I'm rushing to post this because hubby, who regularly reads at the A.V. Club and Metafilter, told me there's been some heavy panting over Oh mighty Isis! and we both knew that I had recently bought at auction a magazine with The Secret of Isis: JoAnna Cameron.
The trouble was, which one? Well, I took the time to page through the stack of vintage & retro mags just for you -- and those Metafilter and Onion folks. Oh, the things I do for you...
But I found it: Inside Celebrity Sleuth's Network Nudes Volume 2, 1986 by Trianon Publications, Inc. (pages 44-45), photos from Cameron's topless and other scanty appearances in Peeled, B.S. I Love You, and Pretty Maids All in a Row.
According to this article, Josephine Judson Carringer was musically gifted, highly intelligent, ad entered college when she was 16 yrs old. She wrote Three Little Fishes with Betty Lynn Kirk, her sorority sister at the University of Tennessee in the late 1930s. They then sold the song for $200 and Saxie Dowell adapted the lyrics and music into the piece that became a number one hit in 1939 as performed by the Kay Kyser orchestra with Ish KaBibble singing.
According to Time, June 19, 1939, "Saxie Dowell recently heard, in the South, an old nursery tune called Down in de Meddy. He thought it mighty cute." We can't blame Saxie for the giant PR machine which would deny buying music (especially for a mighty cute old nursery rhyme song), and so we can likely believe the rest:
The result was published last April by Santly-Joy-Select, Inc., which got out The Music Goes 'Round and 'Round and admits to liking "crazy things." Under its title Three Little Fishies, Saxie Dowell's song last week had set something of a current record by leading the field in sheet music sales for a month.
Three Little Fishies has verses which can be sung either in English (Down in the meadow in a little bitty pool) or in "fish talk" (Down in de meddy in a ITTY BITTY POO). The chorus can be sung only one way: Boop boop dittem dattem whattem Chu! The song, likely to cause reverse peristalsis in fastidious stomachs, is all about some "itty fitties" who "fam and dey fam" until they "taw a TARK!" (shark). Den dey fam back to deir poo. The publishers, wary of overplugging Three Little Fishies, withheld it from all but a few big orchestral names—Hal Kemp, Guy Lombardo, Kay Kyser, Paul Whiteman, each of whom recorded it. The song was plugged on the radio by Mildred Bailey, Fannie Brice, Judy Starr. Along with the itty fitties, fat Saxie Dowell fam into such fame that he is now thinking of leaving Hal Kemp and starting a band of his own.
The song is a relative childhood classic -- that is to say, if you had a corny family like mine, you heard your relatives sing it. Often. You may have even heard Madonna and Rosie O'Donell perform a cover of the tune.
Now, you might be wondering why I'd be taking so much time to discuss a cute old kids' song here at SPS. Well, the idea of Baby Snooks, the bratty character played by Fanny Brice fascinates me.
It plays well-enough on the Baby Snook radio shows but, as Brice was fond of dressing & behaving 'in character', once you can see as well as hear it takes on other elements.
Putting a grown woman in little-girl-garb may have it's humorous elements, but it also says something about power & dominance -- and you don't have to be a perv to see it. Little girls are innocence, but they are also property; they belong to daddy. Short baby-doll dresses, oh-so fashionable these days, communicate these things -- innocence and access -- which is why I don't own a single one of those monstrosities.
Having a bratty girl-child mouth-off to her master may be cute, but underneath it all lies -- as sure as those ruffled panties -- the idea that she will eventually heel and heed her master. Or, if she does not, then he is less-than-a-man and plays cuckhold to her charms. Sure, all this can only make it funnier; but did they get it?
Without Brice & Snooks, we likely wouldn't have had Lily Tomlin's Edith Ann on Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In -- but there's a huge difference between the two.
Tomlin's Edith Ann appeared alone in her giant rocking chair where she told stories about her family & dog. Having her be alone could have been a choice to deal with scale; but even so, simply being alone meant Edith Ann was not (as) eroticized.
Baby Snooks, by comparison, not only acted with others but interacted physically with them, drawing in all those adult contexts. There is a large difference between discussing a punishment, a la Edith Ann, and showing a grown woman dressed as a child over the knee of her daddy figure like Baby Snooks; the image has erotically charged elements.
At the base of this humor is prettified misogyny &/or glorified cuckholding. It's all good & fine for adult role-play sex-scenarios, really; but as entertainment one really ought to be aware that's what they are enjoying.
