In Defense of Playboy

Because Dave and I are in a key demographic for certain publishers, we have been given the opportunity to receive several magazines free of charge. Intermingled with out complimentary subscriptions to Opera News, Women's Day, Allure, Shape and Baseball Digest, we also receive... Playboy.

Not to be snotty, but I feel it's necessary to start off with what I don't like: bad, "take my wife please" jokes; sexist, unfunny cartoons; the back tabloid-ish page where they gleefully post TMZ "oops!" pics of celebrity nipple slips; the girls represented are more or less lily white; and Hef is just creepy.

But is it porn?

The ol' "you know it when you see it" doesn't seem to apply here. The pictorals are artful, tasteful, and romantic, not at all degrading. This month's photo spread celebrates the playmate of the year in retro cheesecake that is playful and beautiful. And you can tell the girls feel beautiful in these pictures.

And that is one thing that is delightful about the overall tone of the magazine, is its love of women. While women of age, color or size are not always depicted, they are represented in advice columns, features, and celebrated for what they bring to mens' lives. By Playboy's standards, the girls may be here for the looking, but for them, there's nothing to compare with the warm body at home.

The advice column is also a plus. Instead of dealing with writer's issues like a snarky frat boy (Maxim), the column tackles issues with grace, dignity and frankness. Articles on grooming, etiquette and style steer readers away from stereotypical boorish womanizing behavior and towards being gentleman.

And the writing is spectacular. A recent short story about a man who marries his next door neighbor was thrilling and chilling. Interviews are conducted with intelligence for both audience and subject. And a recent sex poll was fascinating as well as on par with findings by the same-month issue published by Glamour magazine. It is one magazine I read cover to cover.

But the one thing that was both touching and surprising was a tiny bit on a Playmate from 1978 who had recently passed from breast cancer. This tiny obit mentioned her love of dance and if you saw a a star twinkling, it was probably her dancing. It was a lovely gesture and a touch of grace.

To judge a mag by its cover is to do Playboy injustice. If you can look beyond the sleazy duck cartoon, you will see something quite elegant.

Why Art Matters - random acts of brilliance

For the last few months, I've celebrated art that is timeless, celebrated, studied.

Today is about the rest.

This is about one-note art. What do I mean by that? Art that was meant to be purely commerical, utilitarian, enjoyed then discarded. Some of it so bad, that it is celebrated for the attempt. Some of it is also genuinely inspired, and has found a fan in me.

The first example I have is above, an artists' punk impression of the heir to the British throne and his bride. Of all the kitschy mementoes created to commemorate the wedding of the year, this one by far was the most creative and humorous.



Matchbooks haven been collected since they were first produced, and it's easy to see why. So much information about an establishment can be crammed onto such a tiny space. In the biz, it's called the USP (unique selling point), and they did it so well in the 40s and 50s. This one is from lileks.com. What more do you need to know about a pool hall other than the fact you will like their beer?



While not a forgotten artist in the mists of commecrical art, John Held Jr. is still a name reserved only for enthusiasts of his work. I discovered him as a teenager when I was fascinated with the 20s and purchased an old copy of a Vogue cover he designed. He was a cartoonist that depicted the Roaring 20s youth culture with his lollipop figures in rain slickers, raccoon coats, satin ribboned heels, and cloche hats. There is a sense of sweetness and humor in his characters and a vividness one can appreciate nearly 100 years later.



I love the blog Cake Wrecks. It is the compete and utter opposite of all that confection mastery celebrated on Food Network. Preserved for all time on the internet are those sugary mistakes in judgement for our pleasure. The genius is in the humor and truth of these messes. I worked in an office that celebrated so often, I gained 10 pounds consuming cakes for various reasons. Had the business stayed in business, there is no doubt we would have eventually gotten a cake for any reason, like above.

The point is, artists are all around us, creating for one reason or another. The joy is in discovering it and celebrating that little explosion.

Gearing Up for the Big Event and What Comes Next

Training for the 5/3 River Bank Run has been a constant since November, when I was initially challenged to do the 5k. I'm not sure what I've learned about myself in the last 6 1/2 months as I prepared for the run.

