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!

26 June 2017


  1. 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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