Some People . . .

crowdPeople are wonderful creatures.  They come in infinite varieties, and just when you think you’ve got them figured out, they come up with something completely different and surprise you.  It’s no wonder so many psychiatrists need therapy.  I’ve studied people (informally) most of my life, and I’ve arrived at a few interesting conclusions.

Some people are not supposed to swear.  I’m not talking about nuns or like that; I’m talking about the folks who don’t get it right.  The ones who are trying way too hard to sound badass, and it just comes out weird.  It’s as if they saw the words in a book and looked up the pronunciation.  (Adding the final “g” is always a dead giveaway.)

Some people stink.  No, not poor personal hygiene — that’s different.  These are the folks who apply fragrance like it’s a contest.  The ones who leave that tinny taste in your mouth when they walk past you.

Some people can’t tell a good story.  They start off alright, but then they wander all over the place, trying to explain every detail.  So, what begins as a quick-and-dirty about getting caught in the cat-door fades away — finally — ten minutes later, somewhere in Michigan, riding in Uncle Benny’s green ’82 Pontiac.

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to drink.  Sad people, angry people, touchy/feely people, people who cry a lot, but mostly those people who have one glass of wine and act like they’re auditioning for a Seth Rogen movie.

Some people shouldn’t be parents.  We all know who those people are.

Some people work for the government.  These are the people who know all the rules, what documents you need and what forms you have to fill out, but they take a perverse pleasure in keeping all that information secret for as long as possible.

Some people don’t own a mirror.  There’s no other logical explanation.  Why would anybody (who can see themselves) go out in public wearing an electric-pink angora sweater, matching hat, Daisy Duke short shorts and lumberjack work boots?

But my favourite is:

Some people aren’t all that smart.  This isn’t a problem; it’s just a fact.  The problem is the rest of us are too scared to mention it because of — uh — Stupid Shaming? — or some other such nonsense.  The result is the world is full of stupid people, running around doing stupid stuff, and we all have to act like we don’t notice.

Hugh Hefner — 1926 – 2017

playboyHugh Hefner is dead, and I’m not feeling that well myself.  It’s too bad the old boy turned himself into such a caricature because, now, blinded by the neo-Victorian morality of the 21st century, all we can see is boobs.  However, I’m certain history will absolve him.

Hugh Hefner was a uniquely American phenom who, like Joseph Pulitzer and William S. Paley, saw an empty space in the media marketplace and filled it.

In the early American 1950s, World War II was still fresh, but the soldiers were home. They’d gotten the girl next door, a couple of kids, a corporate job, and a GI Bill of Rights house in the suburbs.  Life was ordinary again, and these aging ex-warriors found themselves losing their hair and their testosterone, sitting on the sofa night after night with Milton Berle and I Love Lucy.  Then came Playboy.  It was a full colour glossy, foldout fantasy of all the things a 30-something family man thought he shoulda/coulda/woulda done with his life.  It was urban cool — sweet jazz, dry martinis, deep-throated stereos, street muscle cars and beautiful women.  It set the standard for hip because anybody who was anybody appeared in the pages of Playboy.

There’s no doubt our world thinks Hugh Hefner belongs to a different time and his creation Playboy is a misogynist relic.  However, here’s something I wrote two years ago that shows just how large an impact Playboy had on our society.

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October 16th, 2015

Now that Playboy Magazine has renounced nudity, it’s become an easy target — a misogynist relic of the 20th century — more silicone than substance.  Perhaps — I don’t know — like most people, I don’t actually read Playboy anymore, so I’m in no position to judge.  However, I do know this.  If you’re over 35 and not dead, you’re part of the massive impact Playboy has had on our society.

Take a look:

The Playboy Interviews read like a history book of our times:

Malcolm X, Jimmy Hoffa, Federico Fellini, Fidel Castro, Orson Welles, Ralph Nader, Marshall McLuhan, Ray Charles, Germaine Greer, Tennessee Williams, Jimmy Carter, Barbara Streisand, David Frost, Marlon Brando, G. Gordon Liddy, Lech Walesa, Ansel Adams, Jesse Jackson, Carl Bernstein, Imelda and Ferdinand Marcos, Yasser Arafat, Donald Trump, Martin Scorsese, Michael Jordan, Salman Rushdie and on and on and on.

In one single year, 1964, Playboy interviewed Vladimir Nabokov, Ayn Rand, Jean Genet, Ingmar Bergman and Salvador Dali.  And Playboy didn’t just follow what was trending; it tried to understand.  It interviewed Martin Luther King Jr. at the height of the Civil Rights Movement in 1965; Timothy Leary, when mainstream drug use was a brand new phenom in ’66 and Steve Jobs, immediately after getting booted out of Apple in 1985.  Plus, Playboy took some chances, like sending Alex Haley, the author of Roots, to interview George Lincoln Rockwell, the leader of the American Nazi Party.

