Friday, February 26, 2010

Your dressed and undressed girls, girlfriends, teens, women and wives – 26/02/10

Your dressed and undressed girls, girlfriends, teens, women and wives – enjoy!

[Via http://dressedundressed.wordpress.com]

Valentine Vixen - Kim Farber, Miss February 1967

Besides being possessed of arrestingly modern looks (it is truly startling how easily this photoshoot could have been done in the cheap-and-chic, Ikea-styled apartment of some sweet young hipster last weekend), Kim Farber is also unique in the pantheon of vintage playmates because she worked nights as a “Theater Bunny” at the Chicago Playboy Theater before being selected as Playboy’s Miss February 1967. To my mind, that gives her a very special position in the empire’s history.


Photographed by Stan Molinowski.

Playboy opened the sadly short-lived Playboy Theaters — notable for screening not exclusively the racier content you might expect, but also rare classics, indie flicks, and films that had been met with censorship in their attempts at playing nice with other distribution channels — in only a scant, lucky few cities.

So far I have only chased down for sure the origins and present doings of the sites in Chicago (more on that in a sec) and New York, where the theater was in Manhattan on W. 57th street.

I had a false lead in Corpus Christi, TX, but I went ahead and called and, believe it or not, the town’s own official website has mislabeled the Harbor Playhouse Theater as the Harbor Playboy Theater: the venue is not now and has never been a Playboy Enterprises property. Simple typo which the city of Corpus Christi has yet to notice or rectify, but it gave the guy I asked about it earlier this afternoon a good laugh.

I ironed out the discrepancy (a google search turned up the town’s link to the theater under the name “Playboy” but yellow pages and all other sources called it “Playhouse;” I couldn’t let mysterious sleeping dogs lie!) by straight-up calling the theater and asking them myself. As I said, the guy I spoke to laughed heartily and said no way. I didn’t bother explaining that there were, at one time, Playboy Theaters, as the difference between cinema and stage work sometimes makes people whose life passion is working for actual factual live theaters a little uppity and superior about plays vs. movies, plus, why interrupt the flow of happy karma? I laughed too and thanked him for his time.

That’s not the only telephone digging I’ve done this week, actually. Several days ago, I also called San Diego Rattan to ask if there was any chance they were ever known as “House of Rattan,” the shop run by the mother of Miss February 1969, Lorrie Menconi (answer: again, no). The very confused woman on the other end of the telephone assured me the store had only been called “San Diego Rattan” throughout its history.

I then asked in as friendly and “sane” a way as possible if she had any idea what had ever happened to the House of Rattan (she did not, as she moved to San Diego from Redondo Beach in 1999 and had never heard of House of Rattan).

I said my Girl Scout leader grew up in Redondo Beach, and her daughter (my dear Sarah-fina) was born in Torrance; plus, a sorority sister from college was from nearby Rancho P.V., so we talked briefly about Redondo, the merits of Rancho Palos Verdes vs. Palos Verdes Heights — or “PVH,” as the cognoscenti call it — and how Girl Scouts used to have so many more badges for water sports. (Not the sex-and-urine, super-kinky kind, but rather the kayak-and-diving, woman-against-the-sea kind). She was mainly very confused and almost concerned, it seemed at the start of the conversation, about my rattan line of questioning, so I felt like I needed to regain emotional lost ground with friendly, “aren’t-I-so-normal,” bantery small talk.

She was not annoyed — she was very friendly and even apologetic for having no answers to my left-field queries — but I am pretty sure she thought I had some extra-special Things Going On upstairs. I did not drop the magazine’s name at any point in the discussion, keeping the conversation on a strictly wicker-outdoor-furniture, geographical-social-casting, and oh-these-Girl-Scout-times-they-are-a-changin’ basis, so maybe rabid rattan fans are a Thing and she was initially afraid she had one of them on the phone. I’ll never know!


It is part of human nature, observed an 18th Century British writer, that great discoveries are made accidentally. (“Ticket to Success.” Playboy, February 1967.)

Though many people have made remarks along similar lines, my guess is that the uncredited author of Ms. Farber’s write-up is probably referring to the Reverend Charles Caleb Colton (1780-1832).