Baby Snooks (with Hanley Stafford as "Daddy") was performed on television only once (and this was Brice's only TV appearance too), on CBS-TV's Popsicle Parade of Stars in 1950 (one year prior to Brice's death). Entertainment folks document Brice's height &/or age as the reason for its failure, and Brice herself is said to have admitted that the character of Baby Snooks just didn't work properly when seen... But come on!
This wasn't the first time Baby Snooks had appeared before people. Baby Snooks was even in Judy Garland's Everybody Sing (1938) prior to radio success.
While Brice & Garland are wonderfully funny in that scene, this was not the usual Baby Snooks routine. Baby Snooks was built on the annoying relationship with her father and, sometimes, other men. The Baby Snooks character had been preformed live on stage for years and, height of male actors aside, there clearly were other issues at work here.
Fanny, who rejoined the Follies at the Winter Garden, was still not in the best of health, and had to clear her throat in her Snooks scene Hope. "That's my cold clearing up," she ad-libbed at one point.
"I thought you were just oversexed," was Bob Hope's quick reply. The line stayed in.
Yeah. No wonder it just didn't work properly on television.
I wonder just what it is that people were thinking about Baby Snooks at the time.
Note:Gone Fishing (06/01/1939) & Baby Fish Story (04/11/1940) have quite a bit of similar content for a woman who eschewed rehearsals, saying she wanted to give performances a spontaneity and unpredictability that would be lost with an over-familiarity with the lines and other players. That could just be the writers milking their own jokes. What do you notice about the shows?
4)CR/LF points out The Joyful Bosom Affair, an art project where women paint with their breasts. I want to know, would you buy my boob-prints? Or would you collectors insist upon the originals? *wink*
CR/LF talks about how Enzyte Bob got the shaft. Enzyte had some of the my very favorite commercials; I hope all this legal mess won't affect Bob -- I don't know that there's a pill for that *wink*
Discovering Pap Smears At The Laundromat, On The Next Virginia Graham Show
It's hard to imagine I was just 5 years old when my mom used to fluff & fold with her friends -- and discuss uterine cancer. Oh wait, that's not one of my memories; that was a "hip" comic put out by the American Cancer Society in 1969.
While this comic seems strange, the premise that ladies do talk about such things isn't. And though it's campy just for the tones of the time (the black lady gets to be the music judge, they call themselves "girls" rather than "ladies" or "women", etc. etc. etc.), it's the comic style which rather reduces the health propaganda to silliness. Small speaking bubbles are limiting, and the style is overly dramatic. The real problem is what 1969 woman was reading comics? Teens? Sure. But they didn't hang out at laundromats --because they didn't do their own laundry.
The celeb endoresment on the back is Virginia Graham. Graham wrote for radio soaps, eventually hosting her first radio talk show in 1951 and then succeeding Margaret Truman (in 1956) as co-host of the NBC radio show Weekday with Mike Wallace -- and then became a daytime television talk show host, including for Girl Talk (1962–1969) and the Virginia Graham Show.
Having survived her own battle with cervical cancer in the 50's, and openly spoke about it, becoming a spokesperson for the American Cancer Society. (Graham also started the Cerebral Palsy Foundation along with 13 other women.) Jokes on the connection between cervical cancer and smoking aside, it is said (by the not-always-so-accurate Wiki) that while Graham was very vocal on smoking cessation, when she was asked what she would do if she knew the world would end tomorrow, she replied that she would smoke.
I wonder if this is true -- but that the politically correct world of today has to remove that bit from Graham's record. Then again, there is little on Graham. (Something for me to work on, huh.)
This feels like an obligatory George Carlin post, and that saddens me.
Carlin belongs here because he was one sexy piece of beefcake. Nothing, and I mean nothing, turns me -- and I dare say most women -- on more than a man with a fiercely intelligent sense of humor (a quick wit will often make up for any other short -or quick!- comings a man might have); unless it's a man willing to stand up for what he believes in.
Oh, how I wish he would have met me & showed his belief by standing up at full attention.
He made ponytails on men sexy, damnit. And yes, upon hearing of his death, I used all seven of those words.
I want to do the man right for all the years he's pleased me, but a man of his level has been written about "everywhere" and I feel that mixture of, "What can I possibly add?" and "How won't this bore you, the reader?"
It was a safe bet that we'd see lots of remembrances of comedian George Carlin after his death last weekend.
