Trade Fair about Sex comes again.

*** NOTE *** the painting above is from the 'Housewife' series by artist J.T. Winik. Her work can be easily found on the web. I include this image, not because it has anything to do with this week's topic. But just because it's my idea of erotic.

SEX.

Now that we have your attention (ha-ha,) let's talk about sex.

That's one topic you just can't talk enough about - especially if you live in London, Ontario and a trade fair entitled 'The Everything to Do With Sex Show' is surprisingly returning to the Western Fair Grounds this weekend - October 2 - 4.

Last fall, the show had tongues wagging on the open-line radio programs and in the Letters to the Editor section of the London Free Press. Naturally, the usual self-appointed Guardians of Morality were up in arms about it. The most vocal critic was Me-agin Walker, executive director of the London Abused Womens' Centre. Of course, Walker didn't attend the show herself and the majority of other complainers were equally uninformed.

Well, it just so happens that *I* did attend. Not because of any real interest or curiosity about sex. After about 33 or 35 years of marriage, there probably isn't anything about the missionary position that I don't already know.

No, me and me missus attended because it was a trade show at Western Fair. When you are middle-aged, that's what you do on the weekend. There's barely one goes by that me and Mavis aren't down to the fairgrounds for a Home & Gardens Show, Mature 50-Plus Lifestyles fair, recreational vehicles, Travel or hot-tub exhibition. This year's sex fair is located right next door to the London Anti-Aging Show. And the first home game of the season by the London Roller Derby Girls. BONUS!

So last year, we headed down there if only to check out the newest trade show to come to town. Can't say I was personally offended by anything I saw. I'm no prude and pretty open-minded and sophisticated when it comes to what two consenting adults want to do 'down there.'

And overall, the whole event was kind of fun. Like any trade show, it's like one big infomercial. Think of it as a visit to an adult-entertainment and novelty shop - only a lot bigger. And like any other trade show, there's a lot of the same. I don't khow about you, but I can only look at so many dildos before I fade out and start longing for a walk through a new motor-home or hear a seminar on RRSPs for Seniors.

But there was lots of variety. Mavis checked out a lingerie fashion show. I sat in on a seminar on Tantric sex, but got bored after four minutes and was left. I almost wandered into the 'Dungeon Room,' but realized I had already seem most of that stuff on the late-night 'Kink' TV-show on Showcase. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. Even if it means the woman on top.

We watched a bit of a nude body-painting demonstration. This being London, Ontario - even though thanks to the efforts of Gwen Jacobs a decade ago, it's perfectly legal for women to walk down the street topless, here the female models had to have their nipples covered with those pasty things that the dancers wore in burlesque half a century ago. I don't think that would happen if the show was in Toronto. Or Boston, for that matter.

There were some educational seminars on using sensitivity and fantasy-play as a way of putting the spark back in your romance. I don't need any help in that department. My fantasies are always the same - long walks on the beach in the rain, champagne in front of a fireplace afterwards, at least two twenty-year-old blonde big-breasted nymphomaniacs, a midget and the New York Times cross-word puzzle.

We didn't buy anything. We're not really into 'toys' and as for the selection of soft-core adult videos aimed at couples, those things have always struck me as a form of foreplay for lazy people lacking in imagination and don't want to make an effort.

Just the same, turns out the show was well worth the price of admission. When we got home, we wasted no time 'reaffirming our vows.' If you know what I mean.

The Annual Theatre Review

On Sunday we made our annual pilgrimage to Stratford to see some 'thay-tuh.' It was Mavis' birthday present. Seems to be becoming a regular event. Last year we took the young 'uns and saw 'The Music Man,' which was darn good. "There's trouble in River City" and all that. Lots of parallels to life here in Hicksville, Ohio on the banks of the River Thames.

But this time it was just the two of us. The play I chose was one of those 'romantic comedies,' and I was hoping to set a certain 'mood.' As I reminded Mave all afternoon, "I'll give you your 'real' birthday present later tonight." Deja vu.

