Thursday, September 2, 2010

Talking of image and appearances, I get sent various odds and bobs people think I would be interested in or amused by. They’re mainly from my sister, but also from our Greek friend Xanthippi, and from others now and again, like Willy Kenton for example. One my sister sent me she titled ‘Only In America’ and it is a collection of photographs of the most bizarre looking people you could ever imagine. Put them on the stage, as the saying goes, and no one would believe them. Shot in California I reckon considering the paucity of clothing or should that be paucity of costume? Skinny queens wearing next to nothing and black ladies of such immense proportions with thighs bigger than my chest measurement and that is saying something, and bums that I think could spread across three chairs. I wonder they can even get out of bed let alone lace up their boots. What do they do flying wise? I don’t think there’s an aeroplane seat could accommodate them. So I should worry about being a stone or two overweight. But there is one odd photograph and that is of a man wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with, ‘You won’t get into my pants if you don’t love Jesus.’ Love of Jesus notwithstanding the awful thing is the guy is so plain (coyote ugly even) anyone, male or female, wanting to get into his pants has to be pretty desperate. Similarly a photograph of a group of Victorian females, (I use the word advisedly) a group of hatchet faced harridans who inform us that, ‘Lips that touch alcohol will never touch ours.’ I should think alcohol the better choice even if you started life as a teetotaller. Was it Robbie Burns who said something along the lines of God gie’ us the grace to see ourselves as others see us? I’m not sure that that is a good thing; it could lead to, depression, despair and desperation, especially if you spend your life hoping to meet someone who loves Jesus enough to get into your pants and you know it’s never going to happen.
Looking at all these many shapes and sizes I ask again the question that has often bothered me – if God fashioned man in his own image, what did he use as a mirror and what went wrong along the way?
When the very first James Bond film was about to be produced and an actor was wanted for the lead role, naturally together with twenty thousand other young hopefuls I sent in my application together with my Marlon Brando photograph, sulky as hell, but never heard a thing. Just as well probably. Though Sean Connery’s body was not up to Muscle Mary standards with the obligatory rippling six-pack, in fact I seem to remember it was a bit on the geeky side, he was wonderful in the role, perfect damn it, whereas I know full well with my constant overweight problem and with not even half his charm I would have been pretty shitty. Probably fired after the first day’s shooting. Ah well, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up the pace anyway.

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