Little Old Ladies of My Dreams

 Little Old Ladies of My Dreams
Then and Now

Ever since I was a kid back in the black and white 50's, sexual fantasies have been as much a part of my life as insecurity, Coca-Cola, and being shitty in sports. Over the years, however, the objects of my mighty mental desires have changed every bit as much as the times. 

I used to lie on the carpet as a child in the family den and rub myself whenever Sally Starr - the somewhat chesty blonde cowgirl who showed Popeye cartoons and the Three Stooges -  appeared on screen. I didn't know exactly what was going on but I was constantly begging my mother to serve me spinach in volumes vastly beyond those ever envisioned for the average American boy by the sailor man's creators.

Or, for that matter, by Moe, Larry, and Curly either.  


From Ms. Starr I progressed to a steady succession of actresses (as well as choice classmates, office mates, and elite composites) usually aged, as I aged, in their 20's, 30's, and 40's.  But nowadays in springtime, summer, winter, and fall this not-so-young man's fancy  --- and fantasies --- have turned  to those women whom I (tongue-very-much-in-their cheeks) refer to as the 

                Little Old Ladies of My Dreams!

those actresses on the far side of 60 who can still send me to the den floor with the best of 'em! A sampling of these sexy over-sixties includes:

Karen Allen - age 65
Adrienne Barbeau - age 72
Kathryn Bigelow - age 65
Gates McFadden - age 68
Susan Sarandon - age 70 

But how do I mentally project myself into the amorous embraces of the Little Old Ladies of My Dreams?  Well ...

Gates McFadden, age 68  - we meet at a Star Trek  convention when I obtain her autograph in a moment when everyone else in the place is deluging William Shatner.          
                               
"Thank you, Ms. McFadden.  You know, you were always my favorite Star Trek doctor.  After DeForest Kelley, that is."

"Then I was your second favorite?"

"Yes, but a close second. And I always thought you were hotter than Bones!"

"Thank you. May I buy you a drink? I find you a very attractive man about my age."

"Great! And later I'd like to boldly go where no man has ever gone before!" 

"I can't say that would exactly be true."

"That's okay!  I'm not a Star Trek purist!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kathryn Bigelow, age 65 - We meet in a bar in Philadelphia where she is directing a film. 

"Why, you're director Kathryn Bigelow! I'm a great admirer of your work!"

"Thank you very much."

"One day I might even see one of your movies."

"May I buy you a drink?  I find you a very attractive man about my age."

"Thank you. You know I'm not at all like your ex-husband James Cameron."

"You mean that you're not a jerk?"

"No, I mean I'm Jewish. The word Titanic will never be used as an apt descriptor for any part of me!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Susan Sarandon, age 70 -  We meet when I spot her leaving the theater on the streets of New York City.

"Ms. Sarandon? I really liked you in Bull Durham!"

"Thank you, but I thought Kevin Costner was the one who made that movie."

"I didn't find him as fetching as you in the bathtub scene."

"May I buy you a drink?  I find you a very attractive man about my age."

"You find me a very attractive man?"

"Yes!"

"About your age?" 

"Yes!"

"Like to buy me a drink, would you?"

"I would indeed!" 

"Well, instead of that, Ms. Sarandon, there's something else you can do for me."

"What's that?"

"You can fuck yourself!  Thanks for not supporting Clinton!"


(Sometimes I love my country more than the Little Old Ladies of My Dreams.) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: The two additional Little Old Ladies of My Dreams above are Adrienne Barbeau and Karen Allen. Boy, would I love to spend an evening drinking tea and knitting sweaters with either one of them!

Directress of My Dreams

Directress of My Dreams

I truly thought it was over between us.  I truly thought I could move on. 

But I was wrong, Dear Kathryn Bigelow, Directress of my Dreams! Your lure has once more dragged me under as if I were a peripheral character in that annoying ocean liner movie your jerky one time husband made.

It was three years ago, Kathryn, I first laid eyes upon you when you made history at the Academy Awards. That very night you and I also made history as you were the first woman anywhere near my own age I'd fantasized about in 24 years! But I knew our affair, torrid as it was, had to end. In other words, I woke up.

Now you are back, your latest movie Zero Dark Thirty having returned you to the national spotlight and to me. It is an important film, a ground-breaking film, one that has sparked serious and articulate debate throughout our nation.  

And, Katie, you are still one smokin' hot  babe! At  61, you are "astonishingly youthful," said Time Magazine.  As, of course,  I am as well ---  except that I am not 61, not astonishingly youthful, and not called anything by Time Magazine except a "bastard" for defaulting on my subscription. 

Sadly, dearest Kathryn, there is the issue of torture. 

Why do you torture me by withholding your favors?  True, in my mind's eye they are not withheld, darling Kathryn, but frankly it is not my mind's eye that gets awfully sore whenever I think about you over the course of an evening! Why do you not let me possess you, body and spirit? On second thought, I'll take the body and hold on the spirit. You can sell it maybe for cash to finance your next movie. 

Oh, Kathryn!  I long for you to direct my life! And come to think of it, my life could also use a much better writer and supporting cast, can you do anything about that as well?

Once again, lovely Kathryn,  our affair must end.  But know this: I would do anything for thee! 

Except maybe plunk down nine bucks to see Zero Dark Thirty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lie to Us Too, Please!

"Hi Perry!  Call us!"

It never fails to amaze me how out of touch so many younger folk in the media are when it comes to we older Baby Boomers.

Recently I was struck by an article appearing in Social Times, a MediaBistro blog,  that purported to herald the good but highly shocking news that people in their mid-60's and above are actually "venturing" online, dipping their toes in the Internet as if it were the Atlantic Ocean on a February day at the Jersey shore.

