Albert Hofmann, inventor of LSD and the first to synthesize psilocybin (the active constituent of 'magic mushrooms'), passed away on Tuesday Apr 29, 2008 at the age of 102 (at home, of a heart attack) .
Among other things Hofmann wrote LSD: Mein Sorgenkind (LSD: My Problem Child) and recorded a spoken word album, Lob des Schauens (In Praise of Observation).
This is primarily a sex history blog and I know nothing to share with you about Hofmann's sex life -- but I'm pretty damn sure as a user of psychedellics, he had a great sex life.
Tonight on Cult of Gracie Radio, the guest is Randall Radic, also known as 'Father Felony' or 'Daddy Radic,' is the Ripon, CA pastor who pleaded guilty to embezzlement after he sold the First Congregational Church without the knowledge of his congregation.
As the ad on the sidebar says, Grumpy Old Bookman wrote, "if you want to read a (fairly truthful) book by a priest who is a convicted felon and has had eight fiancees & two wives, & a very complicated set of relationships... then this is for you."
It promises to be a very interesting show.
About Randall: His recently released memoir, The Sound Of Meat (published by Ephemera Bound) covers his earlier life as a professional swim coach and priest, including his eight fiancees & two wives. "I used to try and save souls without ever examining my own," says Radic. Now, with this memoir, he puts pen to his mission, voice to his sin, sadism to his redemption.
Just go here at 9 p.m. (central) tonight, and press the orange button to listen live! Call in at (347) 838-8467
Can't be there live? Watch the Cult of Gracie blog for post-show info and downloads!
I am rather obsessed with watching the old What's My Line? & I've Got A Secret episodes. The shows' charms lay as much in the panelists themselves as it does with the guests (including "famous" folks I've never heard of) and, of course, the numerous delights that such vintage television provides. I've mentioned my delight in calling panelists names, simply because of what I'm continually discovering about them, but sometimes I'm just darn cruel.
For example, I'm so rigorous in my negative comments about panelist Dorothy Kilgallen's chin, saying things like, "I must Google to see if there's record of the incident with a horse that must have stepped on her face," that hubby was starting to become immune to them.
But now I feel badly about that... And not because hubby rolls his eyes at me with silent judgement for my rudeness or with boredom.
In deciding to investigate Kilgallen's chin, I discovered that Frank Sinatra and I held the same views on it. Performing in Vegas, Old Blue Eyes called her "the chinless wonder", and at the Copa, he said, "everyone in New York is here tonight except for Dorothy Kilgallen... she's out looking for her chin." Just more to love, or hate, about Sinatra, depending your personal views on the man.
But in discovery of such statements, I learned more about Dorothy Kilgallen, history, culture -- and myself -- than I ever could have imagined.
Kilgallen was more deeply entrenched in the romantic, mysterious, fascinating world of the late 50's and 60's that I prefer to live in, at least research wise.
Kilgallen left a small Hollywood career for that of a journalist. She was not only a gossip columnist, but a crime journalist -- which makes her more than the stereotypical female press person you think of, but a woman ahead of her times pursuing a profession deemed unsuitable for females. She also became the first woman to fly around the world.
But more than this, she was a woman. A woman who, lonely in her marriage to a cheating husband, turned to singer Johnnie Ray, a man 14 years younger than she, for what would be not only a passionate love affair, but a long-term one as well. This is where the feud with Sinatra is said to be at least partially rooted:
Sinatra had loathed Johnnie Ray from the moment the young musical upstart hit the scene. Ray's conquest of the pop charts in '51 (the top three spots all at once occupied by the same artist) had come at a time when the once (and soon to be again) successful Sinatra couldn't draw headlines unless it was for indulging in his penchant for punching paparazzi. So in '51, Frank was outraged to see that his place in pop music's upper echelon had been replaced by a skinny, half-deaf, androgynous cry-baby who all the scandal sheets proclaimed as a raging homosexual, and he was further incensed by the fact that the love of his life Ava Gardner had a star-struck obsession with the singer. Frank harbored a lifelong grudge.
Dorothy Kilgallen had been less than flattering to Sinatra in her popular opinion columns, citing his violent behavior and brooding public persona.
All of this melted my cold negative commenting heart a bit, but there is more.
On Aug. 3, 1962, Kilgallen became the first journalist to refer publicly to Marilyn Monroe's relationship with a Kennedy. Within 48 hours, Marilyn was found dead of a drug overdose at her Los Angeles residence. The inquiry into her death was marred by numerous unanswered questions and contradictions in the medical findings.* Dorothy publicly challenged the authorities with tough questions. For instance, she wrote, "If the woman described as Marilyn's 'housekeeper' [Eunice Murray] was really a housekeeper, why was her bedroom such a mess? It was a small house and should have been easy to keep tidy." Kilgallen also wanted to know "why was Marilyn's door locked that night, when she didn't usually lock it? If she were just trying to get to sleep, and took the overdose of pills accidentally, why was the light on? Usually people sleep better in the dark." And she asked, "Why did the first doctor [to arrive on the scene] have to call the second doctor before calling the police? Any doctor, even a psychiatrist, knows a dead person when he sees one, especially when rigor mortis has set in and there are marks of lividity on the surface of the face and body. Why the consultation? Why the big time gap in such a small town? Mrs. Murray gets worried at about 3 a.m., and it's almost 6 a.m. before the police get to the scene."
Kilgallen wrote that "the real story hasn't been told, not by a long shot." Such bold reporting was not common in American journalism at that time.
In a case of what can now surely be called foreshadowing, this is eerily similar to the death of Kilgallen herself, just a few years later.
On November 8, 1965, Dorothy Kilgallen was found dead in her own home. A death with equally strange details, powerful connections, and a poor investigation of its very own.
She was found by her hairstylist, Marc Sinclaire, who after discovering her, told friend Charles Simpson, "When I tell you the bed she was found in, and how I found her, you're going to know she was murdered."
Things amiss include:
Kilgallen not sleeping in that room or bed.
A woman who was normally cold, putting the air conditioning on when it was cold outside.
Kilgallen routinely slept in pajamas and old socks, no make up etc., yet she was found not only wearing a peignoir set, but with hair and makeup in place as if she were going out.
Kilgallen had a book, The Honey Badger, by Robert Ruark, laid out on the bed next to her, but not only was it not in the proper position for her if she was reading it, it was a book she'd already finished reading & discussed with friends -- and while Dorothy needed glasses to read, they weren't found in the room.
There was a drink on the nightstand by the bed, but where Kilgallen sat, it was out of reach.
Oh, and while we're at it, those first at the scene say there was a piece of paper by the door, eluded to by some as a suicide note, but it was never produced and no one claims to have read it.