The negatives: I still don't like running; my times didn't improve that much; preparing for this forced me to judge myself in a way that brought back negative self-esteem issues from my teen years; I didn't drop any weight; and I think I may have driven everyone crazy talking about it as I think I have worked like a dog to psych myself up for this event.

The positives? I went from huffing through a half-mile to huffing through the 3.1. I'm accomplishing something I never would have thought possible at 14, let alone 41. I'm bold enough to try a new sport, even having to grapple with the timid, self-esteem issues that tend to freeze me in my tracks. I did it alone, self-motivated, with only the training guide to assist me and the occasional email from an old school friend.

So what's on board for May 15?

I'm going to see how I feel about running after this. Figure skating coach Michelle wants me to continue, citing amazing skating results. And I like having another sport to fall back on. But I dropped my swim in favor of treadmill work, and I miss the water, esp. with summer coming.

But there's more than just athletic endeavors to consider. Fast approaching is the deadlines to apply to participate in ArtPrize and connect with an exhibitor. None of my three prospects from last year are participating, so I have to start new.

And what to make? I have several ideas sketched out, but I also have the paintings that are currently on exhibit at the Leep Gallery that can be used.

These are pleasant conundrums to have, and in addition to watching the boy grow, makes for an interesting summer.

May Playlist - Rush!

Rush and the Runaways, 1976 - so many levels of awesome.

My affection for the band is based, quite honestly, in a love affair. Fate threw Dave at me several times before the two of us woke up to the realization that we would one day make a beautiful baby together.

The date was 1991, when he and I moved in next door to each other in college. He and his roommate came over under the guise of using our phone to hook their phone up, and he just never left. Drinking beer and reviewing my music collection, I believe it was noted that there was no Rush in my playlist. When quizzed, I vaguely recalled the MTV Saturday night concerts, Tom Sawyer, and spooky green lasers.

While my enthusiasm for the band is a pales in comparison to Dave's obsessive fanaticism, that doesn't mean I can conjure up a tasty playlist in honor of a long-time crush on guitarist Alex Lifeson.

In no particular order:

BU2B - "new" release from 2010's, Time Machine tour. Heavy, melodic, thought-provoking.

Caravan - one of the few songs released last year (along with Stone Temple Pilots' "Read Between the Lines") that proves rock ain't dead.

Driven - a charging, crazy futuristic tune from Test for Echo.

Freewill - radio-friendly to the point of overplayed, but with a distinct message about thinking for yourself.

New World Man - "a rebel and a runner, he's a signal turning green."

One Little Victory - My favorite Rush tune, with fantastic licks and great lyrics. One of the best live tunes ever. It is the base of my playlist for next week's River Bank Run. "Celebrate the moment as it turns into one more, another chance at victory, another chance to score."

Spirit of the Radio - a song about the joy of music.

Tom Sawyer - so fuzzy and buzzy at the beginning, then it just blisters.

YYZ - skated to it at my first-ever Adult Nationals as a way to have Dave with me as I competed on the ice. I remember someone yelling "yeah!" when the music started.

2112 - to complete the circle, I am planning on skating my gold freeskate test to this song. The premise behind the song is a little too sci-fi for me, but the music rocks.

Sacrifices, compromises, discipline and the Allmighty

The truly, madly, deeply devout probably scoff at Catholics like me; for you see, my piety and sacrifice in the name of Jesus for Lent was at best, multi-faceted and at worst, completely with my own self-interest in mind.

I set the lofty goal of giving up fast food for the duration of Lent. So from Fat Tuesday to Easter Vigil, I abstained from my usual diet of value menu cheeseburgers and dollar fries.

It wasn't easy, especially with a toddler in tow, whose hunger pains were erratic and immediate. A simple act of willpower meant juice boxes and burgers for him, and nothing for me.

I incorporated this into my training for the 5k and skating. What was good for the willpower had to be good for my health and waistline, right?

I didn't track the results because the battery went out on the scale, and it was a nagging, but not necessary chore. Besides, I wanted to be delightfully surprised when it was all over at how much I lost.

