The Picture of John Stamos

 John Stamos is hiding something.  He has to be.  I don’t understand how this man has had such a long and varied 30-year career with no blemishes.  Yeah, there’s a divorce on his book and a drunken Australian interview, but that’s practically sainthood in terms of Hollywood.  He’s a television actor, he’s performed on Broadway, he’s an accomplished musician who has worked often with the Beach Boys, his musings have been published in the Huffington Post, and he’s gorgeous.

Seriously, you can hate all you want, but Helen Keller can see how gorgeous Stamos is,  and she’s blind.  And dead. What kills me about him is that it’s not only that he’s good looking- it’s that he’s gotten better looking with age.  This cat is so much sexier, sleeker, and more chiseled if you will (I will) at 50 than he could have dreamt of being at 20.  If he’s had work done, then he needs to do all of our eyes a favor and post his surgeon’s name in the back pages of Skank magazine, the grown folks’ section of Craigslist, or wherever his contemporaries will see it when they are shopping for tranny-hookers when their wives are out of town.  I am so tired of seeing these plastic, reptilian looking men who front like the stretched, collapsible, Dalian faces they currently bear are examples of the natural, non-surgical aging process .  “Bitch, I remember you in Rocky.  You looked more human after being pummeled in the face then than you do now.”  “Honey, I saw when your ass looked like a mammal in 9 ½  Weeks”, so on, etc.  John Stamos has a face that has the wear and tear of 50 year old man who has loved and laughed and lived.  And I, for one, am so happy to see it.

On top of him looking like your college roommate’s father who was your go-to fantasy on those special nights when you were your own friend with benefits, you never hear anything bad about him.  Co-workers praise him.  The ladies love him, girls adore him, I mean, even the ones who never saw him… Sorry.  I digressed into the words of Rob Base, but seriously, this man CAN’T be this good, right?  Maybe he was an incredibly selfless and kind, talent-free, Quasimodo in his last life and this is his karmic reward.  I don’t know, but I hesitate to run on about how fabulous he comes across because it seems like as soon as I hit “publish” there’s gonna be breaking news about a riot of drugged up runaways found in his basement in deluxe puppy cages, attached to punishing benches, or locked to cock and ball pillories. That or his housekeeping team will find drying human skin in the eaves of his attic. Better still, the latest issue of Weekly World News will have a genuine replica of his Faustian Bargain, which was originally signed in blood, and its sinister details will be listed inside the rag next to the latest info on the Bat Boy.  He comes off as being so good that there’s gotta be something dark and twisted that he has enough money to hide from the world, right? 

Or, dare I say and believe, is he really just a dude who is following his passion so fully, that there is no need for the darkness to welcome him as an old friend?  I am so jaded and judgmental, but I would really like to think it’s the latter, wouldn’t you?  Wouldn’t it be nice for a dude in Hollywood who has endured and come through seemingly unscathed, for once,  to end up really being a nice shorty pop who doesn’t have a penchant for beating people, or  abusing them when he’s nine kinds of hopped up on blow and Adderall?  That’s kind of like believing in Santa Claus, unicorns, and that the fat, ugly girl who is the most talented is going to get the romantic lead in a film. 

But you know what? I choose to accept that about John Stamos .  I mean the man went against his own publicity machine when he was hammered during that 2007 interview in Australia and flat out threw the cup of their kool-aide (jetlagged, stomach flu, lie, lie, lie) against the wall and said, “I was f*cking drunk!”  Standing slow clap for John.  Until I hear otherwise, I am going to believe that John Stamos is not hiding anything.  That John Stamos, who I thought would disappear from the small screen, every teenage-girl’s masturbatory fantasy, and the viewing audience’s collective memory after his role ended as Blackie Parrish on General Hospital, is the exact number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.  That he is pink hearts, yellow moons, blue diamonds.  That John Stamos is not just bacon bits or bacon flavoring- but that John Stamos is bacon.  

A Billion Wicked Thoughts: Science Bangs our Dirty Minds

If you are waiting for someone to loan you 50 Shades of Grey or you are trying to pace yourself through the Game of Thrones series so you don't have to anxiously wait umpteen years for the next book like this stupid blogger, then I have a great book to recommend for you called A Billion Wicked Thoughts.

I can remember as a little nerd hooka in training, going to the library and seeing the Hite Reports on Female and Male Sexuality, which were probably the largest sex studies after Masters and Johnson, and Kinsey.  Even though I remember the reads being very "sciencey" and staid, I was fascinated, and always made a point to peek at one when I was there. It's good to know that the interest in what turns people on visits onto the third generation and evolves, and becomes A Billion Wicked Thoughts.

The authors, two neuroscientists named Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam, have brought the sexual attraction study game into the 21st century in a huge and interesting way ~ and in a sense, it went viral:  they examined what people do on the internet.  According to them, they studied "a billion web searches, a million websites, a million erotic videos, a million erotic  stories, millions of personal ads, and tens of thousands of digitized romance novels."  By combining this online behavioral data with neuroscience and past studies, they were able to give some sometimes surprising truths and insight about what turns us on.  Past research combined with more current genetic discovery led to some very interesting theories about why we feel funny about certain unexpected things and people and why.

Ogas and Gaddam theorize about a lot of things, including why women are turned on by the dirtiest shit imaginable, and why we (as women) don't realize or admit it consciously, but why we need to do it that way, and how they test this.  Why are straight men are obsessed with being dicks?  Oops, I mean big dicks- and not even their own; big cocks, black cocks, aggressive cocks having sex with their partners while they watch- cocks you would think they wouldn't think about so often-hell, at all- but they do and why, and how they test that. And how, in light of all of this aforementioned research, straight men can think that they are so different than gay men, which they are not but for their sexual hungers and desires? (Duh.)  How bisexual women answer sex questions more like straight men than they do gay or straight women (What you talking 'bout, Scientist?!), and how straight women love gay porn, its growing digital popularity, and how that's pretty normal.

I think that last thing is what made me love this book even more because for years I have battled straight female friends about my preference for gay porn over het porn. Even if the authors of this research are wrong in their theories, I finally feel vindicated. The Bible says it takes a child to lead them, but sometimes, it takes a loud drunk chick who thinks she knows what sexy is. 

You may have an "a-ha" moment as you read, you may have to call bullshit and put it down for a minute, but you"ll have to admit, regardless, that it's very interesting.  And I totally recommend it.