While there are many other curious things about the way cause of death was noted (and by whom), the story officially touted is that Kilgallen, like Monroe, had over-dosed, either as a suicide or more likely by accident.
As Kilgallen wrote about Monroe, why would a woman seeking to sleep, wear an outfit she never wore, put herself in a room so cold as to be uncomfortable, not remove her eyelashes -- or at least the very uncomfortable to lean upon hair pieces, get a book she's not only already read but then not bring along her glasses, and put a drink (medicated or not) on a table near the bed but then place herself such that she would not be able to reach it easily? And all this in a room she didn't sleep in?
Curiosity only grows when one discovers what Kilgallen had been doing in the years between Monroe's death and Kilgallen's own.
Just months after Monroe's death, on November 22, 1963, JFK was assassinated and Kilgallen was not only upset by the event, but was investigating it. She didn't believe the Oswald story at all, and when Jack Ruby shot Oswald, she arranged to have a private interview with Ruby.
No one is certain what was said in that interview, but Kilgallen often said she had something big, which would crack the JFK investigation wide -- and then some. She continued not only to investigate, but pen columns about it too, and it was said that the Ruby interview and other details would be published in her forthcoming book, Murder One, which was contracted to write for fellow What's My Line? panelist, Bennett Cerf, & Random House -- published without any such chapter(s) after her death. Kilgallen's file of notes on all this, seen by a number of persons, has yet to surface. Both the known and unknown details are fascinating -- and the stuff for conspiracy theorists, such as this article, Who Killed Dorothy Kilgallen? by Robert Morningstar.
As easily drawn into such things as I can be, I'm leaving the threads here for you to follow-up as you choose, while I continue a different path.
What strikes me, shames me too, are other thoughts....
I don't like to reduce people, especially women, to such symbolic status that their humanity is removed, but in this case, Marilyn and Dorothy represent far more than just themselves.
While not complete mirror opposites, it's clear they each offer moments upon which to reflect upon their differences. Marilyn Monroe's wish for the sort of respect and admiration Dorothy Kilgallen had is widely documented. And Dorothy, who loved opulent surroundings and personal glamour, likely wished, at least from time to time, for some of Marilyn's beauty and to be seen and coveted in such terms. Neither was granted their wishes, of course, but such personal and private dreams are larger than just these two women.
If the woman of beauty, a man's plaything, is understood to matter less in this world, her afterlife continues to grow her legend. Monroe's beauty & status as sex icon only gathers more strength, even if she herself is batted about and accepted as a pawn at the whims of men and society.
If a woman's intelligence, however threatening, is supposed to matter more than earthy beauty, why is Kilgallen the less known? Her valor and strength are not reported and commented upon, even upon the anniversaries of her death. She is not revered -- in fact, she's nearly lost to history already.
We may never know what happened to each of these women. Their stories may or may not be tied to such grand crimes and cover-ups as the conspiracy theorists argue. But the really horrific facts are the if, how, and why these women are remembered. Conspiracy cover-ups aside, our collective societal values have been uncovered, and I do not like what I see.
Or what I myself have said and done with comments about Dorothy's chin.
If you can hear me now, Dorothy, you have my most sincere apologies.
Bernie Delinski writes Just Ask, which runs Wednesdays in the TimesDaily. Recently he was Trying to uncover the naked truth when a reader asked, "Where did the saying, 'naked as a jaybird' come from?" Delinski's (partial) reply was:
Yep, I'm having trouble uncovering the truth. I'm going to have to get down to the bare essentials to find this answer.
If I fail, I might be exposed as a fraud, and have the Just Ask column stripped from me.
This question does, however, remind me of one of my favorite Lewis Grizzard theories: There's a difference between being naked and "nekkid."
Grizzard used to say that, if you're naked, you don't have clothes on. But, if you're "nekkid," you don't have clothes on and are up to something.
Anyway, the Word Detective (word-detective.com) says "naked as a jaybird" has been used since at least the mid-1900s, and seems to have originated in America. In England, they say "naked as a robin."
Granted, blue jays and robins have feathers, so the phrase doesn't seem to make sense either way. Although, technically, they aren't wearing clothes. Still though, why pick on these poor birds. I mean, humans are the only animals that wear clothes. Other than humans, we can pick on any animal. So that does it, I'm coining a phrase: "naked as a duckbill platypus."
And from there he basically just tries to be pithy. However, had he spent just a little time at Taschen...
Modern nudism began in Germany with the Wandervögel, or wandering birds, young men and women who took to the countryside, hiking, singing and shedding their clothes in protest against Europe's dehumanizing industrialization. The year was 1900. Modern nudism nearly ended in California with the Jaybirds, young men and women who took to the beaches, spreading peace, love and limbs in protest against Puritanical prohibition of doing their own thing. The year was 1965. Both Wandervögel and Jaybirds failed in the end to change the world, but unlike the Wandervögel, Jaybirds left a paper trail, the pseudo- nudist magazines full of hippy-speak and the happy, healthy, hairy bodies you find in this book.
As captured in ING (International Nudistour Guide), Vol 1 No 1 (copyrighted 1962), nudes wearing papier-mache heads (and, occasionally, feet, hands, and tails too). This was part of the Mardi Gras celebration for the 10 year anniversary of the Olive Dell Ranch (near Colton, California).
Something Old, Something New: Barbi Benton For You
Tonight, relaxing from a day of hunting, we are listening to records.
Yes, good old vinyl.
Last week, when out and about, I bought a Barbi Benton album, Something New (Playboy Records). I bought it not for the musicality (and having listened to it, there's nothing really to comment on), but for the giggle factor; I just wanted to call my sister and tell her I had a Boobie Benton LP.
Yes, my sister and I called her Boobie Benton.
I'm not proud of it, or anything.
But let's face it, back then our knowledge of Ms. Benton came from her appearances on Hee Haw, and while we knew nothing of her link to Hugh Hefner, Playboy After Dark, or even that Hef and Playboy existed (yet), we weren't blind. At first, Barbi's corny sexualized costumes may have not meant much to we wee girls, but as we grew (and feared further growth) into puberty, we became more than a bit self-conscious...
What do immature humans do in uncomfortable situations or with uncomfortable feelings? Mock the thing that brings them to mind, duh. (Note: This is normal & find for kids, but adults really should mature their minds along with their bodies.)
So, Barbi Benton became Boobie Benton. And Adrienne Barbeau was -- you guessed it -- Adrienne Barboob. (You don't want to know what we called Connecticut Avenue when we played Monopoly without our parents around.)