I didn't notice much difference in the way my clothes fit, but I was getting compliments left and right, which of course pleased me. Piety and getting fit!

So I finally got a battery day after Easter, smugly bypassing all the half-off candy and treats available. I went home and slipped the disc in to scale.

Five pounds... heavier. Nice.

Why Art Matters - Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Untitled - Perfect Lovers

As adult nationals in Salt Lake draw to a close, I recall one of my favorite moments from past ANs. When I competed in Dallas in 2006, I researched the Dallas MOMA for a magazine article. While wandering the contemporary art section, I stumbled upon Untitled - Perfect Lovers, by Felix Gonzalez-Torres and was overcome with emotion. I couldn't believe two industrial-looking clocks would affect me in this way.

The two clocks were set approximately 3-5 minutes apart. The piece, like most of his art, was dedicated to his lover Ross, who was dying of AIDS. I found this on the piece:

The clocks sometimes are shown with a written letter to the artist’s lover, Ross, in 1988: “Don’t be afraid of the clocks, they are our times, time has been so generous to us. We imprinted time with the sweet taste of victory. We conquered fate by meeting at a certain time, therefore we give back credit where it is due: time. We are synchronized, now and forever. I love you.”

This from the Dallas MOMA:
These two identical, adjacent, battery-operated clocks were initially set to the same time, but, with time, they will inevitably fall out of sync... By assigning these redundant objects the title "Untitled" (Perfect Lovers), the artist transformed these public, neutral devices used for the measurement of time into personal and poetic meditations on human relationships, mortality, and time's inevitable flow. Of the light-blue background, Gonzalez-Torres said, "For me if a beautiful memory could have a color that color would be light blue."

What touched me about the pieces was the clock as a metaphor for real lovers. While we want to spend our lifetime together, the reality is one of us dies before the other. To me, the second hand represents our lives in sync; the minute hand, 3-5 minutes off, represents the loneliness between losing our life partner and our own untimely passing; and the hour hand life itself.

I hope to explore more of Gonzalez-Torres' work in person, in the future. Internet searches of his work and images have exposed me to a minimalist style that is marked with a graceful touch of elegance and melancholy.

I'm Over It: The trials and tribulations of watching Secret Life of the American Teenager

Amy, I'm with you: we are sooo done with Ben.

It should have been a sign that I got hooked on this stupid show while laid up with a horrible ear infection. The attraction to the show was of course the mom was played by Molly Ringwald.

I've tolerated and forgiven a lot of nonsense in this show. The annoying uber-virgin cheerleader Grace Bowman; Jack's family up and leaving him to his own devices for his senior year of school without speaking to the family that would be caring for him, which led to the Bowman family discovering him squatting in the guest house; the two best-friend twits; Adrian's family moving next door to the Jurgen's even though George slept with the mom and Adrian only wanted to live there to keep an eye on Amy.

I could continue, but I think I have made the point that the writing on this show makes Saved By the Bell look like The West Wing.

Season Four has started, and I have watched with much trepidation. The fact that the main characters are high school students has become such a bother, that little sister Ashley, with little or no parental consent, has opted to be homeschooled BY HERSELF. Tom, the charcter with Down's Syndrome went from sweeping floors to the VP of human resources in a scant 3 television time weeks. Then there was BFT (best friend twit) and her attempts to persuade her parents to let her sleep with her ex-boyfriend by feigning interest in her 20-something boss.

Ah, but the kicker has to be the swinging couples of Ben and Ricky and Amy and Adrian. A scant 20 weeks ago, Ben and Adrian slept together to make Amy and Ricky jealous, even though they weren't a couple. That act alone drove everyone into separate corners and into love.

Monday's episode revolved around Ben determined to propose and marry Adrian before the baby arrives. The kid is barely 17 and has proposed to two pregnant teenagers - I think he has a type... Anyway, he asked her parents' for her hand and they said yes, beaming from a taco stand. The sausage prince (he dad owns the butcher shop) had his driver picker her up and proposed... and she said yes.

I looked incredulously into Adrian's shining eyes, as she betrothed herself to the geek, and thought to myself, "I'm done."

Curtains on this ridiculous tableau.