the object of my desire

But, as communication in general tends to break down more and more, the existence of love becomes increasingly precarious. It is threatened on every side. Everything tends to reduce lovers to objects - Raoul Vaneigem, The Revolution of Everyday Life

A panel from a 1971 issue of Date With Debbi:


A sample letter from the advice column in a 1971 issue of Date With Debbi:


An excerpt from a feature on actress Maureen McCormick from a 1971 issue of Date With Debbi:

(The article also states that the then fifteen year old McCormick was 4'8" and weighed sixty-eight pounds "dripping wet".)

An advertisement from a 1971 issue of Date With Debbi:

"made of rugged vinyl"
Kraftwerk - Sex Object (English Version) (from Electric Café, 1986) - Cold, clinical, and precise.

Raquel Welch - I'm Ready to Groove (from the OST to A Swingin' Summer , 1965) - But are you?

one hundred hairs make a man

I was flipping though some old comics the other day when I came across this ad:


...and I got to thinking about my ranking on the Machismo Index, and how of late it seems to be dropping faster than this blog's Technorati authority score. Perhaps the addition of some facial hair would be just the ticket to turning things around. The only problem is that while I can grow wiry ginger-blonde stubble like nobody's business, after a week or so my masculine scruffiness tops out and refuses to cross the threshold into true beard and 'stache territory. (This is also around the time when my wife complains about how the stubble causes her to break out in hives when I give her a chaste peck on the cheek.)

So, Masculiner Co. of East Orange, New Jersey, can you and your MODOCRYLIC face toupees help me out of this frustrating dilemma? I'm putting my hopes and the contents of my piggy bank (eight bucks in total; I already have the sideburns covered the natural way) in your able hands.

Four to six weeks later.....


Hmmm... I was expecting a little something more from MODOCRYLIC, but it is certainly trimmable and easily styled with a pair of safety scissors. The verdict is still out on its net effect on my sense of manhood, though I have found myself experiencing random urges to swing by the local Harley dealership (and to send away fror literature about opening a southern fried chicken franchise). I also seem to have acquired a deep intuitive understanding of .38 Special's body of work, and have unconsciously found myself visiting online sporting goods stores to price gun racks for Super Lumina. It's a very curious phenom--

--HEY! ARE YOU LOOKING AT MY WOMAN? YOU BETTER NOT BE, LESS'N YOU FIND YOURSELF FACE DOWN IN THE PARKING LOT, BUSTER, LOOKIN' FOR YOUR MISSING TEETH.

Y'know, I think I'm better off just sticking with the peachfuzz Mother Nature gave me, along with those awkward pauses whenever a male neighbor or co-worker asks me if I caught the game last weekend.

Deee-Lite - You Sexy Thing (from the Dumb and Dumber OST, 1994) - I'd rather watch the Golf Channel than Dumb and Dumber (and I despise golf), but the soundtrack is better and more eclectic than it had any right to be. Echobelly? The Primitives? The Butthole Surfers? This trippy take on Hot Chocolate's signature song? Was there a mix-up in the post-production ADR between Dumb and Dumber and some psuedo-indie Gen X vehicle?

Sparks - Moustache (from Angst in My Pants, 1982) - Unforced idiosyncrasy and pop sensibility come so easily to the Mael Brothers, and make listening to this album a delightful, yet humbling, experience.

Desmond Dekker & The Aces - Fu Manchu (from Action! 1994) - Maybe that's the problem -- I should have checked the "Evil Overlord Variant" box on the order form. That version carries its own set of issues, however, such as the overwhelming compulsion to shout "Kill that meddling fool!" whenever someone pulls into a parking space before you or takes the last jelly donut during a staff meeting. Also: spontaneous outbreaks of maniacal chortling after getting back extra change from a vending machine purchase or unclogging the garbage disposal.

the gauntlet has been thrown down

Gee, I don’t know if I’m “man enough” for MegaForce. Can I have a few minutes to think about it? I never really envisioned a scenario where an ad for a Hal Needham movie (“a lousy Hal Needham movie” would be redundant) might force me to define my gender role in specific terms, so I’m a bit unprepared.

What definition of “man” are we talking about, anyway? Because certain popular assumptions about what the term entails preclude wearing a spandex unitard and having perfectly trimmed and moussed facial hair. I eschew tight fitting clothing for reasons of comfort and practicality. I do sport chin stubble more often than not, but that is less a conscious affectation of manliness than the fact that my hypersensitive skin rules out shaving more frequently than once a week.

I can confidently state that I do not ascribe to the notion of manhood as defined by Spike TV, Maxim, or other proponents of the “man as drunken, hairless ape, and that’s cool” school of thought. Nor do I have much fondness for the sensitive male/emo crowd and its passive-aggressive brand of machismo, either. (Especially, since in many cases it’s a false front to market one’s self romantically, rather than as an actual enlightened attitude.)

Yet the question remains: Where does my masculinity stand vis-à-vis Ace Hunter and his jet-powered supercycle?

It’s not that I put a whole lot of thought what having a Y chromosome means on a daily basis, though I’m not saying that in the sense of those color/gender-blind statements that are the province of the privileged, and used haughtily to duck the issues of bias or kick historical and cultural context to the curb: “I don’t see why having a cover depicting a black man getting burned alive should be any more offensive than one featuring a white man in the same situation.” I won’t pretend that gender doesn’t play a factor in what Andrew is, but in how I view myself, it doesn’t mean as much to me as it seems to with a lot of other guys. It’s simply a whim of genetic coding, and nothing I feel the need to “prove,” “assert,” or “defend.”

I’m sorry, Ace, I just don’t think it would work out between your organization of hi-tech mercenaries and me. Staking my sense of self-worth and perception of masculinity on my ability to foil Henry Silva’s terrorist army with a futuristic dune buggy doesn’t sit well with me. I wouldn’t say no to one of those bike decals, though, if you’ve any to spare…

For the musical portion of today’s program, here are two variants on the themes of masculinity and self – one from a 60’s psychedelic perspective, the other from an 80’s pop one.

Chopper – I Think I’m a Man (from Le Beat Bespoké, 2004)

Men Without Hats – Hey Men (from The Adventures of Women & Men Without Hate in the 21st Century, 1989)