I've found it a little shocking how much 'official' reportage seemed to really not 'get' Carlin at all - - and yet there they were, using his 1972 'Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television' as a main focus, and missing the breadth of a diverse career that began long before and stayed vital for the 3-plus decades following.
Several links are provided to video clips from 1965 through 1972, including an appearance on the game show 'What's My Line', the strange sight of a Carlin introduction from Jimmy Durante, and much more.
It is from those links (specifically here) that I found this great clip of George Carlin on Playboy After Dark.
Prostitutes in Lyons, France sent a fax to the government to complain that they are losing business to Eastern European women who are protected by the Albanian mafia.
Okay, first of all, how rough-looking are these French prostitutes that all their customers are running to the Albanians? Secondly, why did they send a fax, and from whence? Do they have a fax machine in the whorehouse, or did they all trundle down to Kinko's - "You fax these, I'll let you shave me." Thirdly, how come French whores know how to work a fax machine, but every time I try to use it, I hit Power Save, or I forget to dial 9.. This just proves what my boyfriend always says - that I am dumber than a French whore.
I remember being allowed to stay up late and watch The Carol Burnett Show. Korman was rather dashing to me. I know Lyle Waggoner was supposed to be the stud, "tall dark & handsome"; but Korman was tall dork and handsome, and that won me over.
(Which explains why Tim Conway was put in the pile with Artie Johnson -- funny & cute, but not tall enough for me. Sorry, guys.)
I loved that Korman often couldn't keep a straight face. That somehow made him less imposing and more human, especially to a goofy, dorky girl like me.
Therefore, I don't want to wish Harvey the traditional, "Rest in peace", but a more meaningful, "Go do that voodoo that you do so well!"
In honor of Korman, I recommend watching Blazing Saddles.
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.
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?
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.
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.
You may know Jaime Pressly from the sitcom My Name Is Earl, where she stars as Joy, but she's appeared in several Playboy publications, including nudes:
Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 58 November 1997 - Michael Bisco, pages 56-59 Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 62 July 1998 - pages 32-33 Playboy's Nudes December 1998 - pages 16-17 Playboy's Sexy 100 February 2003
She even made the cover of Playboy in February, 2004.
Her film debut was in 1997's cable-friendly erotic thriller "Poison Ivy: The New Seduction" and posing for Playboy that same year made Pressly's body far more famous than her body of work. Still, those who looked past the film's disproportionate amount of nudity would find that Pressly made the most of her role and brought an eerie coolness to the part of Violet that proved she had more to offer.
Unlike some girls, Presley was able to take nude photos and spread them into a career instead of ending one. A career that in 2001 even Playboy remarked upon -- without mentioning that she'd appeared nude in their publications. Which seems odd, but what do I know?
Recently Pressly had a baby and apparently she was clueless about the 'joys' of pregnancy. However, Jamie clearly isn't an idiot. Along with her celebrity status she's started a clothing line, J'aime, to continue to make her hay when that sunshine fades. It seems a bit ironic for a gal who turned taking her clothes off into a career to start whoring clothes, but well, if we could all buy a body like hers, then Playboy wouldn't be in business would it.
It takes a savvy woman to realize she can make a fortune off dressing those of us who wish we could look like her naked.
She may play white-trash on TV, play it in photos, but she's certainly anything but.
I shouldn't stay up late at night. It's the best time to write and research uninterrupted, but I also watch TV now and then. And the other night I watched Bio's Dead Famous episode on Marilyn Monroe.
It's not that I was creeped out by the idea of ghosts, and in fact, nothing very spectacular was shown to indicate ghostly activity by Marilyn. However, at the 'communication circle' (aka seance), the spirit of Marilyn supposedly said that she wanted to move on, but that all the fans, all the love and adoration, tied her here.
I have to admit, that bit stuck.
As a collector, I often feel that the objects I own (as well as those I covet) are imbued with forces. Call them life forces, energies, or what have you, but these things are not merely things.
And even if it is in my own mind, this idea that these things carry more than their weight or mass which can be measured on standard scales -- even if it is my own romanticism that makes me hope for life to continue and for the possibility that souls or ghosts can inhabit our concrete world of rational thought and meat -- ideas are real if not tangible. Ideas are the bulk of human existence. They are our own realities, at least until proven otherwise &/or new ideas take their place.
So, what if the cultural love of Marilyn Monroe actually holds some power?
More books have been written about Monroe than any other entertainer, some guessing over 600 books ~ with new releases each year.
