Sunday, June 27, 2004 :::
 

Nobody Goes To The Dildo Shop Anymore…

I am a child of the 1970/80s which means I entered the professional and adult world (sometime called the “real” world) in the 1990s. I don’t remember a specific rite of passage and I didn’t get a certificate in the mail or anything, but apparently I am an established member of the Real fending for myself and making my own way. Anyway, I have come to see views and language change into and way beyond the realm of politically correct. In fact, I would be willing to bet that at the most advanced and progressive point in the development of our culture we have the weakest and most passive language than at any time of our history. So that having been said, let me get to my point.

The other day I was driving and heard an ad on the radio for a dildo shop. Now don’t all square on me or get uncomfortable when I throw the word dildo out there. It’s what they sell at these kinds of shops. It’s not a porn shop, they don’t sell skin flicks. It’s a sex toy shop. And what’s the biggest sex toy? A dildo! It’s like a hamburger joint that sells chicken and salads. They might carry a diverse selection of merchandise, but their bread and butter is dildos… or hamburgers…whichever, you get the idea.

The ad on the radio said to come on down to the “Lifestyle Accessory” store for all of your adult needs. Now as I noted, I am a child of this age of word softening. Most of the time we do it so that we can manipulate an image of what we are really talking about, but in this case they are giving the dildo shop a euphemistic name to keep the religious types off their backs. It’s like when you want to insult your boss in front of the kids so instead of cursing a blue streak about your boss you SPELL that you boss is a L-I-M-P-D-I-C-K-P-I-G-F-U-C-K-E-R. It’s the same concept, the renaming of a simple yet harsh thing (Dildo shop) with a more grandiose, harder to decipher (Lifestyle Accessory Store) name.

I guess it’s a little sad and it typifies the laughable hypocrisy of our false-innocent national self-image. Our nation makes the most in the world from the creation, packaging, and distribution of pornography. We consume more pornography than any other country (per capita or whatever other measure you break it down to). Yet at the same time we have DVDs of Little Red Riding Whore and Anal MILFS part 47 hidden in our sock drawer, in our nightstands we have the Bible so we have to pretend this chaste and righteous collective identity.

As a result consenting adults have to pull the brims of their hats down to their sunglasses and sneak into the Adult Lifestyle Store instead of the way is used to be when people strolled into the dildo shop before they went home and fucked. Call me crude, but you get the point. By changing the language of the locations you change the feelings and ideas associated with the act.

DILDO = SEX TOY = ADULT LIFESTYLE ACCESSORY= BULLSHIT.

::: posted by Mike at 4:37 PM

Friday, June 11, 2004 :::
 

Ironic Flowers

I guess you can call it can end to an era when the icon of that era falls into eternal slumber. And though it’s not as if we were in regular contact or even given glimpses of the man behind the illness, we still sort of knew he was out there. Even while his absence or condition was mourned, his life still ticked on… well into new eras, past time of need, into a relevance found only in allegory or soundbyte. But the fact remains he is now dead and with him dies the lingering vestiges of a world we don’t inhabit anymore.

Enough will be spoken of the man, his accomplishments, feats over adversity or controversy or archaic social doctrine. Flags are flying at half-staff. Mourners gathered roadside to watch a steely black stallion trot with forlorn purpose, boots turned backwards in its stirrups. The Cowboy would never ride again… not on this frontier at least. An internet that wasn’t even in existence when the man lived his life will be filled with photographs, and eulogies, and fond remembrances of that life.

We can have ceremonies and death marches down the main Main St. of America. We can write poems or give speeches. We can share tales or show footage of a warrior doing battle in the Cold with enemies dark and uncertain. We can laugh at the jokes that never go out of style. And we celebrate as we mourn. We can have a day of national remembrance where banks will close, business will cease, and commerce will come to a screeching halt. And in the end it is the best we can do. As a token of our love, of our pride, of our loss, our hero worship… we scatter at the grave marker our ironic flowers: cease our markets in tribute of a great capitalist; cry as we lower into the earth the remains of a man who on more than one occasion made us laugh. As feeble as it is, this what we do.



The above photo of Ronald Reagan was drawn by politcal cartoonist Jim East. He was the father of a friend of mine. He died of Lukemia in the early 1990's. I never met him but had the chance to look through his sketch book once. I made scans of a few pictures never knowing what I would do with them. This was always my favorite.

::: posted by Mike at 3:45 AM