Anyway, we took in a matinee of this play called 'Cyrano!' Apparently it was written by one of those Shakespeare guys because everyone was wearing old-fashioned clothes like from the 'Three Musketeers' time. Lots of sword-fighting and battle scenes too. Action packed!

It's all about this Cyrano de Bergerac guy who has this big nose and has all these adventures and stuff. Sort of like 'Pinocchio' but without the big whale and the six-legged sidekick. Ol' Cyrano didn't need any wise-beyond-his-days insect anyway. The guy was pretty smart all on his own.

Not too smart though, because he didn't get the girl until it was too late. In the end, he did get her and seemed alright with that. But that's kind of sad. Weren't a dry eye in the house at that point. Turns out that Cyrano was a lot like Pinocchio all along. His whole life was a lie.

But Cyrano was pretty funny too. He made jokes about his nose all the time. Even though he was supposedly sensitive about it. Maybe it was one of those self-defence things. You know, you beat others from making fun of you by making jest of yourself first.

Such as, when Cyrano's rival, a young pretty-boy jock named 'Christian' first spies Cyrano as he's coming around the corner because his nose preceded him by a foot, Christian lets loose with a number of zingers. Like, "Hey, is that a banana you're eating - or is that your nose?"

But one-liners were in short supply whenever Cyrano opened his mouth. One of those guys in love with the sound of his own voice if you know what I mean. Why use five words to describe something if you can say it with a hundred?

And when he was finally dying (*** Oops, SPOILER ALERT !!! *** one (or two) of the main characters die during the course of the movie,) I swear it was the looooonnngest death scene I've ever seen.

Let's just say that he didn't go quietly into that good night. The guy just wouldn't shut up. I don't know if he was trying to postpone his appointment with the Grim Reaper or just bore him to death. Which would be ironic, if you really think about it. ... Whoa!

Anyway, it was a great production. Colm Feore played Cyrano. And he's always good. I think it plays till the end of the first week of November. I highly recommend it.

More Jim Carroll - Because You Demanded it

Due to popular demand - and because in the past few days I've dug out my old rekidds and old books of his pomes - here's some more stuff about the late Jim Carroll.

I'm sure anyone who drops by this blog is hep to Jim Carroll and 'The Basketball Diaries' - so I won't be doing any glamourizing of being a teen heroin addict while bouncing B-ball and being a C-minus student as b-ball scholarship stud at at fancy-dancy Manhattan private high-school. ... Well there will be one brief excerpt from That Book about the first day of school for Grade 10.

Otherwise, keep all that in mind when checking out the photos at the top of this post.

At the top - Jim at 15. Number 2 - Jim's final yearbook picture from that same private school. #3 - Jim and Patti Smith, circa 1969, a couple of years after high-school.; and lastly, my favorite rekidd cover photo of the man. Talk about looking angelic. ... Somehow, the irony is lost on me.

Like I said, no dwelling on the heroin stuff. What I like about the guy is his sense of humour. Especially when his parents are involved. I only wish Ol' Bull Burroughs might have added a bit more of that to his famously 'dry' wit when he penned his own memoir on semi-youthful junk addiction in 'Junkie.'

That all said, we can't get started without this - from the Basketball Diaries.

Summer, 1965 - "i"m gonna be fifteen soon and the summer's 'Pepsi-Cola' heroin habit is tightening more and more around me. I'm getting that feeling for the first time since I lost my virgin veins at thirteen that I gotta start getting my ass together 'cause school's coming at me mighty quick and no way of doing that scene with a habit."

... Now, for something more cheerful - from the Winter of '65 in the Diaries -

"My Marxist pal, Bunty from my new school, finally talked me into going to one of his Communist Party meetings today. It was at this sleazy place on 11th Street called Webster Hall. All the girls looked like reformed Mary Magdalenes. Everyone moans alot and plays folk songs. One of the requirements seems to be that you have to be ugly. I was wearing my seediest clothes and I still came off looking like Arnold Palmer or something. I dig these motherfuckers, but the speeches bored the shit out of me.

