of the device.
This secondary gistage is invariably some sort of critical observation. One never says "not for nothing, but good pumpernickel is a real pleasure to consume." (for that you simply take a bite, swallow with satisfaction and bellow "now that's what I'm talking about!")
It's more often something like "not for nothing, but that pumpernickel he was raving about tasted more like an old Converse sneaker." (which you may well say privately, out of earshot of your sandwich-serving host, to whom you just bellowed "now that's what I'm talking about!")
"Not for nothing, but if that band succeeds it'll be a miracle." (Muttered confidentially after leaving your brother-in-law's showcase gig in Wantagh.)
"Not for nothing, but you'll never see that 20 again." (muttered knowingly to a pal who just loaned money to another pal.)
I have little doubt that numerous versions of these very "not for nothing, buts" have been invoked in reference to me, by the way. And not for nothing, as it turns out. But...
Is the "but" a buffer? A kind of "I sorta hate to say this..." added to cushion the main phrase? Dig: "Not for nothing: that guy should lay off the booze." I'm sure people use it this way, but it rings wrong. No longer conspiratorial, regular-guy observation, it now becomes didactic. "Now hear this..."
Anyway, it is truly a conversational gambit of, by and for dicks.
I conclude this topic with a digression about my Dad, who at some point in later life took up the pop witticism "that's what she said!" with alarming and inappropriate gusto. I say "inappropriate" not in the sense of "boorish" ...the whole idea of the phrase is to sound comically boorish:
Speaker A (trying to force a sofa through a narrow doorway): "...c'mon, push it harder! It's almost in!"
Speaker B (leering): "That's what she said!"
Speaker A (disgustedly chewing a bite of a sandwich on bad pumpernickel): "If I try to swallow this I'm gonna fucking hurl"
Speaker B (leering): "That's what she said!"
Now I like this kind of humor, to the chagrin of many people I know. Crude scatological, sexual or ethnic cracks uttered in full awareness of their turd-in-the-punchbowl potential. I may or may not appreciate it when others "play the boor" but I give myself wide berth, assuming that I am already viewed as an asshole anyway, and may as well enjoy the role's perquisites. But Dad, he was different. When I say "inappropriate" I mean "what th'...??" to wit:
Speaker A (game show mc announcing a player's status): "You are 2 questions away from winning that Pontiac!"
Dad (grinning widely): "That's what she said!"
Speaker A (family member noting the weather): "It's gonna start pouring any minute!"
Dad (grinning widely): "That's what she said!"
Now, my Dad was no idiot. So that leaves two possibles. Either he was losing his mind completely, which I doubt, since he also coined such late-life phrases as the sublime "that was a real roundabout nothing-of-shit!" So, then, Dad was an absurdist. That gentle version of Dada which his son relishes and his grand-twins have perfected. And absurdism is, triumphantly, for nothing. No buts about it.