Imaginary Boyfriend: Elvis Presley

Well, it’s Christmas Eve. I have to suffer through Christmas tomorrow. I thought I’d celebrate with another Imaginary Boyfriends post!

Elvis Presley.

I gravitate towards blondes, but was there a more handsome man on the planet?  And couldn’t he rock out?  Couldn’t this guy sing? Listen to the MUSIC. This stuff had piano and horns in it. What happened to rock n roll? It was folksy and bluesy. I know he ripped off Black artists, but, jeez.

I’ve read three biographies about him. He became totally deranged in later adulthood. Very sad, but not surprising when you live in a fishbowl.

My father saw him in Oklahoma in the 50s, when he was still very young (both my father and Elvis). Claimed the performance was “electrifying.” If he could get my German-American father to dance, he was doing something right.

My mother saw him twice. The first time, she said he was great.  The second time, in the 70s, she said he was sweating his ass off and kept forgetting his lines.

The addict in me really sympathizes.

The man came from dirt poor Tupelo, of all places, and conquered the music world. Wasn’t a half-bad actor, either, though he mostly got crappy rolls.

He didn’t deserve to die the way he did. If he was born in more modern times, he could have gone to rehab.

Men Glorious Men

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     Did you know that you can find pictures of everything on tumblr…?  Everything!  Everything!  I could waste the rest of my life there looking at photos of attractive older men (FYI: I went out with my girlfriends the other night.  When the talk invariably turned to men, we conducted a little informal poll.  Guess who’d been with the oldest man?  If I don’t date someone younger next time, they’re going to stage an intervention for me).

This blog needs an Imaginary Boyfriend update.  Exactly what my 8 readers, all of whom are dudes, really want, I’m sure.  

A man reading, with a pocket puppy.  Ooo-la-la!  If I was dictator of the universe, all men would carry pocket puppies!  The world would be perfect! 

What is that thing the kitten is sitting on?  And the pipe makes it for me. lol.

Hello, beautiful creature!  For once, a man with a camera who doesn’t piss me off. 

     This one has nice soft eyes that I find very attractive…

soft eyes

   Freckles!  He is sort of young, but whatever. I would eat him like the cookie monster.  nom nom NOM!

nom nom NOM

     This one is an fencer who competed in the Olympics.  Just kill me now and get it over with. 

COWBOYS!  I’d never marry one because that would necessitate living in the country, but damned if a lot of them aren’t beautiful, and they are tough

lord have mercy

Isn’t this illustration beautiful?  You can click to enlarge.

beautiful illustration

looks a bit like my Dad

     I’m not huge into uniforms, but look at these!  They look kinda fussy to be practical.  I like the colors and leather bits, though.  Can anyone identify them for me?  Are they authentic, like from a time period?  Turn of the century, or maybe WWI?  Obviously the photo itself is contemporary.  I’m just wondering about the clothes. 

It looks English to me for some reason.  Maybe this is what they wore when they were busy oppressing Kenyans.  

Don’t waste that crop on a horse!  Beat Miss Margo with it instead!  PLEEZE!

     Here, I’ll post this one for the dudes.  If you got down to the bottom of this idiotic post, you deserve something, and I found this kinda Femdomme-ey.  These ladies are beautiful, and check out those boots!

     If you don’t find them sufficiently intimidating, just think: every last one of them is coming for your JOB.  And we could end illegal immigration tomorrow if we posted those babes at the border.  Hell, maybe we could hire them!

     God, I wish I could get my mitts on one of those uniforms.  I could wear it at the Studio and make a mint.  

P.S.  Military parades freak me the fuck out.  Like, yikes.  But I bet this part–with the female soldiers–was the crowd’s favorite part of the whole parade, lol.  

Men in My Life: The German, the Dane, and the Imaginary Cannibalistic Serial Killer & Culinarian

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    I dunno about The Painted Word, man.  Tom Wolfe is very witty, but like Christopher Hitchens, he rubs me the wrong way.  MMM.