Rev. Colton more specifically said, “It is a mortifying truth, and ought to teach the wisest of us humility, that many of the most valuable discoveries have been the result of chance, rather than of contemplation, and of accident, rather than of design.” (Many Things in Few Words: Addressed to Those Who Think. Colton, Rev. C.C. London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green. (p. 39). via that there ol’ google books. take it for a public domain spin!)


Proof of this maxim is our valentine Playmate, Kim Farber, who was steadfastly taking tickets at Chicago’s Playboy Theater when she was pointed toward a gatefold appearance by a Playboy staffer who had gone to the theater and discovered that its prime attraction was not on the screen. Kim gratefully consented to pose for Playmate test shot. “Of course, I’d always wanted to be a Playmate, but once I got settled in my Theater Bunny routine, I never thought I’d get closer.” (Ibid.)


When she finally returns Stateside, Miss February hopes to pick up the thread of an apprenticeship in fashion coordination and design (“If I had my way, I’d drape the whole world in bright orange”), which she interrupted to become a Playboy Theater Bunny. “Before I commit myself to a career,” the dark-haired beauty explains, “I want to get some traveling out of my system.” (Ibid.)

I’ve got sadly no idea where the sweet and doe-eyed young gamine’s travels took her, in the end — Ms. Farber has either changed her name or vanished off the face of the earth, because if you have learned nothing else from my ramblings I hope you at least agree that I’m pretty all right with that there ol’ research — but I can happily tell you both the backstory of its inception and the denouement of what eventually happened to the Chicago Playboy Theatre. It’s an involved but very interesting story. Go potty now and smoke if you got ‘em, cause here we go!

The Playboy Theater in Chicago was located at 1204 N. Dearborn Street. It began its life as the Dearborn Theatre in 1913. It was remodeled two decades later in 1934 by William and Percival Pereira. William, who ascribed the sterile and stark look of his architecture to his interest in science fiction, would go on to design the distinctive pyramid-shaped Transamerica Building in San Francisco, one of the most recognizable — and, next to the Lucy Coit tower, my personal favorite — features of The City’s skyscape.

The theater was sold, expanded, and given a much-needed facelift, when it re-opened as the Surf Theater in the 1940s. The new cinema boasted a seating capacity of 650. It remained the Surf Theater until September of 1964.


This is my favorite shot of the spread.

The Chicago Playboy Theater opened its doors at the end of September, 1964. Chicago was the home of Hef’s fledgling empire, and, in its heyday, was bustling with bunnies. There were Playboy clubs, hotels, restaurants, and the Theater, all along the famous Loop.

Besides being known for the unusual films it screened, the Playboy Theater was one of the hosting venues in the early years of the Chicago International Film Festival.

The theater changed hands in 1976, a year after Hugh himself blew irretrievably once and for all out of the Windy City in the wake of the dissolution of his long relationship with Barbi Benton. It was renamed the Chelex, and famed Chicago Sun critic Gene Siskel once wrote a scathing review of a film he saw screened there, concluding that the venue itself was so distracting that it made the film even worse; he said he sat near the back and had to keep his coat, hat, and even his gloves on during the movie because it was so goddamned cold.


This is another really, really good shot in my book.

The theater then changed hands again in 1979, and was renamed the Sandburg Theater, after Chicago native son and poet Carl Sandburg (“came in like the tide on little cat feet,” you know, that guy?). A well-regarded arthouse cinema-spot, as you might guess from the lofty name, the Sandburg mainly screened repertory and indie films.


My partner Albert Berger and I re-opened the Sandburg Theatre as a repertory house showing double features of classic films on May 22, 1979. Our opening week was a festival of Alfred Hitchcock movies. Although home video was starting to appear back then, most of these films could not be seen at that time except on television. We leased the theatre from famous Chicago real estate mogul Arthur Rubloff, who had developed much of the Magnificent Mile among other properties. (Bill Horberg. March 8, 2008. Internet post retrieved February 25, 2010.)


The theatre was shuttered when we took it over and in very poor shape. It still had the bunny logo design carpeting from the days when it operated as The Playboy, and a marquee with disco style lighting. (Ibid.)

When the tenure of the ambitious and admirable Misters Horberg and Berger came to a close in 1982, the theater was sold, condemned, and demolished. A Walgreens (another longtime and homegrown Chicago tradition) now stands on the spot.


I do believe that is Ms. Farber to Hef’s right, viewer’s left. Yes?

