CONFESSION #2
Don't Call Me Scarface!
Te tagghiu a fazza!
I
live in a perpetual state of being banged up, bruised, cut, and
bleeding. But somehow through it all I have never managed to get the
injury that I have actually wanted-----a big gaping slash right
across the face; something that would leave a big eye-catching scar
that would suggest all kinds of illicit danger and adventure;
something that is pure film noir anti-hero.
Surely,
this obsession must have its origins in my childhood and the G.I. Joe
action figures that were my constant companions. Joe was, for a
little guy, the ideal man---rugged, tough, handsome---always alert
and out on some dangerous mission to save the world. And most
definitely not like Barbie's Ken who, while undeniable handsome in
his own way, lacked any true grit and was really just another of her fashion accessories.
This
scar has become one of the great and glaring omissions in my quest to
become a more perfect man. But I feel that time is running out; it's
gotta happen soon or else surely I must take matters into my own
hands.
Bring me the big knife!
Kenyon
26 June 2017
Great post again, K. Can't say I've ever coveted a big facial scar as part of my masculine identity (I'm way too vain for that), but I too had a major man-crush on GI Joe as a kid in the 1970's (I'm talking the pre-Kung Fu grip days here). Other wanna-be boy dolls, such as Big Jim, were just wimpy by comparison. My mom bought, at a garage sale, my all-time favorite set of GI Joe gear--a 1940's-esque deep sea diving getup complete with REAL LEAD over-boot shoes that rapidly sunk Joe to a standing position on the bottom of the bathtub, or our backyard fish pond. Today, Hasbro would be slapped with a billion dollar law suit for selling chunks of lead to kids...
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