Ironically, while sis and I were often too naive to appropiately deal with our feelings about boobs, or know that Hee Haw was inspired by Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In, we both were sophisticated enough to realize that Laugh-In was the far more biting & better show.
Back to Boobi...
Barbi Benton was published in Playboy, including covers, but she was never a centerfold... Do you think that has to do with the relationship with Hef? Like he either felt territorial or feared accusations of cronyism? Of course, it could just have been her choice.
But I am struck by how fresh, cute and innocent Barbi's look is compared to Hef's current type (and by that I mean the same plastic blonde bimbo look his girls have had for decades). Barbi Benton more exemplifies the original Playboy magazine ideals of sex not being dirty, that it's something everyone does, including the girl next door.
How far Playboy has drifted in that regard... Much to my personal disappointment.
Today Benton is still beautiful, if blonde, apparently a pottery loving interior decorator, and while her bangs live on, some think she hasn't aged well on the inside, saying, "Some women can age gracefully, trading physical beauty for inner strength. I wanted Barbi to be one of those. Instead, she is a black hole of bitterness, disconnected from reality, obsessed with the few short years she felt alive."
Yikes. (I couldn't get the video to play, so I can't comment.)
But the real burning question on my mind is: Where's the Internet Homage to Sugar Time!
Sugar Time! was the short-lived television series which starred Benton (Maxx), Marianne Black (Maggie) and Didi Carr (Diane -- shown at left on Match Game, via), as a girl band ready to make it big.
Where are the 70's TV fans who should be making pages and posts, if not an entire site, to the show? I vaguely remember it... It's sort of fuzzy -- and bouncy in my recollection. But then I must be on the right track, as it was the show which caused the term "jiggle TV" to be coined. Certainly that merits some actual archival interest, right?
I spent the day ratting around for stuff -- yes, vintage nudie stuff.
Hubby is also a collector, and while he doesn't collect what I do he certainly supports my smut habit, both from the understanding of a collector who lusts and as a man who doesn't exactly complain when I bring more naked women and vintage erotica. So we spent the entire day as collectors dream, scouring for objects, especially those we can actually afford.
As usual, he ends up with more stuff to add to his collection. This because the real good nudie stuff isn't just rare in terms of what survived (or hasn't been snatched by family), but because most places won't sell the stuff. Those who run rummage sales won't exactly display the stuff for their neighbors to see. Ditto donating to the local thrift shoppes.
And on the rare occasion the smutty stuff ends up at a thrift shoppe, they dispose of it quickly. (Some just plain toss it out, per their policy; others have been wiser and have relationships with most fortunate private collectors &/or dealers who get a call and quickly arrive to purchase the boxes at the back door. I am always trying to get myself into that action; but so far, have had no luck making the proper connections.)
Even at antique shops, managers do not like to display & proffer the smut. They fear everything from shoppers complaining that they won't come in anymore because their children can see it, to groups protesting against child porn in nudist magazines. Since the line between art and porn is so subjective (and the debate regarding nudist materials even more heated), most managers won't even bother to make a policy other than, "No."
I do know a few managers/owners who keep smut stashed under the counter etc. for dealers & collectors like myself; but it takes quite a bit of time to develop the trust & relationship to be taught the secret knock & password. I have a few of these opportunities, but usually the dealers will pay so quickly for the good stuff that there's not much left for me to pick through.
Occasionally, estate sales are the best hunting grounds. These folks both know the value of smut and now to peddle it. They will clearly state "vintage Playboys" in the ads (why Playboy is allowed to be named everywhere, while other mags are not, still amazes me), but otherwise refer to other naughtiness as "risque collectibles" or "risque barware and publications" or some such. In any case, we collectors know what they mean. And we show up in droves -- on the first day. (For cheap sluts like me, it's often more of a museum visit than a buying spree... but sometimes I do get lucky.)
All of this is to say that today, my options were few.
What you see here, the photos illustrating this post, were the "dirtiest" things I could find today. And I didn't buy any of them. While worthy of adding to my collection, they were too expensive for things I see often enough, like ceramic s&p shakers with nude girls, pinup calendars (even soapy nude ones), and vintage lingerie boxes.
Even this had to be refused.
A vintage wind-up dancing couple made of celluloid, which apparently also had some paper with it... A booklet or crushed box? Difficult to tell through the display case. It has its charms, but at $32, it was out of my reach. (If they had been nude, well, that would have changed things considerably. *wink*)
However, it should be noted, that had any of the items in the photos been priced to match my meager funds, I would have purchased them, brought them home, taken better photos, and presented them to you with more information and research.
Which all should just be a reminder to you to send me more money. (Support this blog by supporting the advertisers!)
3) William of Hang Fire Books reviews Stalags, a documentary on the bizarre phenomenon of Israeli-produced, concentration camp fetish-porn paperbacks. As he says, "Gross? Yes. But completely fascinating."
5) Via Cult of Gracie's post-show notes, I discovered the classic painting The Swing, by Jean-Honore Fragonard (shown at left) depicts more than petticoats: "This picture became an immediate success, not merely for its technical excellence, but for the scandal behind it. The young nobleman is not only getting an interesting view up the lady's skirt, but she is being pushed into this position by her priest-lover, shown in the rear."
The purpose of this meme is to give high-fives to 5 people, posts, blogs and/or websites you've admired during the week. I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 5 high-fives on Friday. Trackbacks, pings, linky widgets, comment links accepted!
Visiting fellow High-Fivers is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your High-Fives in others comments (please note if NWS).
The Love God? (1969) stars Don Knotts as the prim & proper publisher of The Peacock, a magazine devoted to birds of the feathered variety -- but soon he plays pigeon to a smut publisher who has lost his own mailing rights due to obscenity, turning the bird mag into a smut rag. What ensues is a mocking romp of magazine publications, obscenity law, and the sexual revolution with Knotts in the position of a reluctant, geeky Hugh Hefner.
About Jane: After dating a fetishist, she started X-traordinary Talk as a hobby. It grew very quickly and she quit her job as a magazine editor to grow the business which is now nearly 15 years old. She earned her PhD in 2002, with a dissertation on the sexual expression of tease (as distinct from flirtation and seduction) and how tease has manifested in artwork thru the ages. All while raising two strong, feminist daughters.
Deanna at CQ interviewed Marina Bianchi, a professor of economics, regarding collecting and consumerism. It's a fascinating look at consumer choice theory and the role of novelty in consumption & satisfaction, motivations usually left to psychologists & sociologists, I encourage you to read it.
Of course, my personal motivation has always been an interest in history -- or, perhaps more accurately, an interest in anthropology. This is often dismissed by others who view my quest to be purely carnal, so I delighted in the following:
Fundamentally, is there much difference between ‘research’ and ‘collecting’?
