Cheering Myself Up with Coconut Porn

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          The weather outside is absolutely wretched and I’m feeling tense and sad about traveling to see the Surgeon tomorrow.  I’m trying to adjust my mindset in order to protect myself—I have a lot of practice being emotionally impenetrable, for better or worse—but my relationship with him is very complex.
           
         I’d like to suck down a bottle red wine, but since that isn’t on Margo’s Menu of Life Choices these days, I guess I’ll rely on something else that usually raises my spirits: porn made out of coconuts! 
          
           Dolce & Gabbana ad campaigns are a pretty reliable source of coconut porn.  Most of them are pretty gay—so gay, in fact, that I’d wager lots of gay people find them embarrassing or offensive—but as I’ve said before, I have to work with what I’ve got.
        
         Take this ad, for example.  Like most D&G ads, this one is exceedingly weird.  I have no idea what the hell is going on here, and it certainly doesn’t make me think that I’d like to buy any of the clothes.  But I can tell you one thing—that guy with the eye patch can knock on my door any time he wants (the statue of the black dog is also a very nice touch):
          
Hellooo, Mr. Eyepatch! Nice hands, btw.  Would I were that black dog…
       This image is so beautiful that if I could get it reproduced as an oil painting, I’d hang it on my wall.  It looks like a painting, actually, instead of a photograph—note the formal, un-lifelike poses of the models, and the symbolic value of the props.  The scene shows a ceremony. The woman is the one is a position of power: she sits in a throne elevated off the floor, and hers is the only face turned outward towards the viewer.  See her tall leather boots—possibly the most fetishized item of apparel in the wardrobe.  The open chest by her throne is full of honors, and she bestows a golden laurel wreath upon the head of the man kneeling at her feet.  Notice that he doesn’t look her in the face.  None of them do.

click to enlarge
        I love this one.  It pretty much speaks for itself.  I love the way that well-dressed young mutt carries the bags and looks at her with that star-struck, dumb look on his face, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.  Adorable. Boys look so lovable when they’re dying to please. The woman has all the power here.  She knows it. 


     Last one for the day—hot men in discomfort, rowing!  I wish they made videos of shit like this; I’d watch them all day!  Sweating, straining, unhappy men rowing heavy oars!  Or, even better, digging pointless holes with shovels, and then being made to fill them back up—and then dig them again!   Woo-hoo!  Puts a big smile on my face just thinking about it.  And boy, did I ever need one.


A Dangerous Method

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     There’s a film coming out in November that I am curious about.  A Dangerous Method is about Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, a troubled female masochist, and the origins of psychoanalysis.  The source material is very rich, but there’s no room for error when you’re trying to make art out of people and issues like these.  Let’s be honest–the description reads like a Monty Python skit.  One wrong move and it all lapses into howling, unintentional comedy.  That Keira Knightley is the female lead doesn’t inspire much confidence, either.

     Anyway, the still shots released for promotional purposes have made me a very happy camper.  Into the Coconut Porn folder they go!

     This one is my favorite:

   
         Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at the right time, and you’ll never forget what you see–or, rather, who you see.  There are pieces of yourself, your identity, that you seldom express, or think about, or even acknowledge in your daily life…but you look in the mirror, and there they are, looking back at you through your face.  And they’re not just there, either–they’re running the show.  The part of you that you usually think of as you–the dominant narrator in your head–has been usurped.  Still along for the ride, but moved to the back seat.

Sneaker Ad, or Sexual Rorschach Test?

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    (…Is “sexual Rorschach test” redundant?)

    I’m introducing a new topic to this blog, a subject near and dear to my heart: Making Porn out of Coconuts.  I credit defunct blogger Bitchy Jones for coining the phrase. I believe it’s inspired by Gilligan’s Island or some similar lost-on-a-desert-island story, where the survivors have make everything they need to live out of coconuts and bamboo–hence, porn out of coconuts.

     I have to make porn out of coconuts because (as longtime readers of this blog have doubtlessly surmised) I’m a little weird.  I’m hardwired differently.  I wouldn’t say that my hardwiring is wrong (though it can be problematical and inconvenient), but it is, statistically speaking, definitely atypical (I prefer not to use the word normal for a reason that has nothing to do with my being defensive). Suffice it to say that I see erotic potential where others do not, and vice verse.

    Consider the following ad for Diesel shoes, which ran in magazines (where I came across it) a few years ago–I think around 2008.  I cut it out and put it in my Coconut Porn folder.  Then I got online and found a digital copy.