                           *                      *               *                  * 

     I told my analyst about my birthday gift to myself, my Abduction Weekend.  I shared some humorous anecdotes and told her about some of the things that happened that I can’t tell anyone else, like some of the sexual details.

      “What did you like the most about it?” she asked me.

      I had to think about that one for a minute.

      “It was an adventure.  I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.  I was afraid, and that was very exciting.  I knew it was dangerous.  And it was fun to be at the center of all that male attention.”

      I paused.

      “I didn’t think about the Mathematician once the entire weekend.  Now I have a bunch of fun new sex memories in my head, instead of the old ones with him that were intrusive and still hurt me to think about,” I said.  I felt myself smiling, but it didn’t feel like a gentle smile.  It felt like more of a sneer.  It probably wasn’t nice to look at.  

      “Were you attracted to any of the men?”

     “Oh yes, definitely, to a greater or lesser extent.  I’ve always thought Heinrich was very attractive, I just never acted on it because I didn’t want to fuck up the friendship.  I wasn’t attracted to that meathead Dudebro until the very end, but I figured out exactly why Heinrich asked him to be there.”

      “Why is that?”

      “Hatred is an aphrodisiac.  So is anger.” 

                *                       *                   *                    * 

       Speaking of aphrodisiacs, I’ve been watching the new TV series Hannibal, and I find myself utterly captivated by Mads Mikkelsen:

“Miss Margo, I see you are admiring my suit.”

     It’s embarrassing to admit to having a crush on a ludicrous character wikipedia describes as “a brilliant forensic psychiatrist, cannibalistic serial killer and culinarian.”  I’m crushing on him nonetheless.  It’s silly and harmless enough, right…?  

      The other Dane (Mikkelsen is Danish) in my life, Fortinbras, gave me a book to read: The Painted Word, by Tom Wolfe.  The last time I was at his apartment we were discussing the art critic Robert Hughes, and Fortinbras went to one of his bookcases and selected the Wolfe book for me.  I’m going to start reading it tomorrow.  

       I like Fortinbras.  I am also completely sure that he is going to try to have sex with me.  Then I am going to have a decision to make.  

      (Tangentially, this is something I couldn’t help but notice: my submissive or masochistic clients, who hire me as a domme, almost never proposition me for sex.  In my entire career, I’ve only been asked maybe two or three times from the subs, and they seemed to think it was a total longshot because when I politely declined, they apologized and backed off immediately.  I have no idea if they entertain the fantasy or desire–I hardly see how at least some of them could not–but for whatever reason, they don’t ask.

      The male Tops that hire me, on the other hand, eventually push the sexual boundaries.  The only one that has not tried to fuck me is Mr. Wolf, and I think that the only reason he hasn’t is because he probably gets more ass than a toilet seat every other night of the week.  I am probably his kinky night off.  

       Why do the male Tops always end up making a pass?  Is it because they’re paying so much?  Is it part of the power trip?  Do they think “I’m in charge here!  Why am I sexually frustrated?”  Is it just because men try to have sex with you, or what?)

         I can’t take a photograph of Fortinbras, but I will try to sneak a pic of his odd but lovely clothing.  I mean, who the hell wears an ASCOT?  Fortinbras looks a bit like a 60-year-old Richie Rich:


NASA Mohawk Guy: Awesome Nerd of the Moment

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    When I was a little girl, all the kids wanted to be astronauts.  Can you imagine?  It was the end of the Cold War, and the space race was part of the dick-swinging competition we had going on with the Soviet bloc.  NASA was glamorous.  The rich kids at school went to astronaut camp in the summertime.  They brought back samples of astronaut food, like dehydrated ice cream and shit.  It was very fashionable.  Can you imagine?  Is there a single kid in the USA who wants to be an astronaut today?  Hell, can you imagine if the USA had enemies who were white people who could do calculus?  White people with a navy?  Recipients for the nobel prize in science?  HOW ROMANTIC…!  

        But I digress.