Interestingly, the keynote speaker at the Walgreens opening dedication ceremony was Cary Grant, whose own movies had often been screened in the Old Dearborn and Surf Theatre days of the 1930’s-40’s.

Grant graciously agreed to be present and speak because he was a family friend of Betty Walgreen, heiress to the chain. Like Mr. Grant, Ms. Walgreen has since passed away. She was very active in Chicago-area charities well before the time of highly visible CEOs and public relations folderol, which means she had no obligation to be so involved, and did it out of the goodness of her own heart. R.I.P. to them both.

Final fun fact: Before it closed its doors in 1976, the Chicago Playboy theater’s final booking was a double feature of Mel Brooks’ The Producers and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (“Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?”) Sounds to me like an excellent way to close the place down — if they were licensed for beer, to boot, then I need to get on time traveling, stat. That’s all for tonight, and I sure hope you’ve enjoyed this lengthy foray into the Playboy past.

[Via http://thethoughtexperiment.wordpress.com]

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

A life of posing, voguing, and nonstop nakedness

Contrary to popular belief, that is not the life of an art model. Yet people continue to ask me if I “sit around naked all the time” when I’m not modeling. Hey, I like naked time as much as the next person (OK, maybe a little more), but I do wear clothes, you know. I like clothes. A lot. What girl doesn’t like clothes?

I have this cute cartoon in my head (if only I could draw!) of this art model in a reclining pose in a horrible wicker chair; then she is all bundled up and walking home in the next panel; and the last panel has her home, naked, and in the same exact pose in the same chair in her living room. Funny, huh? Yeah, that’s not really what happens. Although, I do sometimes sit in a similar pose on my couch (force of habit), I am usually clothed.

Gesture posing is another story. Because you know that I am always voguing around my living room. (I love that voguing is in the dictionary. 1989 represent!) It’s funny that some models (I hear) do not really get the whole “gesture” posing thing, and they just stand there. Then they turn 45 degrees and just stand there. (Repeat as necessary.) Not cool! Totally boring, too. If you are only doing short poses (anywhere from 10-60 seconds), mix it up and have some fun. That is not that long to hold an interesting pose with some twists and angles. Graceful arms, pointed toes, a twist at the waist all add variety and look darn pretty. Even 1-3 minute poses are fine for adding creativity — as long as you can hold it. (Yoga helps with balance.) Yes, I do practice gesture poses at home because I don’t want to look like a moron in front of a class. We all know that there is good naked and bad naked, so no crouching, please.

Last night, my friend Dani had this funny book from the seventies with photographs of nude models in a variety of poses. I would not recommend this particular book for modeling ideas, though, because there are about 50 photos of a naked woman sweeping. Yes, sweeping. With a broom. Because that’s what women did in the ’70s, they cleaned their house with only their Amy Carter bush to keep them warm. And there were crouching photos, too, because, you know, you have to get down with that dustpan every now and then.

For those of you who are not familiar with my juvenile sense of humor, you may be surprised to learn that I am sometimes 12 years old and a boy. Get over it. I will point and scream when I see a ginormous mound of pubic hair — what I call “Amy Carter Bush” — in a photo from the original “Our Bodies, Ourselves” or in an an old art book. I have always found it terrifying, and I thank the Brazilian Bikini Wax gods every single day for keeping my lady business out of everyone else’s business. Hey, if you want to be all natural, you go for it. But you should know that nobody wants to see that at the beach or pool, so wear appropriate attire to keep it all tucked away, mkay?

Back to the modeling, now. I totally had to stifle a coughing fit the other night because I knew how horrible naked coughing looks. There I was, with just one cheek perched on a stool, one toe pointed, bright light in my eyes, and a tickle in my throat. Yes, I know that I can excuse myself and get a drink of water, but I never want to seem (too much) like a diva.  Instead, I held it in and kept swallowing. Then my eyes started to water. Great, I thought. They are totally going to think I am crying. Is a crying model better than a coughing model? I think so. I could use a little sympathy during a particularly painful pose. And “Tears of a Model” would be a much better song than “Tears of a Clown.”

[Via http://librarianlyssa.wordpress.com]

Monday, February 22, 2010

This Guy Tried To Eat Me!