I think that between intellectual or scientific research and collecting there are many things in common. In research, as in collecting, we have a frame of reference that provides the organizing guide and that gives shape to problems or challenges and tells us where to look for possible solutions. And also in research the aim is to conquer something new that reshapes one’s organizing framework and opens new paths. But collecting is more playful, light, and pleasurable in every phase. Enjoying your collection is as pleasurable as when you are searching for a new addition to it, and the difficulties you meet only increase the final enjoyment. Buying an already made collection would destroy half the pleasure. Research is more costly in terms of intellectual efforts and discipline, but, yes, the principles are the same!
This is all "reflected" in an antique postcard I purchased in this past weekend's hunting.
In this postcard, a man and woman stand before a large millinery shop window. While she gazes at lovely hats, his gaze is upon a lovely lady on the street (who decadently shows ankle!). The caption reads, "I love my wife, but oh you kid".
While both the man and the woman we presume to be his wife are window shopping, full of wistful longing, we see the inherent joys & motivations of collecting displayed. Each views and desires the novelty of something new, but there is no indication that either finds what they have, be it an old hat or a spouse some might call "old hat", as inferior either. For as Professor Bianchi has said, "each additional item is new and exciting, whether it adds something different within an order or provokes a re-thinking of that order."
A collector "adds to" rather than replaces -- even without the physical action of adding a new item.
As this card shows no action other than thought or desire, it at least suggests (if not proves) that even when one does not increase the size of one's collection through ownership, simply viewing possibilities also adds to one's collection; it adds something to the framework and has us re-thinking the order of things.
And in many cases such "window shopping" increases our satisfaction & pleasure in what we have.
Deanna at CQ shows us "Three books which explore and exploit career perks your guidance counselor never told you about: Super-Jet Girls, Semi-Tough, and If It Moves, Kiss It."
Of course I have Semi-Tough, but the other two are new to me -- and belong with my copy of Coffee Tea or Me. *wink*
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #128? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks My life as a Female “His reply was instant: “You are a man”.”
Crisp “I found my eyes unable to leave the curves of her ass, everything else out of focus.”
And collectors, cover the faces on this pin, for there's a surprise according to the seller:
Dates to the tent burlesque shows of the 1920’s to 1940’s. The risqué prize given in the boxes of candy hawked before the show to the audience patiently waiting for the show to begin. This was the top ultimate risqué prize in each and every box - if you paid the price. Risqué, look at the pin and cover the heads and hands (the secret is out). 2 ½ inch diameter. If you are around 80 years old you my remember these shows, if not, too bad, they were fun and interesting to say the least. This is a real piece of carnival and tent shows nostalgia. Yes, I bought the candy to get this wonderful prize!
Watching What's My Line? is a nightly obsession -- along with I've Got a Secret, for which, now that I know this, I continually heckle Bess Meyerson, calling her a dirty, dirty whooore. In tonight's What's My Line? the second guest was Mr. Les J. Jackson who operated a "skirt-blowing machine". Amusing for the show, but I was surprised to discover a few things...
On the matter of this service being a part of the entertainment world, the answer was 'yes'; but then on the issue of helping actors or actresses, the reply was 'no'. I has assumed this was used for films, but it was revealed that this was an attraction at an amusement park.
...the Cockeyed Circus, a fun house of distorting mirrors, slanted floors, and gusts of air that blew up ladies’ skirts. " Women in those days didn’t wear slacks much, it was skirts, And all of a sudden you would look down and realize that there was an audience down on the Midway watching you," says Widmer, " It was an open room and they could see your skirts blowing up and that was the laugh."
For the record, both Dorothy Kilgallen and Arlene Francis admitted participating in such amusements.
If I stopped hunting for things and their stories, I’d be bored, and a lot less interesting. And I’d only read more to get that thirst sated. Who’s to say reading as escape, or researching in books, is any more important than questing for objects? Either way, your brain, soul, and shelves are full.
And I don’t mean, in any way, to imply that one collection is better than another — that comic books are less than non-fiction tomes, or that new action figures are less important than documents. Because the way I’m beginning to see things is that the act of collecting is about questing… It’s about finding more than objects, but answers.
Perhaps what we’re all doing, ultimately, is seeking the answer to “Why do I collect this?” And that answer is individual, unique. My answer will be different than your answer — even if we covet & collect the same “junk”. The joy is in finding that answer. Which is why collectors often change collections — they’ve answered one question and are off on a new question, a new quest. And this simply refutes the idea of a mental illness; for what can be more healthy than self-knowledge?
[Will we] ever be able to understand the degree to which sexuality is a 'locally constructed' or a transcendent, 'trans-historical experience of Eros'.
Earl: Being totally surveillied by law-enforcement for an unbearable ten years before they figured out how to arrange my "downfall." You can't imagine what it feels like to not be able to use a telephone or to receive an unopened and preread letter...to have numbers of people following your every step anywhere in the world. Millions of dollars of public funds spent for...personal amusement of a political few. From Nixon to Mitchell to Rhenquist...criminals all...me no. Much like the Presidential Medal of Honor.
SPS: Was the arrest & time served a relief after all of that?
Earl: Absolutely. Being in prison was extremely rewarding because of the closeup view of what it was really like as opposed to all the myths. Very bad officials doing very bad things for enormous personal profits. Very much like those wonderful people in DC running the world at the expense and lives of others and again only for personal corporate profits and even that for multi nationals...not for the US at all.
Everyone should have the opportunity of gaining such enlightenment.
SPS: Did it continue afterwards too?
Earl: For a while. I can still remember when it stopped because there was such sudden silence and everything felt remarkably as if I had moved to another country permanently, so unlike living under a microscope.
The most difficult part of it all to accommodate was the knowledge that it had taken them ten full years of totally illegal intensely close observation to finally frame a downfall. And all that time I thought they were my best protectors, knowing absolutely every minute thing about me and not being able to find anything actionable. Mindblowing!
SPS: Do you think you are still on lists?
Earl: Isn't everyone? What do you think the Patriot Act is? Homeland Security? Do you follow the news of all the illegal FBI wiretaps nationwide? Do you not know that all email is monitored?
However, my paranoia is no longer in charge but I can still spot an undercover Fed by odor, long before they come into sight.
I lived cross-border US/Mexico and witnessed time and time again Federales handing over drugs to Feds for distribution and mutual profit. Big massive shipments...not your dime bag common prisoner.
SPS: Ever consider moving to another country?
Earl: I lived in Mexico for over 20 years. It was indescribably wonderful.
SPS: If it was so wonderful, why leave?