I'll admit I own more than a few books on Monroe -- what girl who collects pinups and other iconography of sex doesn't have a few Marilyn items in her collection? But in the past few years (perhaps 8 or so years) I've shied away from books on Marilyn. Not only does it seem glutinous, but no book has brought out anything new, despite the claims to the contrary. In the end you just feel like you're a part of the giant machine which feeds off of her -- dead or alive.
And what if that feeding includes some sort of psychic one which ties her here? What if she'd like to leave but our our ownership of her image, her objects, binds her to us?
More from DeeDee's review of Churchwell's book:
This is the ultimate cohesive look at most (if not all) that has been written about Marilyn, right down to reviewer comments at Amazon for these books, and what is shown is not only the legend of Marilyn and how she's been used, but our response and ability to perpetuate the myths as well.
...What's most impressive about this work is the transformation which occurs. As you read, you move Monroe from some 'thing' for our cultural and personal needs, to if not fully human at least considering the possibility that she was a complicated living human being which cannot not easily be understood from the fragments of her life which remain. Once we begin to see that she's not so easily characterized for our 'needs', to be made to symbolize our cultural or personal issues, we then need to look at why we -- readers and society at large -- do this.
We are not completely dehumanized (as we've done to Marilyn) but we certainly have to take a look at ourselves as a swarming mass of millions -- and as individuals. What is this compulsion to make Marilyn something? Why do we not see how dehumanizing our process is? Why is our quest &/or belief system more important than the person we profess to love?
We must now see ourselves moving from lover to stalker; our jealous perceptions of what others may know or say wounds us as if she had cheated on us in real life. She is our goddess, and we own her.
If the biographers have motives so do we the readers and fans who purchase nearly anything with her image on it. There's no denying that we have dehumanized Marilyn Monroe (yes, even little Norma Jeane too) even as we've placed her among our pop culture dieties and cultural icons.
If there is such a thing as ghosts or spirits, wouldn't, couldn't our collective obsession with her royally muck things up?
And if we knew it to be true, and the seance message was true, would we let her go?
Or would we continue our necrophilic lust because our need to own the icon was more important to us?
Maybe it's because it's late, and I'm up alone... But I'm tempted to burn all my Monroe items just on the chance...
In a two-part article written for TV Guide in 1964, best-selling author of The Feminine Mystique Betty Friedan claimed that television has represented the American woman as a "stupid, unattractive, insecure little household drudge who spends her martyred, mindless, boring days dreaming of love--and plotting nasty revenge against her husband." Almost thirty years later, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Susan Faludi suggested that the practices and programming of network television in the 1980s were an attempt to get back to those earlier stereotypes of women, thereby countering the effects of the women's movement that Friedan's messages had inspired in the late 1960s and 1970s.
I'm also not surprised.
But this was complete news to me:
NOW formed a task force to study and change the derogatory stereotypes of women on television, and in 1972 they challenged the licenses of two network-owned stations on the basis of their sexist programming and advertising practices. Although they were unsuccessful in this latter strategy, NOW and other women's groups provided much needed pressure when CBS tried to cancel Cagney and Lacey, a "buddy" cop show and the first primetime drama to star two women. Conceived in 1974 by Barbara Corday and Barbara Avedon, two women inspired by critic Molly Haskell's study of women's portrayal in film, Cagney and Lacey was originally turned down by all three networks, only getting on the air after eight years. Producer Barney Rosenzweig worked closely with organized women's groups and female fans to support the show during threats of cancellation, after CBS fired the first actress to portray Christine Cagney because she was not considered "feminine enough," and during periods when the show aired controversial episodes on such topics as abortion clinic bombings.
Because you've seen so much of June, you may think you know all about her. But I didn't.
I did not know that June Wilkinson toured as a singer with comedy legend Spike Jones, or that late in the '70s she started the June Wilkinson Aerobic Workout Studios in Canada, or that she dated Elvis, or that she was the columnist (at least in name & photo) behind "Girl Watching Problems" for Girl Watcher magazine.
Sheldon mostly wrote about stalwart women who triumph in a hostile world of ruthless men. His notable novels included "Rage of Angels," "The Other Side of Midnight," and "If Tomorrow Comes."
His books became the more suspensful equivalents of soap operas -- predictable in some regards, but boy wasn't it fun getting to the end anyway?
"I try to write my books so the reader can't put them down," he explained in a 1982 interview. "I try to construct them so when the reader gets to the end of a chapter, he or she has to read just one more chapter. It's the technique of the old Saturday afternoon serial: leave the guy hanging on the edge of the cliff at the end of the chapter."
