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Since the Brad Pitt Face post I did two weeks ago, I’ve received a lot of requests – you could say a sleigh full – for more photos of me. Readers’ curiosity is insatiable! Whoever would have thought! I was going to do what I do best – ignore them – until I read this article about legislation being introduced in France requiring all digitally altered photographs used in advertising to be labeled as ‘Retouched’. It got me thinking, a bit, about photo preparation and alteration, retouching, and branding. Here’s an excerpt from the article I read…
“…Some think such a law would destroy photographic art; some think it might help reduce anorexia; some say the idea is aimed at the wrong target, given that nearly every advertising photograph is retouched. Others believe such a label might sensitize people to the fakery involved in most of the advertising images with which they’re bludgeoned. Underneath it all is an emotional debate about what it is to be attractive or unattractive, and whether the changing ideals of beauty — from Sophia Loren to Twiggy — have ever been realistic. Michelangelo painted idealized bodies, so the idea of idealized beauty was already there… It’s a fake debate…”
There was a recent fuss about this bizarre retouching of the model Filippa Hamilton for a Ralph Lauren ad. Look at these two photos closely – the one on the left is unaltered while the right picture, from ads that ran in Japan, is retouched so weirdly that her waist appears to be the same width as her head:
Personally, I am thoroughly put off by this whole idea of fashionable idealism by artifice, using retouching and airbrushing techniques. The Botticellianesque counterfeiting of the human body, the rampage of artificiality, the mock run amok, the beau ideal become faux ideal – I find it utterly laughable and yet annoying, even a touch offensive. Countless magazine covers featuring porcelain-perfect, moleless, pimpleless, hairless, sun spotless, scarless, stretch markless facial and body skin, and hourglass figures where beer barrels once existed, combining to make everything about celebrity, about media-drenched modern society, about pop culture generally, illusory, fake, and shallow. I, for one, lose all interest in whatsoever is not so real.
Therefore, in answer to your innumerable requests for “More Daedalus, please!”, and in the spirit of authenticity and humble genuiousness, here is my early Christmas present to all of my readers, subscribers, and fans – my full-bodied, actual, unretouched and unaltered photo of myself in high resolution, suitable for downloading, printing, and framing.
Let’s call this the Christmas season spirit of veracity and full disclosure!
Merry Christmas to you all for 2009!
Icarus and Daedalus ponder a sex change. Question, that is. Because it’s Rhad Day! And what is Rhad Day? As long-time readers of IL know, Rhad Day comes from one of Daedalus’s favorite words, Rhadamanthine. In Greek mythology, Rhadamanthus was a son of Zeus who became a wise king known for stern but good judgment. The adjective references wisdom dispensation. And now it references us!
Mrs. Madelyn Quivers of London, England has written to Icarus:
Dear Mr. Icarus:
I stare at your beautiful, manly face for hours sometimes. How gorgeous you are! And manly! I love a manly man, especially a young manly man, and you have one of the most intoxicating manly-style man faces I have ever seen with my own eyes!
[Daedalus Notes: I wonder if she’s sure she’s looking at Icarus in our portrait, above. Just wondering. Y’know… wondering if maybe… oh, forget it.]
I was compelled to write you. I just had to. I couldn’t help myself! You don’t have to email back but if you help me with this problem then I would be so grateful!
You see, my niece wants to become my nephew. By the way, I’m only forty-six, in case you were wondering. She’s really having a problem with her sexuality. By the way, I’m NOT. Definitely NOT. I’m a good-looking, divorced, petite woman with natural looking red hair, hazel eyes, a gym membership, smokin bod, and I’m HOT. Very, very HOT. I’m so tired of the bar and pub scene, lousy hookups, oafish men, slobberers, that whole thing. When I first saw Icarus Landing, when I first saw YOUR FACE I thought He’s not like those neanderthals I meet. He looks so gentle and sweet, yet very muscular and ripped hard, rock hard, to the touch, and virile, I’m sure. I like that. A lot.
