I felt a really strange connection on Friday with my Grandfather. By chance, a picture of a rather attractive woman in a skimpy bathing suit happened upon my computer screen, brought there via a little program called Webshots. Webshots, for those who don’t know, is a little screensaver/desktop background program which allows you to choose from thousands of backgrounds which also double as screensaver images. Anyway, this rather attractive woman in her rather skimpy blue bathing suit fit in rather nicely with my new Windows Xp color scheme and whenever I quit a program and saw her in the midst of that little crashing wave, I remembered how my grandfather used to have pictures of rather attractive women hanging up in his garage/workshop. I felt a strange kinship then, a connection I’ve not felt in a while, if ever at all.
To the best of my knowledge my Grandpa was a very happily married man. My Grandma Tebo died when I was about four years old so I don’t have a good recollection of their relationship but from what I’ve seen in home movies and what my Mom tells me, they were good together, and they got on well. The fact that Grandpa liked to have a calendar full of sexy women around to look at while he was working on a car doesn’t have any bearing on whether he loved my grandmother or not. None at all. I think it is totally possible for a man to love his wife and still love the site of a beautiful woman.
Look but don’t touch. That’s the saying.
I make no bones about it. I like having a sexy looking woman around in my workshop too. My workshop is the computer, and by extension the little music closet I’ve created here in our spare room. I have a few pictures on my hard drive and I have a calendar in my music closet. So what? Does that mean I don’t love Stephanie? Absolutely not. I love her more than you could imagine. But I have a dick. I have testosterone, (though you could never tell by the man-titties. Small as they may be nowadays, they are still a constant reminder that I am in fact, a girly-man.) I can’t help getting a little charge out of a suggestive or lewd photograph.
Does this make me a bad person? A bad man? Does it make me fit into a stereotype? Does it make every feminist who ever lived right?
I’d like to think the answer is “no” to all of those questions.
Women are beautiful. Young women. Old women. Skinny women. Even most fat women are beautiful. Men… I don’t know why we’re here. But God certainly didn’t put us down on this Earth cause we were good to look at it. There’s nothing pretty about a man. I’m sure Jimmy might argue that but to my eyes, men were put down here to do work and that’s it. Women… they are so much better, so much finer a creation. Women can gain all the same skills as a man, can do just as much work, do just as much good… and when you factor in that 99% of them are beautiful, if only in their own special little way and not the way dictated by the status quo, well… Well, it’s just not fair.
It’s as if God tried out his shit when he was making men, and then, learning from his many mistakes, made woman.
This rant has gone totally awry. The whole point originally, was that I wanted to talk about this strange connection I felt to my grandfather, and all I’ve managed to do is defend (and perhaps unsuccessfully defend at that,) my lecherous nature.
Oh well. Let’s just close out with some related images. The first is a snapshot from some video footage JonMartin and I shot for an upcoming PBT video. It’s of a calendar we found in my grandfather’s garage.
The second is a snapshot of the picture that appeared on my desktop Friday.
I’ll try to be more organized with my thoughts next time.