Yes, Alex Haley wrote for Playboy and so did Norman Mailer, Gay Talese, Hunter S. Thompson and Gore Vidal.  There were others too, but the list of fiction writers is even more overwhelming:

Joseph Heller, Roald Dahl, Ian Fleming, Margaret Atwood, Haruki Murakami, Ray Bradbury, Bharati Mukherjee, Jack Kerouac, Kurt Vonnegut, Joyce Carol Oates, Philip Roth, Ursula Le Guin, Martin Amis and, once again, on and on — including four Nobel Prize winners: Saul Bellow, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Doris Lessing.  In fact, if it wasn’t for the boobs, Playboy would be considered a literary magazine — one of the best.

But what about those boobs?

Some of the most beautiful women in the world have voluntarily taken their clothes off for Playboy:

Farrah Fawcett, Olivia Munn, Robin Givens, Katarina Witt, Ursula Andress, Tia Carrere, Kim Basinger, Elle Macpherson, Kate Moss, Catherine Deneuve, Shari Belafonte and Raquel Welch among many, many others.  The numbers alone take Playboy pictorials beyond sleazy.  Besides, is there any great distance between Charlize Theron and Titian’s “Venus of Urbino” or Naomi Campbell and Goya’s “The Nude Maja?”  Argue all you want about objectifying women, but if you want a lesson in that, go to the pages of Vogue or Fashion or Harper’s Bazaar.  Rhetorically speaking, is a pouting, uber-skinny supermodel a more acceptable female image?  Or is it just that she’s covered up the naughty bits?

At 62, Playboy Magazine is old and grey and nodding by the fire.  In a one-click universe where the most outrageous porno is at your fingertips and few people are willing to wade through serious pages of unbroken prose, Playboy is passé.  Eventually, it will dissolve into history — the history it helped shape.  Like it or not, Playboy changed the world — no doubt.  But, mostly, it let us be adults about sex and it single-handedly transformed sexuality from Downtown smut to Uptown sophistication.  It made smart sexy, and that’s what made Playboy cool.

Today, I’m Tired!

tiredNormally, living in the 21st century is a bundle of fun.  It’s an hilarious existence — with politicians, celebrities, journalists and a ton of regular folk writing pee-your-pants comedy for us on a daily basis.  However, every once in a while, it just gets old.   I think it’s the relentless silliness of it — like too many Jim Carrey movies.  The utter nonsense, day after day after day, just wears a person out.  When I was young, my mother used to say, “I’m not tired today, dear, I’m weary … in my bones.”  It took me many years to figure out what she meant.  So, today, here are a few things I’m weary of … in my bones.

Awareness — I’m tired of everybody and his friend “raising awareness.”  Who the hell on this planet isn’t aware of poverty, or cancer, or AIDS or the plight of the homeless?  Ask anybody!
“Hey, buddy!  Are you aware of the plight of the homeless?”
“The who?”
“The homeless!  People with no place to live. ”
“Nope, it’s not ringing any bells.”
“People who live on the streets.  The homeless!”
“Sorry, never heard of ’em.”

“Raising awareness.” is the crack cocaine of slacktavists.

Young Environmentalists — Look, ya little Green Meanie!  My generation didn’t ruin the environment;  yours did.  I’m not even going to give you chapter and verse on this one: the litany of your sins is too long.  But here’s one example: when I was a kid, we had a telephone.  It sat on the wall and the whole family used it for nearly 20 years — never replaced/never repaired.  My friend’s granddaughter isn’t even 18 yet, and she’s had four different phones (that I know of.)  Each one of them was manufactured in Asia, wrapped in plastic, put in a box, transported to North America on an oil-guzzling cargo ship, unloaded onto a diesel-swilling train and taken half away across the continent.  Then it was loaded onto a fossil-fuel-eating truck and driven to the store.  Do the math!

The Anti-Christian Crusade — I’m not particularly religious, but I’m totally tired of evangelistic atheists constantly trying to covert me.  You anti-Christians are worse than Jehovah’s Witnesses!  Personally, I’m overjoyed that you have this incredible insight into the workings of the entire universe.  Good for you!  However, reminding people, at every turn, how idiotic they are to believe in God is just way too preachy for me.  Here’s an idea.  If you’re so convinced that God doesn’t exist, why don’t you go find some Muslims?  Pester them and see how far it gets ya!

Blaming Me For Everything — I’m an old, heterosexual, white male — and I’m mortally tired of getting blamed for everything that’s wrong with this world.