Oh my, where was I? Oh yeah. My niece. Look, to be honest, she’s a little homely anyway. I could send you a jpeg of myself. I have this one in particular it’s so – oh… naughty. I’m sure you’ll like it. Sorry. I don’t mean to be so forward but I just can’t seem to help it. You’re so DREAMY! You could be one of the doctors on that American show on the telly Grey’s Anatomy, you know that? Dr. Icarus, I think I have a small lump on my vulva. Do you think you could feel my vulva for me? Tee-hee-hee! Do you act at all? Even played doctor in your backyard? That’s good enough for me! You’re qualified to examine me!! Ha-ha!!! Have you ever modeled? Nude? Forget I asked that. Unless it doesn’t bother you, in which case, DON’T FORGET I ASKED THAT AT ALL!! Tell me!
Man it’s hot in here. I better open a window. And get a drink. Alright, another drink. So what, right? Life’s for the living. And the drinking. Uh… where was I? Oh yeah. The kid. Christ Almighty! I really am not freaking out about this AT ALL, not like my sister and her husband who think the whole natural universe is caving in on just their heads alone and all because Little Bo Peep wants to be Little Bob Pete with a Peter. I think it’ll be good for her! She hasn’t got a whole lot going for her now, you know what I mean? I think she’d be a better-looking boy than she is a girl anyway! I’m SO bored of this! It’s all everybody in my family talks about these days! You know what I do? I pull up Icarus Landing and I look at you, Icarus, gaze really, and I pretend I’m talking to you. Just you. You and me, alone. All alone. In bed. I pretend we’re in bed. Together. While they’re all eating their roast beef. I’m divorced, you know. Did you know that? Divorced and alone.
Oh, to hell with it! Can I call you? Please? Can you just email me your phone number? Can you? I’d LOVE to talk to you in person! LOVE to hear your voice. I’ll bet it’s sweet like cherry pie, that’s what I’ll bet. Cherry pie with a tall, cold Singapore Sling! What a great drink, don’t you think? Red! That’s brilliant! A red drink! Those great red drinks, really, sweet as hell, really popular back in the– never mind. Doesn’t that sound fantastic, though? Red is my favorite colour! Isn’t that just the most brilliant coincidence?? Yours, too? I hope so! Singapore Slings must be my favorite drink! I’d like one NOW! Jesus, I’m DYING FOR ONE NOW!!! I’d LOVE one!! I’m gonna make myself one RIGHT NOW! Do I have any grenadine? Hold on a triple sec.
Damn. Now that’s SO disappointing! Who wrote Ice is nice but liquor’s quicker? I have a line to add – And whisky makes me frisky! Ha-ha-ha-ha! That’s a damn big improvement in that poem, don’t you think? Where was I? Oh yeah. Whiskey and red cream soda will do just fine, I think! Brilliant drink! Do you know I can sing? Did you know that? Here, I’m singing this to you now. Just for you, Mr. Icarus. Just to you. Somewhere over the rainbow, way up pie, Bluebirds fly o’er the cockles why oh why am I?… SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW, WAY UP SWEET CHERRY PIE VOICE, MUSCULAR ABS RIPPLING O’ER MY NIPPLES WHY OH WHY CAN’T I?!!!…
Oh piss, I just knocked over my drink. Hang on, little Icarie dickery dock… hm, I don’t have another clean glass, at least not one that isn’t full of fruit flies. Oh, I’ll just drunk it from the bottle. I swear I wouldn’t ever ever EVER tipple from the bipple in pubic. Uh-uh. You don’t have to worry about that, Little Icky Dicky. I’ll bet yer not little at all! No sirree! Hey, have you even called me yet? Huh? I better send this now before I pass out on top of me. SEND! Whoo-hoo!!!! Here I coming at you, honey!!! It’s all me!! I sing-sneding I mean sing-sending this message – ALL OF ME, WHY NOT TAKE ALL OF ME!!! RIGHT NOW!!! Wheeeeeeeeeeee!!!
[End of email message]
Daedalus Responds [Yes, that’s right. Daedalus]:
Hm. Uh… so much to ponder there. I hope you don’t mind but Icarus thought it best if I replied to you. So Madelyn, if you’re interested, and I suspect your interests lie far elsewhere, far far elsewhere, far from the maddening sex change issue, but not far from the sex issue at all, and too close for comfort for the rest of mankind, does your niece want to be a boy or is she a girl trapped in a boy’s body?