Earl: A horrible thing called NAFTA screwed it up unbelievably. Forcing it, in just a few short years, to mirror image everything that is bad/wrong with the USA. Gone instantly were most of the local products, customs, including even the cuisine. Now nothing that was good about it remains, all having been replaced overnight with Wal-Marts, CostCos, MacDonalds (they all sell individual bottles of beer through the drive through windows), Starbucks and everything one normally goes on vacation to avoid.
And an incredible amount of red tape, forms to fill out, documents, and finally passports for all US citizens wanting to pass beyond that incredibly ugly, fortresslike wall. "Mr. Gorbachov, tear down this wall!" The Federales replaced by US Feds, spying on innocent tourists...
I could go on and on but my Mexico no longer exists. It looks like suburban NYC and smells worse.
Not an edible taco in sight.
Every poisonous, forbidden to sell in the US food item, long stored in warehouses just waiting for an excuse to ship them across the border and flood the Mexican market and drive away all those delightful things most people won't remember five years from now.
Reason enough?
It works for me.
SPS: Anything you'd like a do-over on?
Earl: Yes, most of it. I'd be noticeably more aggressive....
SPS: That's most intriguing.
Earl: I was Wimp #1. Naive. Trusting. Commonplace. Patriot.
...Donald H. Gilmore, Ph.D, aka "Douglas H. Gamlin" and probably "Dale Gordon," and his wife Betty have established their own writer's colony/porn-mill in Guadalajara. Gilmore's Ph.D is strictly diploma-mill but he's a serious student and researcher of sex and erotica and his non-fiction work is among the best in the genre during the era. His four-volume Sex In Comics remains the best reference on Tijuana Bibles, with valuable information not found anywhere else, including the story of "the three gals," whose entrepreneurial efforts at creating, printing, and distributing sex comics in the late 1930's are singular for the trade and a major, if well-nigh unknown, feminist declaration of independence. The artistic quality of the their comics becomes a strong influence during their time, and will later be a great influence upon counterculture cartoonist, R. Crumb. Gilmore and his stable move their work through Greenleaf.
Regardless of where we begin our interpretation of the mermaid, or which analytic path we take, we are brought back, again and again, to the ancient Great Goddess, the archetype behind the figure of Mary, who in Christian culture is usually split into the virginal Madonna and the holy prostitute. The mermaid ultimately signifies the fundamental mystery of female sexuality, particularly for men who, because they cannot comprehend it, are simultaneously drawn to it and terrified by it. That is why the mermaid becomes so easily conflated with the siren and her irresistible call that leads men to their doom.
The purpose of this meme is to give high-fives to 5 people, posts, blogs and/or websites you've admired during the week. I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 5 high-fives on Friday. Trackbacks, pings, linky widgets, comment links accepted!
Visiting fellow High-Fivers is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your High-Fives in others comments (please note if NWS).
Adam Carolla, dressed as a Latin Lothario, complete with Zorro mask & cape, finishes a Paso Doble with Julianne Hough and says, "I want to thank the wardrobe department for dressing me like a silent porn star."
This after beginning the dance on a unicycle.
Occurred Monday, April 7th, on Dancing With The Stars. Adam was still the one to be cut last night. Since Adam plugged this blog, I'll plug The Hammer.
Hedy Lamarr's first films were made in Germany and Czechoslavakia, but it was film number five which was the one which really started her career. The film was the notorious 1933 Czechoslovakian erotic drama Exstase (aka Ecstasy), and I recently watched it on TCM (Oh, how I love thee!).
An early "talkie", the film has little spoken dialog. In fact, I was startled to hear human voices, for having watched at great length & hearing only music, I had determined that this was a silent film. (It also has English subtitles, including for the song lyrics.)
In the film, Lamarr plays Eva, a young wife who, unhappy from the first day of her new marriage, leaves her husband and heads back to her father's house, intending to ask for a divorce. Papa is rich, with a large home and horses, which leads to the lush outdoor nude scenes.
While she's skinny-dipping, her horse runs off, literally answering the "call of the wild" from a stallion. Forced to chase after the horse, Eva finds herself hiding in the brush as a young man, named Adam, of course, catches her horse. (Au) Natural-ly Adam (Aribert Mog) discovers the nude Eva, and proffers her the nightie which (luckily) remained on the runaway horse's back.
She rebuffs him, but later that night, a storm is brewing. The tempest outside matches her emotions, and Eva finds herself heading to the young man's residence. What follows are the scenes which caused the most trouble.
"It was the close-ups of [Lamarr's] facial expressions which chiefly shocked the jury," the New York Times reported after the trial. Hollywood magazine concurred: "All you see, all the camera gives you, is Eva's face. Hundreds of feet of Hedy's face, covering the whole range of love. You get it from her expression or you don't get it at all".
In truth, watching the film, you can't mistake it. Her pearl necklace breaks, and pearls are splayed along the floorboards, removing any doubts. And, as neither couple undresses, it would appear that her orgasm is due to receiving oral sex. (Scandalous!)
Here's (roughly) the first half of the film, and right around minute 44 the scene begins...
Some credit Ecstasy and Lamarr with the first nude scenes, which is inaccurate. However, the film was blocked in 1935 by US Customs from import into the US for its obscenity, and that is a first.
Others call Lamarr's Eva "adulterous"; which is technically accurate as the young couple consummate prior to the dissolution of her marriage to Emile (Jaromir Rogoz), but hardly the same as a "cheating" spouse.
However, the fact remains that the film is a wonder of eroticism, unlike anything that predates it (other than true porn). No wonder and Joseph Breen (of the Hays Office) also refused to give Ecstasy approval. According to de Grazia & Newman, Breen refused because:
It is a story of illicit love and frustrated sex, treated in detail without sufficient compensating moral values, the portrayal of a mare in heat, and of a rearing stallion, the actual scene in the cabin where the woman's face registers the varying emotions of the sexual act--all are designed to stimulate the lower and baser elements and are suggestive, lustful and obscene. [It] is designed to glorify sexual intercourse between human beings and between animals, and to arouse lustful feelings in those who see it.
Eventually, an edited version of Ecstasy was released in the US; but I've not seen that version. Apparently it makes quite a story change along with the removal of nudity and Hedy's orgasmic face.
In the original, Emile comes a callin', trying to get Eva back. She refuses and he leaves, coincidentally taking the road near Adam's project... I don't want to spoil things for you (so stop reading here if you don't want to know the film's ending!), but...
Emile recognizes Adam's relationship to Eva (due to the fact that he is carrying her necklace, now repaired), and he commits suicide in the very hotel when Eva and Adam are celebrating their romance and planning to run away to marry.