    Now, I’m pretty much a pure heterosexual, so two dudes are not particularly interesting to me, but whatever.  When you make porn out of coconuts, you can’t be too picky.  This is a very weird, very provocative picture.  It’s fascinating.  I try to understand what is going on.
 

Miss Margo sez: don’t ever say I never gave ya anything, good reader….click to enlarge

      Think of it as a projective psych test, like the TAT.  If you were describing the events in the photo as a story, what would you say? What do you think is going on?

      I was waxing rhapsodic about the photo to an old grad school friend who asked if he could take a look.  We are very close, so I let him have a gander.  He couldn’t make hide nor hair of it and he looked vaguely disturbed.

    “Okay–this is clearly the old guy’s house,” I effused, gesturing about the photo.  “See that old-fashioned armchair, the bowling trophies, the lace curtain tops?  Definitely the old guy’s house.  The young guy is visiting–he’s a hustler, a professional.  Look at how well-groomed he is, his unusual choice of clothes. The old guy paid the young guy to come over and rough him up.  The young guy is good at it–look at that sneer on his face, the shoe on the back of his neck!”

    My friend looked at me.  His expression was kind, but it was obvious that he thought I’d lost my mind.  “Oooo—kay,” he said.  “Well, that’s interesting.”

      Yes, it is interesting.  Very interesting, indeed!  I plucked it from his hands and put it back in the Coconut Porn folder for safekeeping.  Good porn like this does not just fall out of the sky, you know!

      This ad has a following on the web.  I knew I wasn’t the only one!!!  Would do anything to know who conceptualized it and how it got approved for distribution.

P.S.  Applied for two band-aid jobs this morning.  Found opening for position as legislative assistant that sounds interesting (unlike the band-aid jobs) and I plan to apply to that one, too, after I tweak my resume a bit.

Torture Me Please, Mr. Neeson

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This evening I came across the film Taken entirely by accident whilst channel surfing.  Normally I’d rather amputate my own arm with a chainsaw than watch an action movie, but when I saw Liam Neeson on the screen, I decided to give it a shot.   I am of the opinion that Mr. Neeson is one of the sexiest men walking around on God’s green earth. 
            HOTTEST MOVIE EVER!!!!  Why haven’t I seen this movie before…?!  It came out in 2008, for God’s sake!  I could have been jerking off to it for three years by now!  

           Yes, Taken is exploitive predictable trash.  So what.  I thought Neeson was hot in Kinsey (bizarre, I know, but that’s how I roll):  

            “If you think I’m irresistible as a tweedy 1940s Midwestern college professor, wait until you see me punch someone in the face!  By the way, Miss Margo is a very eager student.” 

          In Taken, Mr. Neeson is even older and gets to intimidate, torture, and kill dozens of other good-looking well-dressed men!  The violence is absolutely relentless!  Every ten seconds, he was kicking someone’s ass!  This film had it all.  Sex slavery (trafficking is grotesque, of course, but the way it’s portrayed in the movie is so preposterous that I could enjoy it guilt-free)!  Gorgeous French locations!  Home invasion!  Knife fights and hand-to-hand combat!  Liam Neeson!  A scene where the bad guys have Neeson tied up and suspended from a pipe on the ceiling!  Oh my God!  And Neeson is kicking all this ass in order to rescue his daughter, which excites my….ah…Freudian issues. 

            I was reheating a slice of pizza in the oven while I was watching the movie.  Burned the hell out of it—set off the smoke detector and scared the shit out of my birds. 
            Then I got online and read Roger Ebert’s review.  An excerpt:
 “Taken” reopens a question I’ve had. A lot of movies involve secret clubs or covens of rich white men who meet for the purposes of despoiling innocent women in despicable perversity. The men are usually dressed in elegant formalwear, smoke cigars and have champagne poured for them by discreet servants. Do such clubs actually exist?   http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090128/REVIEWS/901289987
            Excellent question, Mr. Ebert!  And if they do, where can I sign up?  Especially if I could be rescued by Mr. Neeson.  Or despoiled by Mr. Neeson.  Or beaten up by Mr. Neeson.  I wonder how much it would cost to hire Mr. Neeson to beat me up.  If he could be paid to do it in a film, I bet he could be paid to do it for real.  It would probably be really expensive, though.  Maybe I could send him an email and inquire.  
        “I am looking for this young lady, Miss Margo, so that I can beat her with a coathanger.  And then take her out for ice cream.”  

                   “I would rather be invading Miss Margo’s apartment at dinnertime!” 

            “I am even sexier than Dr. Drew Pinsky and this firearm is clearly a phallic symbol.”