It is highly unordinary that a person suddenly declaims gender confusion, though – to be sure, here are the signs looked for by professionals that a swing in sexuality from female to male is imminent. Has your niece…
1. Recently cut long, flowing locks into a brushcut, shaved straight and square at the back, and had it done at a barbershop instead of a salon?
2. Started to look longingly at pickup trucks? Maybe asked to go to a monster truck rally?
3. Developed a taste for chewing tobacco?
4. Started to eat with her fingers, then wiped them clean on her chair? Or her jeans? Or her shirt?
5. Suddenly found everything about flatulence to be funny?
If yes to any or all of the above then look out, there’s a bun in the oven and, yes, it’s a boy! Your sister’s going to need a Singapore Sling or two herself. Good luck!
For those long-time readers of Icarus Landing, you know what Rhad Day is – the day we feature one of the voluminous email requests we get for sage advice [use sage with chicken, not beef]. There. Advice done. End of post.
Oh, fine. We’ll present a new reader question and also feature an update of a previous emailer. Icarus Landing comes to the rescue of the world’s sex problems! Again!
By the way, for those who don’t know what the hell Rhad Day is, here’s the autotext explanation:
What’s Rhad Day, by the way? It comes from one of Daedalus’s favorite words, Rhadamanthine. In Greek mythology, Rhadamanthus was a son of Zeus who became a wise king known for stern but good judgment. The adjective references wisdom dispensation. And now it references us!
This email question comes from Lars Ohlsson of Stockholm, Sweden, and could be called Sex on the Brain, on a Train, in the Rain and on a Plain in Spain [er, Sweden, which doesn’t rhyme. But will! Just wait!]…
Hello to Doctor Daedalus and his Lab Assistant Mr. Icarus from the northern clime of Stockholm!
I’m a very happily married man who loves his wife and desires her very much. Actually all the time. I have a great big Swedish sex drive, the kind you see in 60’s movies about Swedish men and women. But the thing is, she doesn’t. I mean, she loves me and all, and still calls me her “Lars Bar”, but we have three little children now and she’s pretty beat taking care of them and our home. I work a 12 hour shift from 7 to 7 daily and when I get home at 8, she and the kids are already asleep. I’m feeling neglected and I want her to have sex with me at 5 a.m. before I leave for work but she won’t wake up no matter what I do. So then my question to you two is, what should I do?
Well, I’m sure that being referred to as a ‘Lab Assistant’ will just thrill ‘Mr.’ Icarus, especially after spending seven years and $200,000 in tuition fees at medical school. Also, even more especially, after the expensive surgical procedure he undertook to get that hump removed from his back.
Would that you could email the estimable but late Ann Landers with your question, she might tell you to march right back into your bedroom at five a.m. and yell in your sleeping wife’s ear, “Wake up and smell the coffee!” That is sure to get her horny. It may also get you the attention of a good [as in good and expensive] divorce lawyer.
I, for one, am flummoxed that waking a woman out of a dead sleep and yelling “Do me now!” doesn’t turn on the instant nympho in her. It always worked for me! I checked with ‘Mr.’ Icarus and he said that always worked for him, too! So clearly, the problem must be you. Consider this rhyme…
Perhaps you are oafish,
perhaps she you repel.
Perhaps in bed you’re so-so-ish,
perhaps that you smell!
Perhaps you’re a dufus,
perhaps your moves don’t excel.
Perhaps for the miss there’s no bliss,
perhaps it’s you, Bland Pimpernel!
Perhaps it’s you she’s outgrown,
perhaps it’s Sven that she’s needin’!
Perhaps her days aren’t spent alone,
perhaps for her it’s Eden in Sweden!
Just the thought that you want an exhausted young mother of three small children to lavish that kind of attention on you at such an ungodly hour, and worse that it bothers you she won’t, indicates you should perhaps alternatively make an early morning appointment in the cafeteria of a nearby, um, institute. There you would enjoy coffee, donuts, and a full hour of undivided attention with someone who will let you talk non-stop about yourself until contented [for about $120 per hour]. Afterwards, you can buy one of those Swedish sex magazines, you know, the ones featuring Swedish men and women, and enjoy some quality ‘alone time’ with them.
