Always Classy

Question: How can a burlesque dancer and sometime-nude model be called classy?

Answer: When she’s called Dita Von Teese. Here’s another strong contender for Kim’s Online Object Of Desire:



…and oh yeah, she’s not shy about taking it all off, either:


Yeah, I know… not that classy. But remember: burlesque is her job; how she looks when she’s not performing is what I’m talking about.

Update: I know she’s only in her mid-40s. Hey, life is all about those little compromises, right?

Definitely In Contention

Thinking of Playboy stuff last week reminded me of a strong candidate for Kim’s Online Object Of Desire (the one to replace the now-too-skinny Nigella Lawson).

She’s 52, she has one of the sexiest smiles ever caught on film, she’s one of the greatest ever to play her sport, and OMG it’s Katarina Witt:

…and yes, those incredible legs are still, well, incredible:

In keeping with the season, here she is in some demure Oktoberfest-Kleidung:

Definitely a gold medal contender. And speaking of Playboy, Hef would have wanted me to post at least one of those pics…

Semi-Finalist

So in the ongoing search for a replacement for Nigella Lawson as my online fantasy woman extraordinaire, another contestant has come to mind: she’s over 50, somewhat classy — at least, she cleans up well — and boy… her other qualifications are shall we say, outstanding:

Now, I am not normally smitten by our Hispanic cousins, simply because I tend to prefer whiter-than-white skin, but let me tell you Salma Hayek gets me with her accent, too. I know that Mexican thing isn’t everybody’s favorite, but to me it’s cute and exotic (video link). And did I mention her other attributes?

The only part of Salma which might cause me some concern is that she’s that excitable-Latina type — all drama and waving arms — and I prefer a quiet life.

So maybe the search will have to continue…

Music, Lyrics and Wisdom

I can’t remember if I’ve written before about my fondness for the romantic comedy Music and Lyrics, starring Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore, but I will now.

Grant of course plays his typical screen persona of the diffident, occasionally-clueless Brit twerp — it works for him, and clearly works for pretty much everyone, so why not? — this time, as a has-been 80’s pop star who can write a lovely pop tune, while Barrymore is a ditzy girl who just happens to have a soaring, but unrealized talent as a lyricist. The movie shows how they meet and fall in love, and that’s all we need to say about the romance. But that’s not what interests me about the story.

You see, the movie is filled with all sorts of insight into the creative process. Anyone who wants to make some kind of living at being “creative” should watch this movie a dozen times, because there is so much received wisdom in the script that it should be used as a college text. A sample  is when Barrymore professes to be unable to write a couple of lines because she’s “not feeling inspired”, and Grant excoriates that nonsense by shouting explosively:

“Inspiration is for amateurs!”

No truer words were ever spoken. If you earn a living at anything, Rule #1 is that you have to show up for work every day — and not just show up, but produce something. It’s as true of the creative process as it is for an assembly-line worker.

I’m often asked how I can write something new for this blog each day, and my answer is quite simple: I sit down at my computer, and don’t get up until I’ve written at least two or three posts. Not all of them will get published — I’m very harsh towards my own writing — but I do this every single day, circumstances permitting. Note I use the word “circumstances” and not “inspiration”, because if you are truly creative, as Grant reveals above, you don’t need inspiration to produce something.

When I’m writing a novel, by the way, I spend at least ten hours a day writing. It could be new content, it could be research, or it could be editing; all of that is part of the creation of the work, and all of that is productive.

I remember fondly that when Jack Kerouac revealed that he wrote On The Road in one, long continuous explosion of creation, Truman Capote aptly commented: “That’s not writing; that’s typing!” And he’s absolutely correct: On The Road is a long, muddled and ultimately incoherent tract, and if it can be used for any “teaching moment” it shouldn’t be for its brilliant writing, but as an object lesson in how not to write a novel. Kerouac wrote a lot of other novels, and most of them are better than On The Road because he actually worked at them, rather than relying on creativity (fueled, it should be said, by booze and amphetamines: not the best of influences).

I know, I know: writing a pop song is not the same as writing a novel; but the process is the same.

Incidentally, Music and Lyrics also features a couple of other star turns: Haley Bennett is quite astonishing as a pop diva, and Kristin Johnson equally so as Barrymore’s middle-aged groupie wannabe sister. Come to think of it, there are no bad performances in this movie — and how often do you get to say that?

New Entrant

As Loyal Readers will already know, the Goddess Nigella has lost favor with your Humble Narrator because she’s lost too much weight and has become unattractive (to me, anyway).

Much as I am tempted to transfer my online infatuation to a Train Smash Woman such as  Lisa Appleton, she is rather a little too much of a good thing, if you get my drift:

Sadly, Train Smash Women also tend to be dead common, which is a major disqualification. Also, there’s that slightly crazed look in Miss Lisa’s eye which suggests that my pet bunny would not be safe around a kitchen pot.

So the search continues. I’m not going to spell the search criteria out, because in fact they are largely undefinable. Let’s just use the Old Nigella as a template, and take it from there:

Okay, what the hell, let’s give it a try: Nigella’s replacement must be over 50 years old, classy, with a full figure and a decent cleavage. Sadly, the very first criterion eliminates most well-known women these days because they all seem to have the morals of stoats and all the class of a full airline barf bag. Nevertheless, we can but try; I’m not looking for unblemished near-virginity — Nigella is anything but that — but a touch of class would be a definite starting-point.

It’s early days, of course, but ol’ Helen Mirren does cause a certain stirring in the loins:

Let’s just say she’s first out of the starting gate.

Just… Wrong

I saw an article somewhere about people attending some movie premiere (details not important), but what struck me was how the women dressed. Here’s the lissome Heather Graham (47) standing on the left, next to the cute Molly Quinn (25):

(In case there are people out there who are even more clueless about this stuff than I usually am — I actually had to look these two up — Heather was Rollergirl in Boogie Nights, and Molly was Castle’s daughter in the eponymous TV show — neither factoid of which will be relevant to this post.)

Am I the only one who thinks that they should have swapped outfits? Heather’s little mini is cute, but FFS she’s nearly twice her companion’s age. The longer dress would have suited her much better. Also, her legs are too skinny and not that great — Miss Quinn actually has nicer legs (I know, you need a pitchur):

I know all about the female age bias in Hollyweird, and how Women Of A Certain Age Can’t Get The Good Roles Anymore (Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep to the contrary), and therefore the ladies have to look and dress like young girls rather than the mature women they are. Which means you get women making fools of themselves (“mutton dressed as lamb”, as my mom used to say) and frankly, I think it’s nonsense. Case in point: Sophia Loren, outside her movie roles, never showed off her flesh to excess, despite having one of the greatest female bodies evvah (I know, pitchur, shuddup):

Okay, maybe not that one — but note: no “sideboob” or crotch shots (which seem to be all the rage these days [sigh]).

I seem to have lost my thread. Oh well, let’s just say that actresses need to dress their age. Like the septuagenarian Susan Sarandon:

Oh hell, I give up.