        I bring this up because I was watching parts of the video feed of those NASA guys landing that “Curiosity” robot on Mars.  I’d forgotten NASA even existed.  Talk about some Cold War dinosaurs!  But I have to say: I was really happy for them.  They were so happy when they landed that robot!  They were crying!  I cheered for them.  GOOD JOB, GUYS!

        I was talking about it with some girls at this campus where I tutor today.  

          “Did you see the hot mohawk guy?” one of the girls asked me.

         I thought she was making a joke.  “A mohawk guy?  At NASA?  What, like an engineer punk or something?”

         “Yeah!  He’s, like, a twitter sensation!” she said.

         I had to see this for myself.  I don’t remember a hot mohawk guy!

          Meet Bobak Ferdowski (do names get any nerdier?), hot NASA mohawk guy:

Bobak Ferdowsi - NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab Holds Viewing Of Mars Curiosity Rover Landing
He is cute…but I am oddly fascinated by the longhair…

Yellow stars?  What? 
Bobak Ferdowsi - NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab Holds Viewing Of Mars Curiosity Rover Landing
Tears of joy at successful robot landing!

            I tried to find video of this guy.  I had to see if he wasn’t just, like, some engineer’s teenaged son who was brought in on “Go To Work With Your Parents” day.  

        Of course, the internet obliged.  The internet hath everything, doth it not?  

         Mr. Ferdowski is actually really, really smart (waaaay smarter than Miss Margo, that’s for sure!) and he has a very nice disposition!  I can’t remember the last time I saw someone this smart on television who was not also some hideous, demented political creature or an opportunistic pundit.  Three cheers for you and your NASA colleagues, Mr. Ferdowski.  You guys are a class act.  It’s nice to see someone on TV for doing something admirable for a change.  “If my mohawk gets people excited about science, then that’s what I’m all about!” he says.  COOL!

       Here’s his interview.  Cool guy, huh?  

Torture Me Please, Mr. Neeson (II)!

Update 4:45 PM:  I stand corrected.  This movie is actually pretty damn lame.  These CGI wolves look awful!  Whose retarded idea were they?  Why couldn’t they use real wolves?

    Oh well.  I’ll still watch the movie at least once more.  Who am I kidding?  

                          *                          *                       *       

  I’m watching this movie called The Grey while I bake cookies to take to my crispy burnout AA meeting.  

       I hate action movies, but this one is really good!  And have I mentioned today just how damn HAWT Liam Neeson is…?  Lord have mercy!  How is it possible for a man to be this attractive?  Oh my God! I’m only twenty minutes into it, and I’m probably going to have to take a break and run to my room and get off! 

Why yes, Miss Margo, I am the most sexy man in the world.   See you at 8? 

       The airplane crash scene was scary, though.  I hate airplane crash scenes.  I’m scared to fly in planes.  

      How can I meet this spectacular man and persuade him to rough me up a little (or a lot)…?  Does anyone have any recommendations?   Think I could somehow hire him to do it?  If he hits people in movies, he could do it for real.  How much do you think it would  cost?  

       He also looks really big.  When he dies, he should donate his massive cranium to science.  It looks as big as the faces on Mount Rushmore.  Yikes.  

      Now he’s fighting a huge CGI wolf with his bare hands.  HAWT!

      I gotta set a timer.  Otherwise I’ll burn the cookies for sure.   

Imaginary Boyfriend: Max Keiser

     I discovered Max Keiser when journalist Matt Taibbi linked to Keiser on his blog.  As soon as I closed my mouth and put my eyeballs back in my head, I started watching every Keiser Report I could get my hands on.  