A thoughtful alternative to dragging your wife out of a gentle, restful, necessary sleep for a quick, automated, dull plugging by your ‘Lars Bar’ before you skip happily off to work and the kids wake up screaming for, well, everything, is to arrange for someone to watch the children for an hour at lunchtime, say, once a week, while you take your lovely wife out for a nice, quiet, intimate encounter. I’m sure she would appreciate the break, appreciate not having to cook and clean up, and would then be sufficiently free and very willing to lavish as much attention upon you as your tiny, little, um, ego, seems to require.
Reader Update:
From Robin Tyler of Cheek Cherokee, Iowa who emailed how she and her husband had a great marriage and sex life but he asked her if she would swing with another couple. We advised her to spice up their lives with a nude hiking expedition in the Alps instead and invited her to send us a postcard. Here’s her reply and photo:
Dear Daedalus and Icarus:
Thank you so much for the fantastic advice! My husband and I did just that, and not only did we have a great time but having sex, fully naked, in the mountainous snow was amazing! Here’s a jpeg of the two of us “spiced up” in Switzerland – sorry we’re a little blue [as in skin color, not mood] – it was cold, but we were hot hot hot!
It’s ironic, that’s what it really is.
A new book being released this week argues that a business model of ‘Free’ is where we are all headed. Is it???
Well, according to Chris Anderson, author of Free: The Future of a Radical Price, also editor of Wired and author of the 2006 best-seller The Long Tail, ‘Free’ is the future, if not already the present.
Oh yeah?
“The trend lines that determine the cost of doing business online all point the same way – to zero”, Anderson argues. “Everybody can use a ‘Free’ business model”, he says. “People are making lots of money charging nothing. Not nothing for everything, but nothing for enough that we have essentially created an economy as big as a good-sized country around the price of $0.00.”
Is that so. So, then, where’s the irony in all this?
It’s right here: while trumpeting the ‘Free’ price on information, the need for ‘Free’, the plea for ‘Free’, the future ‘Free’, the baydecker for businesses giving things away ‘Free’ to make money, the ‘Free’ to be market paradigm… Anderson is selling his book for $26.99.
Huh???
Yes. Mr. Anderson’s book about ‘Free’ is not free.
If Mr. Anderson really believes in the ‘Free’ price principle, why doesn’t he offer his book for ‘Free’ so he, too, can make lots of money charging nothing? Why doesn’t he practice what he preaches? “I’ve got a lot of kids and college isn’t getting any cheaper”, he says.
Oh. Okay, then. Let’s all rush out and buy it now! Here’s the publishing schedule for the new books Mr. Anderson is working on – let’s all rush out and buy these, too:
Coming out at Christmas, later this year:
Celibacy – The New Sex
Mr. Anderson promotes no sex as the best sex, despite having regular sex with his own wife. “People are having lots of fun having no sex,” he writes. “Not no sex at all, but no sex with anyone but oneself enough that we have essentially created a sexualized non-sexual condition as big as a good-sized country around the activity of sexual nothingness.”
Appearing on bookshelves in the summer of 2010:
The Vaccine Principle
Mr. Anderson promotes everything bad as good for you, the way a vaccination [bad virus] can build immunity [good result], despite not actual doing or taking any bad things himself. “People are getting lots of good out of bad things in regular but modest doses,” he writes. “Not good for bad, but bad for just enough that we have essentially created a new lifestyle as big as a good-sized country around indulgent ingestive behaviors.”
Set for publication in the fall of 2011:
Freed of Speed – The Future of The New Transportation
Mr. Anderson recommends street and highway walking, running, cycling, and pogo-sticking as future forms of The New Transportation, despite the fact there’s nothing at all new about them and that because of a “bit of a bum hip” and an “ineluctable passion for muscle cars”, he himself “can’t” give up his Mustang GTO or brand new Camaro as everyday modes of transportation. “People are saving lots of money paying nothing for cars and gas. Not making more for doing more, but making more by spending less so that we have essentially created an economy as big as a good-sized country around the $0.00 reliance on fossil fuels, mechanical repairs, and infrastructure maintenance.”