Accompanied by the charming picture above and bearing the heart-warming heading, "Hello, Grandma!  Study Shows 53% of Senior Citizens are Online," the piece includes such not- so-bon mots as ....

"Now we can hear all about how much we've grown while the ad bots show our grandparents pictures of sugary cereals our moms said we're not allowed to have so they can stock up for the next time we visit ...

(Popular websites include) an online tool for seniors to store and share their medical information with doctors, caretakers, and family members ...

It appears that today's online elders were yesterday's professionals who picked up a few skills at the office before they retired."

Now I understand at last:  No wonder I always have the urge to drink a glass of warm buttermilk and make purring noises whenever I go on Twitter!

Although the writer is a good journalist who's already kindly corresponded with me about the piece,  most of her Boomer-related comments therein are as totally clueless as the hero in a USA Network cop show until everything's wrapped up in the last eight minutes balance of risk-free gunfire and over-the-top joshing around.

Yes, 60 is not the new 40.   But 60 is the new 6o, and we are not your father's Oldsmobile!

Advertisers and marketers certainly don't get this.  They forget that we Baby Boomers are the Woodstock Generation, not the Woodworking Generation. Most of them approach the Boomer market about as subtly as Mayor Bloomberg approaches a Big Gulp.

This is how most of today's marketers and advertisers see we older Baby Boomers:

And this is how we older Baby Boomers (hold onto your hats, Gen X and Y!)  see ourselves: 

Don't laugh. 

Yes, it's true that few of us look like Sam Elliott or Kathryn Bigelow.  How many of you look like Zac Efron or Scarlett Johansson?  Last time I checked Mark Zuckerberg was under 40.  So is Jonah Hill.  Yet young people in the media are almost always depicted as beautiful with gorgeous hair, terrific thin bodies, and  super smokin' hot libidoes.

That's a complete lie. 

So, lie to us too please! 

We are not your father's Oldsmobile.  We envision ourselves more like his Lexus.  Since you don't depict young people as they really are,  please be kind enough to be equally as mendacious when it comes to we aging Boomers.

Lie to us too, please!

And if you lie capably and effectively and depict we 60-ish Boomers as we see ourselves ---  not as you see us --- we'll buy boatloads of whatever the hell it is you're selling, even if its Metamucil, Depends, or Reverse Mortgages for every oldster's humble abode from  sea to shining sea.

But if you depict us like this ....

you'll be lucky to sell us one sad single solitary stick of gum. 

Even if, God forbid,  that's how we actually do look! 

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Note:  Sam Elliott is 67 and director Kathryn Bigelow is 60.   I've been told frequently I look like both of them.

Kathryn, I Hardly Knew Ye....

Directress of my Dreams! 

In fact, Kathryn, I didn't know ye at all. 

But if I had know ye enough to have called ye "ye," believe me, a battalion of anti-semites couldn't have wiped the smile off my face! 

Yes, it is time to say goodbye!  And Parting is such sweet sorrow, dear Kathryn Bigelow, 58 year old Directress of my Dreams! Especially when there wasn't any Meeting and Striking up a Charming Friendship with Intimations of Romance in the first place. Parting without first Meeting and Striking up a Charming Friendship with Intimations of Romance makes Parting all the more sorrowful, Kathryn, because there isn't any really cool stuff between the two of them to tell all your male friends about.

But, oh, Kathryn, the lack of our actually ever co-existing in the same time zone never stopped us!  We spoke a language known only to us --- I think it was pig latin with a touch of Yiddish.

Scribes tell us, Kathryn, that you entered this world on November 27, 1951.  A bare 14 months earlier, I too had made my first imprint upon the planet.  How did I ever endure those barren first months of lonely existence?  I was a listless child, never once seeking to set forth outside my crib.  That's not totally surprising, because I didn't make it out of the crib for good until January 21, 1963, and that was only because somebody turned off The Match Game.

But once I sensed deep within my soul, Kathryn, that you had joined me in this earthly realm, everything became new!  I sucked my pacifier with renewed verve and intensity and continue to do so to this day!  The earthly journey of two kindred spirits had begun , slowed only because I initially forgot to pack underwear.

From then on, our lives paralleled each other's in every respect.  I boldly pioneered new vistas in inertia, punctuated by occasional death-defying forays into the kitchen for snacks. You became a world-famous director whose life was replete with success, glory, fame, and marriage to an annoying looking guy with hair like former rock star Johnny Winter, only shorter.  

Despite the hectic schedules that kept us apart, when we were together, the universe could not help but smile. In fact, the universe would kind of smirk, which made you want to just smack it whenever it briefly looked away.

Those moments that we were alone together!  You remember those moments!  No, I guess you don't remember those moments because those moments didn't exist in objective reality!  But in whoever's mind they did exist (gee, wonder who it coudda been), there you were emitting sounds of such savage animalistic abandon as to make the sun, moon, and stars bewail the fact that they were not themselves sexually active.

But now it's time to say goodbye.  To all our company, M-I-C-K-E-Y ** M-O .... wait!  I ought to be saying goodbye to you, fair Kathryn, not Mickey Mouse!  I ought to be spelling K-A-T-H-R-Y-N!  Actually I ought to be not doing this joke at all because only Boomers like you and I will understand it, and millenials will tune out to scan Twitter for the latest mentions of Justin Bieber.

But let me shout it to the rooftops!  Actually maybe I'll just shout it to the garage, I'm kinda exhausted from all this fare-thee-well rigamarolle.

Kathryn, I love thee with all my heart!  And also with a half dozen of my lesser organs!

Did that get me anywhere with you?  No?  Okay, I'll get the hell out of here.

But before I take my final leave, know this, fair Kathryn:  I would do anything for thee!

Except maybe sit through The Hurt Locker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~