Does Your Gal Eat Lefse?

Mine does. With butter. Yum. Hey, I had an Anne-Margaret dream last week. Anne was there and she smeared my lefse with butter and then slowly, seductively, nibbled away at it. Heh. Go Anne, ya floozy!

Why Anne? Well, why not? What a gal. As an aside, a broken down old fella limped into my office years ago. He was on disability, the kind you sign up for once you are in the disability biz and find out its a racket. One too many sales calls on pimply young kids yearning for a hot car that you think should have insurance instead and eventually you cry 'uncle' and take the disability plunge. Check in the mail, cold beer in the fridge.

He was in Anne's back up band. Before the teeth. Before the boob job. When she still sang with enough of an accent to make bohunks and norskies from Ballard to Fargo swoon at the sound. Go Anne. He related how she got famous, got around, got to the top, got famous, in his book 'got money.'  now he gets a monthly and lots of days off. He was an OK guy. No resentments, just didn't get his 15 minutes of fame. I kinda liked the guy. He stood by his gal til she went on to bigger things, brighter lights.

For odd associations, I am a big fan of Ken Russell and Russ Meyer. The women they put on the screen were caricatures to be sure, but tough and sure of their place in the world. Anne could have been a Meyer gal, but instead was a Russell gal in "Tommy."  Being hosed down with soap suds, baked beans and chocolate took some inner strength I actually don't care to possess. But it was fun in the day.

Why this stuff? Well, to tell the truth it was the dumbshow of Eliot Spitzer and his wife, the sordid and yet publicly acceptable catwalk of human frailty. I watched her stand by her man and was mortified. Yeah, its a guy thing. Heartless as we are, we can take two roads: She is a doormat. Or, she is a tag-a-long, trading procreation and publicity and wealth for individual integrity. I dunno. Really, I dunno.

But I think back to years of female models that have rolled down the road in the last thirty years and I have problems here. Helen Reddy, Camille Paglia, Gloria Steinem, Bella Abzug, or any belle d'jour you may like has weighed in here. Hillary took the Tammy Wynette option too.

Why?

I dunno. I could only hope that if I cheated on Anne-Margaret that she would toss me out on my ear and tell me, in a seductively Swedish accent, what a shitheel I was. After a little trysting with buckets of olive oil and a lithe Aurora Ave hooker(fantasy for sure) I would hope that Tura Satana would show up and bust my clackers, if not my clavicle. Silda Spitzer is a handsome woman. Very handsome. I don't know what she will tell her girls, but it can't be a fun job. And maybe that is the clue. Its just a job. A job to be a mother, a job to be a wife. Different day, same job. I dunno.

But I do hope that some day in the future, the Silda's of the world will walk. They need to walk, as its the one thing that they can do to affect change. And in that change, some guys may find that their spouses are the real deal, not the Anne Margaret of Ken Russell fantasies. Real gals who are tough enough to write their own stories. 

Comments

[TOM]

HEY BUDDY--FIRST LEARN HOW TO SPELL ANN-MARGRET'S NAME CORECTLY. TEETH AND BOOBS BEEN DONE---NOT

HER SINGING WITH AN ACCENT IS A CROCK. SHE CAME TO THE US WHEN SHE WAS 5--SHE LOST THE ACCENT LONG AGO

SHE GOT TO THE TOP BECAUSE OF HER TALENTS

THIS JERK IS JUST TRYING TO SELL BOOKS