While this was not a US film made under the Hollywood Code, I still wondered... Would Eva be punished even more?
Devastated by Emile's death, she is unable to runaway with Adam -- who has no clue of the history between Eva and Emile. She leaves him sleeping at the train station, dreaming, no doubt of their future.
The train leaves and next we have a montage of sorts, accompanied by what the subtitles only called a "workers chant". Images of spring, in the dripping-water in buckets and workers wielding pick-axes sort of a way. Honestly, it was so long -- and without a recognizable face -- that I began to wonder if they had made a gross error, splicing in some footage from some other old film. Then we see Adam.
He seems older, less happy, but he has a distant look in his eye... The camera shows us a Mexican or Native American women with two young children; one a toddler seated behind her who waves at Adam, and, on the woman's back, a baby who still manages to play with his own toes. We see Adam's face again, with another odd look -- then we see Eva, playing with a babe of her own. It must be Adam's baby... He knows, in that magical way only a-man-who-really-loves-a-woman can.
But that's it. The End.
So Eva may not have her love, but she keeps her baby. Rather a mixed message. And a surprising one.
Well worth the excruciating minutes of chanting montage, anyway.
It's also interesting to see an equally beautiful, but less sophisticated & polished glamor-girl version of Hedy Lamarr.
SPS: On paper, or in this digital age with sites like Wikipedia, "Earl Kemp" begins with science fiction. We hear the 'worked as a graphics artist' and then it's the fanzines, editing, etc.. How do you remember this transition?
Earl: As moving into adulthood and into the real world. Being born again with a view into reality.
SPS: What was it about science fiction which made you so passionate about the genre?
Earl: Just got hooked completely. Still am. Can't escape it.
SPS: Don't play coy; tell me what it was that hooked you. I want to hear about 'the golden age' or 'new wave' from someone who experienced it then -- both in terms of stories and the community.
Earl: I'm not ready to rethink backward for more than half a century. Too much trouble. Too little reward.
SPS: Whatever it was that grabbed you, did so by the heart if not the throat because you've been so passionate about the genre... Surely it deserves an ode, if not a few lines of description, yes?
Earl: Of course it does. But it was mostly the people involved at the time. Vastly different than the people involved today. To begin with, they cared. They involved themselves with each other. There was no distinction between fans and pros. It was family.
It hasn't been family now for...what...40 years. These days it's mostly media hype pushing for profits for total crap. But big profits and even bigger crap. Pros now are isolated from their fans, too aloof even to wipe their own asses. And most of them are in desperate need of talent, editors, and especially proofreaders....
SPS: Does any of what hooked you remain for you in the science fiction of today?
Earl: Good heavens NO. Pale shadow of its former self. For me, little or no adventure. People like Dean Koontz and Stephen King have totally destroyed both writing and sf. Crap abounds.
Earl: No, that was strictly the failure of periodical distributors crashing under their own weight. Had nothing to do with Sputnik.
SPS: There is quite a resurgence in sf -- you must be aware of that with all the hands reaching for you. Are there writers/works today you are fond of or at least feel capture some of that whateveritwas which first hooked you?
Earl: Contemporary sf escapes me totally. At the same time I find myself doing far too much reading. I had to give that up as a professional editor because there was no time for me, just for work.
Now I'm rereading lots of old favorites and running the whole gamut of contemporary bestselling fiction. I find most of it to be very formulaic...following largely the formula we created for Greenleaf Classic, as strange as it seems. And with a heavy tilt toward female readers who just have to have a go at that incredibly handsome but somewhat naive hunk, hung like a donkey...who will be totally their's before the last chapter closes.
SPS: What would it take for you to return to editing? Anthologies maybe? You've been writing your memoirs, online; any plans for a book -- a print book?
Earl: Always plans. Just waiting for the right person/thing/happening.
SPS: What would the right thing be? Would it have more to do with feeling part of a community, concern/caring for the work and the genre, or money?
Earl: None of these would be motivational except perhaps money. As prices go up, I have to buy/use less. Plus, at my age I'm much too cynical about my abilities to generate enough energy for any occupation. Only hedonistic motives could push me beyond current resting.
SPS: Do you think there is hope for such a sf community again? The Internet and blogging certainly can help with this, right? Or do you feel that ego/money/personality are still in the way preventing such a thing from happening again?
Earl: All media is different these days. Sort of like corporations running the country. Nothing is ever for the benefit of the writers or the readers any more. Unreadable books, banal television, unwatchable films...all selling like crazy.
SPS: So you don't really see anything positive about the Internet -- offering individuals less expensive voices, & ease in connection? Maybe you just feel that way because it allows any ID hiding slob with an email address to contact you.
Earl: You're mistaken. I think the Internet is one of the best things that's come along in ages. I couldn't live without it. Especially the less expensive part, although where I live, with NO option except dial-up that costs too damned much, really makes me miss big city living with competition and facilities that work occasionally.
I don't like subterfuge of any sort. Even usernames are insulting.
SPS: Personally, I too dislike the dishonesty of usernames. I hide behind mine because of the implications for family. Talking with you makes me feel more than a bit ashamed. Not just your finger waggin' but the life you lived. You didn't buckle or run away; you faced things. But I've tired, already, of being the tallest nail. Like you, I too hum Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose -- only I know that I still have something to lose and I'm not willing to pay that price.
Oh, I know I am on lists. Have been prior to W. My battles were smaller, more personal; yours were larger, more public. I hope someday to appear valiant in attempt if not victorious in action in my own history, a family legend; but you already are a legend.
This is part of The Collective Adoration Of Earl Kemp. Those who reach out to you want to rub the Buddha's belly, hoping some of that moxy will rub off. You don't describe yourself with much aggression and valor, but we see it.
As for the other reasons to from an Earl Kemp Mutual Admiration Society, I think they all lead back to passion. Certainly there was a passion behind standing up for Big Beliefs -- 10 years of government stalking gave you plenty of time to reconsider the personal cost. But there also is a passion for writing, the sf genre and the community. No one can describe Earl Kemp as apathetic. Even while you mock & paint yourself as the tired man of so many years, here you are.
In an age of apathy, what's not to admire about Earl Kemp.
And no, dear editor, I am not missing a question mark.
John Coulthart of Feuilleton and I had been discussing my eroticizing specific non-erotic artworks. He suggests it's simply the sublime in the illustrations, the "sinuous Art Nouveau curves"; I believe it may have more to do with something else...