I heard an unsettling noise coming from House Palmas this morning. It sounded like a garbage disposal set to the rhythm of a broken clock. I didn’t have to go far to find a 300 pound man comfortably sleeping in a van DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY PLACE. I had to get pretty close to snap a decent picture with my iPhone camera but I think it was worth the risk. Even if he woke up, I don’t think he had a freeze pop’s chance in hell of catching me.

[Via http://casualmafiablog.com]

Lot's of Brooke Skye Vids XXX

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Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Note to self:


airport security

Note to self: Next time just turn up naked.

(Airport security)

That’s what he did.

Picture by: The New York Times Caption by: BSuddery via Advanced Lol Builder

» Recaption This!

» View All Captions

[Via http://punditkitchen.com]

Think Twice When Walking By The Broom Closet Naked

It has come to my attention over the past year or so that there is a trend within the cleaning supplies television advertising world.

Anthropomorphism of cleaning products.

It caught my eye when Swiffer started promoting their products as “the new boyfriend”. The old brooms, mops and dusters were kicked to the curb. Sent packing in a taxi to sad theme music, mostly from the eighties. I found the commercials somewhat irritating, but for the most part I tune them out. I still to this day do not own a Swiffer. I enjoy my mop & bucket, thank you.

Now enter Mr. Clean Magic Eraser and two talking spray bottles who don’t know what a leather shoe is, and you have me lunging for the remote. I can’t take the way one bottle says “shoe” perfectly fine, then the next is unable to repeat his nozzley friend. Sadly, Mr. Clean didn’t have that up on their Youtube site, so I posted one in that series that is as equally as tragic.

Why are all my cleaning supplies coming to life? My broom doesn’t have feelings. If it did, I would think twice before using it to bang on my ceiling when Lady Leadfoot and her boyfriend, Mr. Stomps-a-lot wear their shoes on the hardwood floors.

Next on the roster is Dawn dish soap. They’ve recently introduced Dawn Hand Renewal with Olay Beauty. And guess who stars in the commercial!? A talking sponge, of course.

Alright, I get it. Talent costs are lower. Voice-overs are easier than a full-take with actors. But these commercials are making me long for Billy Mays. Someone! Quickly! Shout at me directly into the camera! Show me a demonstration! Tell me if I don’t act now… wait, I never bought Oxy-Clean or Sham-Wows either. I think I’ll stick to Method.  I love their Shiny Suds commercial (posted somewhere else on my blog).

“You have woken up the sleeping giant. I’ll have a pitch-off with you any time Vince.”

[Via http://damewallis.wordpress.com]

Monday, February 15, 2010

Sexy pirates – yarrrrr…

Oh found these lovelies, awesome pictures. This is the pirates I wanna see onscreen instead of Johnny Depp (nothing wrong with him really but…).

47cc7a39c6ffd4797e99d8e813482dc6b7b516548447908e95b2

The average man will bristle if you say his father was dishonest, but he will brag a little if he discovers that his great-grandfather was a pirate.

48378599556f3

Digg This

[Via http://erotixx.wordpress.com]

Japanese murder exposes world of hired marriage wreckers

He was charming and single, she was bored and stuck in a sterile marriage, and their encounter in the aisles of a local supermarket seemed like a chance for them to change their lives for the better.

But the affair ended in betrayal, recrimination and death after a sequence of events as lurid as the plot of a pulp novel.

Prosecutors in Tokyo called yesterday for a 17-year sentence for Takeshi Kuwabara for murdering his lover, Rie Isohata, last year.

But the most extraordinary thing about the case was not the killing — by strangulation, after a bitter argument last April — but the circumstances in which the couple met.

//

A ?love hotel?

to not show photographer information –>

[A "love hotel": Rie Isohata was photographed entering one with Takashi Kuwabara to provide grounds for divorce]

Although Kuwabara inadvertently fell in love with Mrs Isohata, he had been paid to track her down and seduce her as a professional wakaresaseya — or “splitter upper” — hired by her husband to provide him with grounds for a divorce.

The case is raising questions about the ethics and legality of “splitter uppers” — shady, but seemingly widespread operatives to whom a surprising number of Japanese turn.

As Mrs Isohata’s father said during the trial: “I can never forgive a business that toys with the emotions of human beings.”