     I love Keiser.  He’s kind of scary because he’s fearless and he has a weird sort of manic energy, but I fucking love him.  He always sticks up for the underdog. The man will fight with anyone.  Nobody intimidates him.  He’s like Michael Moore on Moore’s best day–he has absolutely no problem with getting up in some swine’s grill and holding them accountable.  It’s breathtaking to watch.  I especially love it when he gets an interview with some bigshot corporate apologist and Keiser tells him that he ought to be shot.  Miss Margo is too polite (or too cowardly) to say that to someone’s face, but boy oh boy, do I think it.  I’ve mellowed a lot since the days when I was active in a Socialist youth group (“It’s a labor rights organization, Mom,” I’d say, as I returned from stuffing radical tracts in library books about Karl Marx), but I’ve still got a streak in me a mile wide.  Keiser has the right idea. Bring back the guillotine and the gulag, and do it right this time.

       Keiser is also really funny, and he pulls these wacky stunts on his show that make me do a double take.   He might actually be a little crazy.  One time he put pantyhose on his head like a bank robber and imitated a Financial Services thief.  I laughed so hard I choked on my breakfast cereal and started fist-pumping the air.  

        They won’t let him on a lot of mainstream media, but you can find him all over the internet and on good shows like Russia Today.  I love his blog, too.  Actually, I think I’ll link to it.  

       And he lives in PARIS!  How awesome is that?   I love Paris!  It’s beautiful there!  I wish I was in Paris with Max Keiser RIGHT NOW!

       Mr. Keiser: if you ever need a place to stay in New York, you can stay with me!  I would also like to offer my companionship and a lifetime supply of blowjobs on demand.  Just ask!  I’ll hook you up!

Eating with President Obama

Then Senator Obama prepares to eat as he visits the Dooky Chase restaurant in New Orleans, February 7, 2008. REUTERS-Carlos Barria

This slideshow cracked me up:

The Presidential Diet.  President Obama eating things.  

I’m not an Obama fanatic, but I must admit that the man is hugely, hugely CUTE.  When he was elected, I remember considering that he was the only president I could think of who made me want to be his friend.  He seems younger than he is, too.  Personality-wise, I think he is probably younger than me (well, maybe not anymore.  The presidency seems to slap the youth and vigor out of everyone who holds the office.  It’s like it causes them to age three times as fast as everyone else.  I’m fascinated by before-and-after presidential photos).  

4:30 AM…yeah, I have insomnia tonight…. 

Then Democratic presidential candidate Senator Barack Obama sips his drink as speaks to a group of woman during a round table discussion in Charleston, South Carolina, January 25, 2008. REUTERS-Joshua Lott
Smoldering Coffee-Drinking Presidential Charisma 
President Obama eats a nectarine following a town hall meeting at Kroger's Supermarket in Bristol, Virginia, July 29, 2009. REUTERS-Pete Souza-The White House
“I hope you already paid for that nectarine, Mr. Obama!”  Kidding.  The President at a grocery store.  For some reason, this really, really weirds me out.  But presumably, he used to go to the store like a normal person all the time.  Can you imagine the president shopping for fish sticks and ripe avocados?  

Some Girls Wander by Mistake into the Mess that Scalpels Make

     I have been in thrall to Leonard Cohen since I discovered him when I was 20 years old and I would happily give him my soul in a McDonald’s Happy Meal box if he asked.  Or even if he didn’t.

      If you don’t know who Leonard Cohen is, I advise you to run over to YouTube and start listening without delay!  Without delay!

      What accounts for his appeal…?  Even in his youth, he couldn’t sing worth a damn–his voice was simply serviceable, at best.  His music is not complex.  Understated.  He’s plain to look at and doesn’t command attention–in live performances, his backup singers usually steal the show.  He’s probably eighty years old.

     However, I cannot think of a better songwriter.  Period.   And not only is he an excellent poet, but he puts himself out there–100%, all the time, in every song.  His songs are breathtakingly intimate.  I honestly don’t know how he does it.  I spill my guts on this blog, but it is a constant effort. I still usually pull back, pull back.

      So sensitive, and such courage.

      That is what makes art.

What I Want for Christmas: Torture Me Please, Mr. Fiennes

YAAAAY I mailed my rent check!  YAAAY I mailed my rent check!  Now that that’s taken care of, I can turn my attention to more important matters: imaginary boyfriends!