I wrote:
Does anyone else find such illustrative style, and in fact most illustration in fairy tales etc., very erotic? I mean it’s not sexual, and the stories aren’t (necessarily) so either, but something in the epic nature, the good v. evil, combined with the fantastic puts me in such a frame of mind…
Also as noted in my comment, I'm not sure where I'm heading with this train of thought. Even after a discussion with my husband on this (an astute judge not only of art and graphic design, but of 'me' and my thinking), I'm still not much clearer.
I most definitely agree that Art Nouveau is sexy. But I still believe there's something more than just the style at work here.
I'm no closer, really, to being able to articulate what it is I am trying to get at, what I am feeling here... And in part, there's a reason why.
In all honesty, I've put off posting this for quite some time as I'm beginning to think (fear) that all roads lead back to Girlie Town. That somehow, in my mind, there's nothing really to point to other than a romanticism of the classic female variety, for which I feel on the defensive -- as if admitting my gender, created in no small part by (and also in spite of) our pervasive & insidious culture, is some how a fault, a flaw which will haunt me... rendering any past and all future posts to simply the opinions of a girl.
While I cannot be other than what I am (even if in my entitled position of "being in process"), there's something about being stamped A Girl which undermines credibility.
If my eroticism of Art Nouveau is boiled down to the simple "because you're a girl", then it's not only condescending to my gender but to myself personally.
My character, education, experience and opinions (which are a result of all the former things) are suddenly dismissed. I become predictably female and my opinions impotent in such simplicity (even if living as a female is anything but).
It's very much like artist whose work receives the stamp of Pop Culture Favorite. While the focus should be on the fact that the "pop" stands for "popularity", folks deride the value of the work. Ultimately, an artist communicates, and if the message is accepted, becomes popular, then ought not success, real not (only) monetarily, be the stamp given? Yet, the relationship seems to most often be a direct but inversely proportionate one. The more people like it, the less it is respected; as if mass adoration/adoption must equal "watered down" and worthless.
My (perhaps very) female reaction, however complex it might be, to Art Nouveau becomes watered down and worthless by virtue of its very direct relationship to a large number of persons, i.e. the female population. And I don't like it.
Especially when Art Nouveau has the very same sublime curves as I.
From my email to Love & Radio's Nick van der Kolk (I told you he'd appear here, so don't look so puzzled):
Speaking of Bedouin... Did you happen to see, on TCM's Sunday Silent, the (silent) documentary, Grass? The kicker was the bio on Merian C. Cooper afterwards, where he and the director mock the "lady author"... Huh. Now that I'm thinking about it, I should make a post about it.
And post about it I now will.
Last Sunday I watched Grass: A Nation's Battle for Life on TCM. It's a sweeping epic of a silent film. A naturally dramatic documentary, with the (apparently) famous scenes of 50,000 tribesman (and their vast herds -- 500,000 horses, donkeys, sheep, goats, bulls and cows) crossing a swift Karun River. I personally was more struck by other images. Men, many in little more than loin-cloth-esque garb, sitting in the snow to remove their cotton shoes (deemed, as the title card stated, about as practical as bedroom slippers), then proceeding, barefoot & carrying shovels, to create a zig-zag path for all to follow up the snow and ice covered 15,000-foot-high Zard Kuh (the highest peak in the Zagros Mountains). It's amazing.
But perhaps I should back-up a bit.
Grass: A Nation's Battle for Life is the 1925 film made by s Merian C. Cooper & Ernest Schoedsack, documenting the journey of The Forgotten People, a branch of the Bakhtiari tribe, from Angora (modern-day Ankara, Turkey) to the Bakhtiari lands of western Iran, in what is now the western part of Chaharmahal and Bakhtiari Province and the eastern part of Khuzestan.
If the names Cooper & Schoedsack are at all familiar, it's because they made the original, definitive King Kong (1933).
However, as the biography I'm King Kong!: The Exploits of Merian C. Cooper (shown after Grass, but without record at TCM) informs us, the names Cooper & Schoedsack shouldn't be known -- in fact, couldn't be known, without Marguerite Harrison.
The three had met in Poland, during the Polish-Soviet war of 1920. Cooper, a bomber pilot during World War I, had spent time in a POW camp, yet after that war he was instrumental in creating the Kosciuszko Squadron, a group of young American airmen who had volunteered to help Poland. When he was shot down over the Ukraine and captured by the Russians, Cooper was sent to the Gulag. There, he was saved from starvation through the intervention of Marguerite Harrison, a woman who became an American spy because women were not allowed to be war correspondents. (Ah, such delicate flowers should not use the pen, but slink around the swords.) He managed to escape, and poor Harrison would need to wait several years to be released.
So, when Harrison puts up half the money to make Grass and insists upon coming along, Cooper, naturally, feels indebted to do so.
The "hysterical" part is during The Exploits bio piece, when Schoedsack voices his opinions post return from filming Grass.
In a recorded interview, Schoedsack speaks freely, saying that women are pains in the ass; they can't help it.
He sympathizes with the Arab leaders in the migration, saying they were responsible for thousands of their tribe and the livestock, and here they were catering to a woman who required her own sleeping quarters etc. He says (and I'm paraphrasing) that Harrison "tried not to be a pain in the ass," but "she couldn't help it", she "was just a woman." Apparently Schoedsack was also greatly irritated by her continual application make-up before every filming -- even though of the three, Cooper, Schoedsack & herself, she was the only one in front of the camera.
The film script for King Kong was written by Schoedsack’s wife, Ruth, who, according to in Mark Vaz in Living Dangerously: The Adventures of Merian C. Cooper, based the it on conversations she remembered between Cooper and her husband about their travels and exploration. (Including Grass & Chang.) Hence, Marguerite Harrison, was the inspiration for the the "unwanted woman" Fay Wray played on the King Kong expedition.
#3 For those who need names for their SPS scorecard, I give you Nick van der Kolk of Love & Radio. It's a bit of foreshadowing, so feel free to study ahead of the rest of the class.
When I was a little boy, I had a minor obsession with superheroes. I wanted Superman and his bulge to rescue me, I wanted Batman to make me his Boy Wonder, and I wanted Wonder Woman... well, I wanted to be Wonder Woman.
The purpose of this meme is to give high-fives to 5 people, posts, blogs and/or websites you've admired during the week. I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 5 high-fives on Friday. Trackbacks, pings, linky widgets, comment links accepted!
Visiting fellow High-Fivers is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your High-Fives in others comments (please note if NWS).
Recently I was 'talking' with Earl Kemp. The Earl Kemp. (If you're an ignoramus, check Wiki.)
I had exchanged a few emails with him before, confirming and posting a call he'd made, for example; but this time I became bolder...