I went home and told my old man how the government suppresses the proletariat from his due. "I AM the proleteriat, you dumb bastard," he said, "and I think those motherfuckers are off their rockers. Now, get the hell inside and do your homework."


... and for the final not-so-forced entry on this subject, it's from a prose piece by the most recent book I bought from the man, 'The Book of Nods,' shamefully - about 15 years ago.

It's called 'A Poet Dies.' ... I recommend you seek out the entire work on your own, but the last sentences seem fitting ...

... "I tighten the notebooks beneath my arms for my return, and look down. I will have no more from them ... I am the future, and my power is great."

......................... Sonny Drysdale Presents now returns you to your regularly broadcasted program.

Person Who Died

Jim Carroll - September 11, 2009; heart attack at the age of 60. Reportedly died while at his desk writing in his Manhattan apartment.

From 'The Basketball Diaries' -

Spring 1965; Age 15

"I'm lying on the sofa digging SUPERMAN on t.v. after dinner and my moms is sorting through the mail of the day: Life magazine, a letter from the Bartender's Union, The Catholic News, (why they insist on sending that rag here I have no idea. We never pay the little frog that comes around to collect for it. I think anyone with an Irish name they send it to on a hunch), a bill from Macy's and, as my old lady makes me quick to know, a letter from my principal, Mr. Bluster. She opens it like a savage ... a short note: "Jim has become a constant enigma around here as you might well detect from the report you received last week. Please attend parent's day next week (date ... blah, blah, cocktails served) as Jim's teachers and I are anxious to see you about this."

She beams in on me in a manner rather mean, "What happened to this report card crap last week?"

"Well, dig, I heard a lot didn't get out, some mail hassles ... Eggie called me last night and mentioned he didn't get one either."

Of course that's jive, I simply knew what day it was coming and skipped practice, intercepted it, dug what an atrocity it was and now it's a bed of shreds at the bottom of the dumbwaiter shaft. "What the hell does 'enigma' mean?" she asks my brother. He shrugs, a bagful of potato chips in his mouth. I grab the big book and blurt out in dictionary language, "Enigma: a model of perfection, an example used to have others strive toward. E.g., He was a constant enigma among his math classmates." I calmly fold the big volume and bury it back into the shelves, my brother rolling around the floor choking on potato chips. My old lady heads over to the bookcase ... this diary fades out to bad ending."

... He looked like 65 when he died. He was a friend of mine.

... And Jim, I miss you more than all the others. This post is for you, my brutha.

They Say the Darnedest Things

Teenagers. The things they come up with. Their excuses for missing school. And not cleaning their room. Why Colbert is funnier than John Daily. Why 'American Idol' sucks. I tell ya, sometimes it's like living with someone from another planet. I can't tell what they're even talking about half the time.

They have their own language. And then there's their slang. Seems like every day they come up with a new term for 'cool.' And just like the original, they use the opposite. If something is really 'hot,' now it's described as 'dirty.' As of last week, that was the most current adjective for describing something 'straight from the fridge.'

Over the last few years I've heard a lot of variations on this expression for something awesome - from 'Keen-a-roo' to 'Keen-a-rooni' to 'phat' to 'toasted' to 'steeped.'

But such things have a short life-span. In the brief period of time from the first day of school last week to this weekend, 'dirty' has been replaced by a new term for cool - 'gay.'

Tis true. As the late-night manager for our local McDonalds, I pick up things from the high-school part-time help. Just last week, I heard a couple of the girls talking about the latest hair-style of one of their co-workers. "Have you seen it?!? It is sooooo gay!" Then the other day as I exited the staff room, I couldn't help but overhear a couple of the boys admiring my new seersucker socks - "Are those gay, or what?!"