      What imaginary boyfriend are we up to now?  I think #7.  I will have to check.

       Anyway, I’ve had the most crushable crush on Ralph Fiennes since I was 12 years old.  Of my prepubescent crushes, Mr. Fiennes was the last, and by far the most enduring (the other two are Yul Brynner and, to my eternal shame, William Shatner.  Captain Kirk, actually.  What a corny sexist oinker Kirk was!  Today I’d throw my drink in his face.  But when I was a kid, I thought he was hawt.  Incidentally, I also wanted to be the mermaid on the Chicken of the Sea can ).

Miss Margo’s Dream Job, age 7!

       Mr. Fiennes is a terrific actor and I think that he is so goddamned beautiful that he does not seem to be human.  I mean, really–insofar as beauty is concerned, I do not see how he could be improved upon.  He’s got a big nose, but a big nose on an otherwise well-proportioned face looks regal and debonair, somehow.   Feinnes does a lot of period pieces, too, so I get to look at him wearing wonderful clothes (I am nuts for 1920s-1950s wardrobe, and I subscribe to GQ magazine just to look at at the male models in their suits.  Though, the mag does have really good journalism sometimes). Oh my god.  The End of the Affair was totally forgettable, but I own it on DVD just because I love to watch Mr. Fiennes walking around in those clothes!  And in The English Patient–oh ma gawd!!!  When he was all jealous?  “Are you going to drag him into your little room?”  And in the bathtub?  Oh ma gawd!   AAARGH so exciting–Mr. Fiennes, where are you now?  I am as pretty as Julianne Moore (she does have better hair, though)!

“Miss Margo, would you please chain me to your bed and take all my clothing away?  Alternately , I would love to beat you with a stick!”  
Bare feet and shirtsleeves!  Bare feet and shirtsleeves!  Miss Margo cannot express sufficient  enthusiasm  for this.  Yes, keep him chained to the bed.


Donald Rumsfeld: Repulsive, yet Compelling

Update, Dec 11 4:30 AM
     Note to self:  Am I really speaking about myself here?

    I spent most of my adulthood hating members of the Bush administration so much that it made my hair bleed.  Good God, I’m so glad that’s over.  

   I was unusually fascinated by Donald Rumsfeld.  He reminds me a little bit of Robert McNamara (whom I blogged about here), except that McNamara had lots of IQ points on Rumsfeld (still no slouch in the IQ department).  I was glad when Bush fired Rumsfeld, but I must admit that a part of me was sorry that I wouldn’t be able to see Rumsfeld on the TV anymore.  The bastard was tremendously entertaining.  Even though I hoped he would die in a fire, I always enjoyed watching him.

    The first time I saw this, I thought it was real!  Rumsfeld is just that type of asshole.  Hostile and grotesque, yet witty.  Even charming, in a gross sort of way–like Satan, or Shakespeare’s Richard III (full disclosure: I’d probably have sex with him.  Once.):

“Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so that I will shortly send they soul to heaven, if heaven will take the present from our hands..!” 

HAHAHA!  Richard III is one of the all-time best Shakespeare villans–right up there with Iago–what a loathsome, sarcastic monster.  But funny, so funny!  He’s malformed in every way–physically, psychologically, morally–and yet, he retains a seductive power.  He charms almost everyone in his orbit, all to their detriment (his mother sees him for what he is).

  The way he gloats after he bags Lady Anne always gets to me: “Was ever woman in this humor wooed?  Was ever woman in this humor won?  I’ll have her; but I will not keep her long!”   

      The way Richard addresses the audience (viewer, in the film), admitting to us his true, bloody intentions, is one of Shakespeare’s great devices.  Richard tells us the awful truth about himself, but not to anyone else he interacts with in his life (the play).  We know how he is manipulating the people around him, but they don’t.  

     In this way, Shakespeare shows us how isolated Richard is.  He cannot confide in anyone in his life, and so he addresses the audience.  How very alone Richard is, and how wretched.