Coming out for Christmas, 2011:
Not Eating – The New Eating
Mr. Anderson’s guide to weight loss by the best method of all – not eating until you lose the weight you want – despite the fact that he personally eats three “large, healthy” meals a day and “has an ineluctable weakness” for the double cheeseburger combo at McDonald’s. “People are losing lots and lots of weight eating nothing,” he writes. “Not nothing for everything, but nothing for enough weight loss that we have essentially created a weight loss ‘happening’ as big as a good-sized country around the millions-of-pounds-lost-eating-nothing-at-all model and lower food distribution costs.”
Second, and final, book in the series, in bookstores the spring of 2012:
Not Free – The Future of a New Radical Price
Mr. Anderson’s follow-up to Free – The Future of a Radical Price is Not Free – The Future of a New Radical Price, a paradigm shift in philosophy after realizing people were stupid enough to pay $26.99 for a book about the virtues of charging nothing. Overcharging for everything to capitalize on the fundamental consumer belief that more expensive equals better, no matter what it is, is Anderson’s new modus operandi. “Everybody can use a ‘Not Free’ business model. People are making lots of money charging more money,” the author writes. “Not lots for everything, but lots for enough that we have essentially created an economy as big as a good-sized country around the price of double what everything used to be.” Not surprisingly, the retail price of Mr. Anderson’s new book will be $53.99. Also, all previous publications of Mr. Anderson will now retail for $53.99 as well.
Third, and finally final, book in the series, rushed into bookstores the fall of 2012:
The Ferrari Postulate – Charging Up the Whazoo
Mr. Anderson’s unexpected follow-up to Not Free – The Future of a New Radical Price, presents a business philosophy based on the market patina of Ferrari – make it exclusive and charge up the whazoo for it – after realizing people really would pay double for books he once sold at half the price. Charging up the whazoo for exclusivity – Mr. Anderson autographs every copy – to capitalize on the fundamental consumer belief that exorbitant equals good value and great snob appeal. “Everybody can use a ‘Really Not Free’ business model. People are making lots of money charging exorbitant amounts of money,” the author writes. “Not exorbitantly for everything, but exorbitantly for enough that we have essentially created an economy as big as a good-sized country around the exorbitantly priced article of some rarity that people can rub other people’s noses in.” The retail price of Mr. Anderson’s all-autographed book will be $107.99.
As reported recently in Nature magazine, archaeologists have discovered a 35,000 year-old figurine, the Hohle Fels Venus, in the southwest province of Swabia in Germany. The prehistoric artwork is notable because it depicts a woman rather hugely endowed.
Scientists are indicating that this sheds a whole new light on our understanding of the ‘development’ of homosapiens of the Cro-Magnon period. Where it was once believed our ancestors of this period had limited linguistic abilities, this figurine is painting a different picture. They now believe this significant find contributes enormously to a new understanding of Cro-Magnon man and the events leading to the statue’s creation may have gone something like this…
“Me Gronk. You woman. Woman have big things.”
Woman smiles demurely.
“Gronk no can count but woman big things big. Is good. Gronk have many friends.”
Woman looks away coyly.
“Gronk friends like woman big things, too. Gronk and many friends want woman big things.”
Woman shakes her head.
“Gronk have big stick. Woman like. Gronk many friends all have big sticks. Big sticks make big fun for woman. Woman want big sticks now?”
Woman shakes her head.
“What matter with woman?”
Woman shrugs.
“Wait. Gronk draw woman big things first.”
Gronk draws the first nude in history on the rock walls of the Hohle Fels cave.
“Gronk like drawing woman big things. Gronk take fresh mammoth poop and make statue of woman big things now.”
Gronk sculpts the now-famous figurine.
“Woman like?
Woman smiles.
“Gronk know mammoth excrement smell gross but woman big things look pretty?
Gronk gives Woman the statue. She is deeply moved despite the smell.
“Gronk show finely cultivated artistic sensibility. Gronk make woman big things in abstract cubist manner, reminiscent of Picasso in 35,000 years.”