Analyzing why so many women bought his books, he commented: "I like to write about women who are talented and capable, but most important, retain their femininity. Women have tremendous power — their femininity, because men can't do without it."
He also created and produced "I Dream of Jeannie," which lasted five seasons, 1965-1970. "During the last year of 'I Dream of Jeannie,' I decided to try a novel," he said in 1982. "Each morning from 9 until noon, I had a secretary at the studio take all calls. I mean every single call. I wrote each morning — or rather, dictated — and then I faced the TV business."
Many people forget Sheldon's movie career. He won the Academy Award for best original screenplay in 1947 for "The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer," starring Cary Grant, Myrna Loy and Shirley Temple.
He also won a 1959 Tony Award for his musical "Redhead," and earned an Emmy Award for his work on "I Dream of Jeannie."
I learned a lot about sex from Laugh In. Politics too, but those messages were much clearer, more direct; the sexual messages weren't clear until I was an adult. This perhaps being that while politics can be discussed frankly, sex must often thrive in the land of innuendo.
My biggest & simplest Laugh In lessons in sex came from Goldie Hawn and Jo Anne Worley. I adored Jo Anne, but knew she wasn't the sex pot; Goldie was. A skinny blonde with no more than a bikini and finger paint on her body, Goldie was 'the objectified one'. True, she ruled in the land of beauty, but the price of her queendom was that she was just the body, the face. She was cute, dumb, non-threatening Goldie.
Make no mistake, I adore Goldie especially as she is now (Banger Sisters is one of my favorite films), but the Goldie on Laugh In was someone I sort of disliked. I was a young girl, so you can chalk a percentage of my dislike of her up to my childish discomfort with nudity. OK, and even a small percentage of jealousy that she represented the skinny in my personal world of women who had real soft forms of curves (some heavy, some a simple size 10, but still large by Goldie's Twiggy-esque look). I knew what people thought of skinny vs non-skinny even then. But my biggest reason for not liking Goldie was that she was as equally adored for her stupidity.
Examples are Goldie's giggling dumb blonde reply, "I forgot the question" and Goldie's classic line, "My IQ has never been questioned. Come to think of it, it's never been mentioned."
Jo Anne Worley on the other hand didn't rule in the land of beauty. She was attractive with a body that would likely have seemed thin in my world, but next to other TV folk she wasn't the thin-is-in form of the day.
I loved her figure which seemed, by comparison at least, real. She was curvy and sexy in a way that was earthy, which today is rather like saying she had a great personality -- but I still think she had a sexy shape. (I would so love to collect nude photos of Jo Anne Worley would they be available.) But on Laugh In Jo Anne wasn't the queen of beauty. Instead she lived in the fringes of the country, in the land of innuendo.
Smart as a whip, quick with her mind, Worley was my favorite. If I didn't know for certain that I would have a more ample body like hers, I did know that I would have her mind. She could be down-right silly, but also wicked in a way that made you read between her spoken lines.
As I grow older, I also see that Goldie was youth to Jo Anne's maturity. Jo Anne was only 30 (vs Goldie's 22) when she started on the show, but 30 is older than dirt in a youth obsessed culture. Older can be sexy, but not sexier than youth. The fleetingness of youth is something to be desired -- in a sense just for it's temporary nature. But if Hawn was sexy for her youth, Worley's mature body & mind was it's counterpoint.
In some ways, Jo Anne ruled sex with her wit and ability to use sex jokes. While Goldie was partially clothed, she to wore innocence to shield herself.
This was not just for the censors, but the audience as well. The more mature Worley could be suggestive, even portrayed as aggressive sexually.
Jo Anne could say, "Boris and I have the most violent political arguments. He thinks the Democrats can do no wrong, and, of course, I'm for Johnson",and "I'm all for school busing. I've learned so much more in a school bus than I'll ever learn in a school!" but Goldie couldn't.
Many times, during the Cocktail Parties, Jo Anne talked about her boyfriend Boris -- who was a married man. She could be the 'dirty old lady'.
In my mind it seemed that the message was "Well, obviously someone this age doesn't have sex; so it's a joke." It was safe to have ample, older Joanne tell the sex joke while the pretty, young one was too naive to get it. This was, and still often is, TV sex safety. We allow sex on TV if it fits safe stereotypes. As ground breaking as Laugh In was for the morals of the time, it still had to practice safe sex humor.
And that's what I learned about sex from Laugh In, the early years at least.
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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."