SPS: Earl, I'm particularly fascinated by the concept of your status as an icon. As a creator of collectibles and as one who knew/knows so many other legends who did the same, I imagine the annoying folks who want copies, contacts, signatures, questions answered... It's a foreign concept for a girl hiding behind an online ID, living in terror of being attached to 'smut' because of the havoc it's already played in my life. Not that I've served any time for my beliefs -- yet.
I won't proclaim to be your biggest fan -- a pop quiz would prove that a lie lol. But your name & works come up again and again in my research of The Big Picture, and I must admit a bit of crush along with some envy... Not that batting lashes ought to sway anyone; nor gushing like an idiot. It's especially lacking in charm when typed. ;)
It really would be a treat to ask a few questions & share your answers -- so much so that I don't mind exposing myself as an idiot in terms of all that is (at least the public life of) Earl Kemp.
I realize it's a bit of a contradiction, me spouting that I imagine the annoyance of people asking you for things while asking for an interview; but I'm only human and have more than a few such pesky problems ;)
Earl: It is a problem. You wouldn't believe what some people ask for and, apparently expect to get, for free, including people who won't even sign their messages or have real IDs.
Not to worry. These days even I envy whoever it was people seem to think I used to be. What a time I must have had once upon a.
SPS: As I said, I'm very interested in your experiences and perceptions, so let's start there... What do most people want from you?
Earl: Hands-on sexual advice. How can I become normal? Invite me to your next regularly scheduled orgy. Send me nude photos of yourself.
SPS: Here I thought you were besieged with hands grabbing at your papers & publications, your (little black) address book, and, like me, digging in your brain for stories... And here you are, with the folks whose hands are out not for stuff, but to get in your pants. Not that I'm surprised, actually; it's what I'm here after. But I had at least hoped I had a more subtle approach.
Earl: Not exactly. After all, I'm pretty much past that kind of stuff these days, knocking on 80 and tired enough to prove it.
SPS: What (aside from this interview, perhaps) is the most obnoxious request?
Earl: Letters from clergymen on church letterheads asking to be fixed up with teenage or preteen boys. Letters from law-enforcement on letterheads asking for fuck flicks...in each case they were referred to the FBI for handling.
SPS: This is one thing people I speak with are surprised to hear about you. Most of them know of you from the sci-fi pages and they seem surprised to hear of ...For Nothing Left To Lose...Personally, I want to join your cult just for those points of view. (Then again, I'm under the impression that your cult has many other benefits.)
Earl: Sure does. Keeps me off the streets and clean and honest.
SPS: When I show folks For Nothing Left To Lose, a few say something such as, "Oh, yeah, well, I guess three months in the clink for obscenity would do that..." but I'm of the impression that it was just these opinions which led you to your work, which led to the nasty time. Am I right, or are those other folks?
Earl: You are right. I don't have to feel like I'm fighting the whole world, at least the fucked up professional politicians who sold our country out to the highest bidders. I can go along with the flow and play total idiot just like the majority of C-average US citizens, especially the ones in charge in D.C.
SPS: I certainly will share my thoughts on this, but I wonder what you think it is that continues to draw people to you?
Earl: Audacity. Admitting to the human condition and denying religious superstitions and myths as life motivations.
To be continued...
All images from Earl Kemp, used with written permission.
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #126? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks Filling Myself “We too want, need, conversations in which someone listens to us and considers our needs, not just their own.”
If you want to contact me, post a note. If you wish to talk in private, Naughty dot Words at gmail dot com is the current solution -- however, if it's about link swaps, affiliate programs etc., read the FAQfirst!
If you insist on knowing more about me...
I've been interviewed on Radio Blowfish (direct link to the specific podcast download here).
Peter of
Jane's Guide says, "This blog site is perfectly charming. What an enjoyable time I had here. Your hostess, and the site, is named Silent Porn Star - with no doubt interesting and untold stories behind the name. The focus here is in curating - and celebrating - sexual iconography. I browsed the site's last couple of years of archives, hip hopping over such delights as old pulp fiction cover art, black & white vintage photography, occasional contemporary censorship issues, and even - to my delight - a link to a YouTube clip of Cher and Raquel Welch, all glitter-glamoured up in their prime and glory, singing Peggy Lee's "I'm A Woman". If that isn't as iconic as you could ask for, you're not looking. The commentary is smart, positive, and insightful. This is just the sort of unique site we love to encourage." (Silent Porn Star even made Peter's list of favorite sites!)
Cinema Retro says, "[A] gem of a site that will appeal to any libertines among our readers. Silent Porn Star is an addictive, often hilarious look at how sex and pornography has presented in pop culture over the last century. There are vintage postcards of topless Polynesian dancers, tasteful nude starlets of yesteryear and some delightfully distasteful photos and stories of more recent vintage. We don't expect too many contributors to Mike Huckabee's presidential campaign to patronize the site, but those of us who are proud to be less pure can have a field day looking through those old ads for movies about promiscuous teenagers as well as reveling in other forbidden delights. There's plenty to gawk at whether you're straight, gay or in between - fun for the entire family!"
"Required reading," and "When it comes to sex and collecting, there is no better blog to read because it is always about the sex and the collecting," says Shon Richards.
Blowfish Blog says, "Although the writing is warm and friendly, an aura Sphinx-like and cool surrounds Silent Porn Star. Written by a female collector of historical erotica and risque objects, in it we find out a great deal about a great many things, although not much about the author. But that is part of its charm; like an expert strip-tease, you think you see everything, and then realize that you only saw what you were permitted to. If you are a lover of historical smut, this site is simply mana from heaven, of course. But for everyone, the commentary is learned and witty, intellectual without being snobbish. And we learned so much about the mafia, too."
Starla of The Naughty Guide says: "The writing is elegant and flows off the screen with ease and the site is packed full of information. Some humorous, and some thought provoking. I am sure you will find something to tease your taste buds on this site."
Engaging in "rampant presentism," says anonymous. (Ha!)
Erotic Mandy of Sexy Blog Reviews says, "This is a sex blog of a more 'cerebral nature'," and gives Silent Porn Star 3/5 Orgasms because I'm, "interested in vintage sexuality and is probably quite smart."
Terra at The Naughty Guide gushes, "Silent Porn Star was a joy of a find for me, due to my fetish for vintage erotica. LOVE IT!! This is a blog that is a collection Vintage Erotica bringing it to us in one spot. It is a must visit for those of us that are curious or enthralled with the history of erotica. ...Content is slick, almost as if it was a commercially produced site. I usually read personal blogs, but this interest blog is one that I am adding to my daily read list."
Albert Hofmann, inventor of LSD and the first to synthesize psilocybin (the active constituent of 'magic mushrooms'), passed away on Tuesday Apr 29, 2008 at the age of 102 (at home, of a heart attack) .