Woman looks impressed.
“Gronk statue much better than anything that Paleosaurus-breathed Australopithecine Lucy ever did.”
Woman nods.
“Woman drink much marsh grog now. Get dizzy and make big party with Gronk and many friends. Gronk call up many friends.”
Woman nods.
“Hey Kronk! Hey Gorg! Hey Krogg! Hey Drog! Hey Dorgg! Hey Brogg! Hey Vonkk! Hey Drod! Hey Korg! Big party with woman big things.”
The Cro-Magnons gather around Gronk, grunting enthusiastically.
“Gronk and many friends create first Big Bang now. Scientists one day learn new paleo-psychological perspectives from Gronk and many friends.”
The Cro-Magnons cheer and slap Gronk on the back approvingly.
“Gronk have big stadium named after him someday. Be big hero to Jerry Jones, you see. Drink! Drink!”
Yeah, that’s right. This is what you come to a smartblog for – elite, new, highly intellectual content on subjects of great import and merit… sex and big boobs! Courtesy of devoted readers of Icarus Landing, of course – Ivy League grads, world leaders, Think Tank, um, thinkers, and now Robin Tyler of Cheek Cherokee, Iowa with a question about sex and an update to Rhiennah O’Neil’s big boobs should-she-or-shouldn’t-she quandary.
Dear Mr. Daedalus and Dr. J:
My husband and I have always had a great marriage and sex life and we love each other very much. We’ve always welcomed new things in the bedroom like sex toys and such, but recently he asked me if I would swing with another couple. I didn’t let on how insecure it made me feel. Does he want other women? Does he want to see me with other men? I trust him and I believe we really love each other and he only wants to be adventurous but I’m having real doubts. What should I do?
MISTER Daedalus and DOCTOR J??? How about Dear DOCTORS at least??? Sheesh. All that medical training and all those fancy-looking degrees I bought and all I get is a lousy Mister??? Come on.
Dr. J. and I consulted long and hard over this and have decided that yes, we want to see you with other men. Do it. Videotape it. Send it to us. We’ll get back to you if we need more, um, research material.
Since you use sex toys regularly, we think a large choke collar should do the trick nicely here. It’s a relatively inexpensive purchase and all upside for you. It can function as a new sex toy and, better yet, the next time hubby mentions the word ‘swinging’, or the phrase, ‘sex with other partners’, or becomes dreamy or drooly at the– well, you get the picture – just wrap him a good one with it and yank hard until he’s completely unconscious. Three times, I would think, four tops, and all your problems will be solved! He’ll never bring it up again.
As Woody Allen once said, “Sex is the most fun you can have without laughing.” It seems that, heretofore, you and your husband have been living proof of that. But the thought of another partner for each of you disrupts your utopia labia [Latin for ‘great lay’], and perhaps rightly so – good sex is dependent on intimacy which is itself dependent on trust. Other people are the barbarians at your gate – they threaten that which is delicate and unrepeatable between you.
When he regains consciousness, explain your feelings about this gently but firmly, with the choke collar still on and tight. Tell him that some peaks are not to be conquered by any other explorers but one. Then book two seats to Switzerland – nude hiking in the Alps has become very big there! Have fun, you two! And send us a postcard!
Update
Rhiennah O’Neil emailed that yes, she did get the breast enhancement that her fiancee wanted and yes, her fiancee did get the penile enlargement she bartered for. “I’m five feet tall and I now have a 52-inch chest. It’s something to see! All the lads in Limerick are loving it and want to see them, it seems. If I bend over you can bounce my breasts like basketballs on a hardwood floor. It’s fun! That LeBron James bloke would love me! The attention I’m getting from men is intoxicating! My fiancee is now my ex – he couldn’t handle the pressure of all these other lads. And his penis is an absolute monstrosity now – no one wants to go near it [I sure wouldn’t]. How ironic, huh? Too bad, so sad. Thanks for giving me these great big new boobs and this great new life! You boys are the best!”
You’re welcome, Rhiennah! Just being socially responsible and enhancing women’s, um, issues, everywhere in every way!
Icarus Landing 