Wakaresaseya perform a variety of functions, but all of them arise from the Japanese dislike of direct confrontation. Rather than pleading with him face to face, a woman whose husband is having an affair may hire a splitter-upper to seduce his mistress away from him. Parents may engage their services to prise off the unsuitable lover of a son or daughter. Dozens of wakaresaseya companies advertise on the internet, under names such as Lady’s Secret Service and Office Shadow. They employ models, actors and personable people of different backgrounds first to trail and then to seduce their quarry. The classic wakaresaseya operation was the one commissioned by Mrs Isohata’s husband.

Kuwabara approached the 32-year-old mother in a supermarket in Tochigi Prefecture, north of Tokyo, in the guise of a chatty stranger, and asked her if she could recommend a place that sold good cheesecake.

Before long they were lovers. He used the false identity “Hajime” and made no mention of his own wife and children. By arrangement, a colleague photographed them covertly as they entered a “love hotel” where rooms are rented by the hour — and Mrs Isohata’s husband used this as evidence to divorce her in November 2007. By this time, however, she and Kuwabara were in love.

But when the truth came out in April 2009 the couple had a furious row and she announced that she was leaving him. It ended with her being strangled with a piece of household string. Kuwabara surrendered to the police that same night. “At the beginning, I thought of it as just a job,” he told the court. “But I came to really love her. I told lie after lie out of fear that she would hate me. I was driven into a corner. I still love her.”

Mrs Isohata’s father told reporters: “For the rest of my life, I will never forgive the defendant, or my daughter’s ex-husband who hired him, or the wakaresaseya business itself.

“This has devastated not just my daughter’s life, but those of my grandchildren and me.”

Parting shots

Wakaresaseya (pronounced Wack-Array-Sass-Sayer) are private detectives who bring to an end relationships of all kinds

As well as breaking up couples, entrapping someone into an affair can be useful to an employer who wants to secure the “resignation” of an employee or a businessman seeking “favourable terms”

Five years ago there were about a dozen companies, but there are now many more on the internet. The industry relies upon the power of shame and is unregulated

Cost is a question of time and complexity. An initial consultation might be Y10,000 (£71), but the average case takes three months and costs can easily mount

The wakaresaseya say that men are the easiest targets. “They never seem to smell a rat when, despite the fact they’re middle-aged, a beautiful young woman falls for them,” one said.

bron: www.timesonline.co.uk  [10-2-2010]

[Via http://wocview.wordpress.com]

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Day 95 (2/8/10): X-Man

As I had caught up with the other ex-s, I thought it was only fair that I had lunch with my freshest ungirlfriend. Naturally, I was putting it off as humanly possible because. no matter how many girls you put between you and the last one to make a mark, the first time is always awkward and bound to screw with your head more than hard liquor and dirty blondes.

When she walked up to the café table she looked good, a calculated move to make me feel like shit for ending it. And of course I had to tell her she looked good, and she replied that I did too. She asked what I was up to these last few months and I just couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t get what was so funny, and I brushed it off.  In my head I convinced myself that because she was behind the origin of this whole thing, she would be my greatest villain in the hundred days,  but she was just another girl. Another girl who I went through the motions with, another girl who sure, I love to spend time with, but she didn’t give me that amazing teenage feeling.  You can laugh and smile and have all the amazing sex you want with a person, but there are so few out there that you just want their breath on the side of your neck, and the twitch of their arm before they pass out.

She also asked if I was seeing anybody, and I immediately mentioned Nicole, and she brought up a couple of the girls she thought were into me (several of the hundred girls chronicled here), but we only really had an hour together, and I promised to call her, and to reestablish the lines of communication, more hollow words that we knew wouldn’t be fulfilled.

[Via http://100girls100days.com]

Monday, February 8, 2010

approximations

21st century poet

Guesses
wide awake
yet engulfed
in bottomless dream
guessing
how to undress
be raw, nakedly raw
while the great wave of tomorrow
usurps all my vain hypotheses
the crystals in the air
swirl in entrancing patterns
I’m guessing
undecided
whether to cross this street
or return to the wreckage
that floats over the nothingness
of the world
then the mist descends
and engulfed again
in that sewer full of the debris
of revolutions and broken sciences
guessing
how to plant my heart
far away in the fields
where light
touches
light.        
21st century poetry

[Via http://nihilisticpoetry.com]