But like anything involving the young people, there's always the potential for trouble. It's just a matter of time before someone gets their eye poked out. Sure, it's all fine and dandy to call everything you like 'gay,' but not everyone is as hep as I am when dealing with the adolescent vocabulary.

Example - the other day, a dear friend of mine confided to me how the Facebook application for his IPod informed him that he was 'gay.'

Well, I can assure you that I reassured him right away that it was okay. And as the married father of children himself, it meant a lot. He just wasn't hip to the fact that with kids these days, being 'gay' is a compliment. It means you're cool.

For proof I related this 'Overheard in the Grocery Store' anecdote that I experienced first hand just the day before while looking for string-beans in the Produce Department at Valu-Mart.

Teen #1 (snickering) - "Look at these big red balls. Tomatoes have to be the most gay of all vegetables.!"

Teen #2 - "You idiot! The tomato is a fruit! Geez, what a fag."

... geez, what a couple of dicks.

Just the same, I remember what it was like to be young and stupid. In fact, I remember it like it was just yesterday.

I am Shocked! I AM outraged!

"I am shocked! I am outraged to discover that there is gambling going on here. On the 'Innernet'!

... "Here are your winnings Mr. Rains. Would you like them in cash? Or the currency of Relative Obscurity?"

Highlight of my day - learning that character actor Claude Rains has been chosen by TCM (that's Turner Classic Movies, for those of you who don't get Channel 52,) to be September's Featured 'Star of the Month.'

As anyone out there who has ever seen a B&W movie (a.k.a. 'motion picture' or 'photo-play') made prior to 'The Ghost and Mr. Chicken' already knows, Claude has been in EVERYTHING and has often been the best part in EVERYTHING he has been in.

To paraphrase Stella McCartney when her Dad was finally granted an unforgiveably belated (and snub-nosed reception) into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame -

well, I'll let Stella spell out her feelings about loooonnng overdue recognition in her own words - which the Fashion File regular had bedazzled onto a plain black T-shirt ...


... "ABOUT FUCKIN' TIME!"

Surely a sentiment shared by Claude's own daughter.

Record Review of the Week - Pet Shop Boys

Ola! Long time since I last rapped at ya. But I picked up the Pet Shop Boys' latest offering, 'Yes' last week and its been always on my mind ever since.

I bought it on a whim, intriqued by the band's curious sounding name - 'Pet Shop Boys.' But half way through the first spin, I had the unsettling feeling that I had heard this stuff before.

Check it out for yourself - Download this - 'Did You See Me Coming?' and ''The Way It Used to Be.'

Sound familiar? I thought so too. Then I remembered. My 'Lost' decade. It's all a bit of a fog now, but turns out I spent the majority of the '90s tripping the light fantastic (and getting high,) in all the chi-chi danceclubs in Berlin, Ibizia, Rio and Frankenmuth with a clique of like-minded quasi-decadent jet-setting fellow-minded Euro-trash.

On a hunch, I dug out my old rekidd collection. The one they took away from me years ago - just in case it might trigger a 'relapse.'

And sure enough, there they were. PSB - also known as The Pet Shop Boys. So I've spent the last few days listening to the latest one and the two other PSB CDs I own. Afterwards it all seemed clear. No wonder I liked 'Yes' so much - it was solid all the way through. EVERY song was great. It was all hits, no misses.

Comparatively speaking, when compared to my older PSB records, one could say that 'Yes' is somewhat reminiscent of their earlier 1990s CD 'Discography: The Complete Singles Collection' and the subsequent follow-up recording, 'Pop Art: The Hits.'

Just like back then, the Pet Shop Boys make all the right moves to get you to push all the living room furniture to the side and roll up the carpet. And they do so with such a Brit-sounding romantic world-weary ennui that they just may be the heirs-apparent of Bryan Ferry.

And speaking of danceably sardonic, next week's review will be a comparative critique of New Order's latest - 'Singles' and how it stacks up when compared to their other recording, 'Substance.'