”There’s one,” I say to my LSP, pointing to a thin man dressed in a fitted blue blazer. “There’s another,” I nod toward a middle-aged woman with a smart jacket and chunky jewelry. “But I can be even more specific,” I brag in my braggardly way. “See that slightly unkempt fellow with the earnest beard and elbow patches? He is definitely a labour historian.” One by one, I categorize the people entering the Sheraton New Orleans. “Historian of sexuality. Activist environmental historian. Economic historian of the determinist persuasion. Uh oh, check out the disillusioned grad student with recent haircut and sad bow tie.” We both sigh knowingly. Although I too am in town for the annual meeting of the American Historical Society, I am wearing jeans, sensible shoes, and a hoodie, heading out for a tour of the French Quarter. I should probably be fired. Continue reading
Tag Archives: beauty myth
A Tribute to Bagel Heads
‘Wow these bagel heads are geniuses!’ I proclaim, showing the digital photos to my LSP. ‘They are not geniuses,’ he calmly announces. ‘They have saline in their heads.’ ‘Yes, but in the shape of a bagel,’ I protest defensively. Continue reading
Bad Tits
Can tits ever really be bad? The short answer is yes. But I am not going to give you that concise reply. Instead I will blather on about the history of breasts, Freudian theories of desire, and the politics of breast implants, all the while waxing poetic about my own lovely lady lumps. [What again?]. Continue reading
My Naked Showdown, 1993 versus 2012
First let me admit that the title of this post is meant to attract attention. Then I should apologize, for the text below does not recount my brief career as a mud wrestler. It does, however, discuss my nude photo shoots, past and present. Continue reading
The Beauty Myth, Revisited
So this post is a few days late. Once you watch this video clip, which you have likely seen before, you will understand why I have been distracted:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BiAwpYIkRmU&feature=related
‘Quick,’ cries my LSP, ‘it’s the dance scene!’ I rush out of my home office to join him as he rests on the couch, taking a few days off to recuperate from a sudden, explosive illness. Ah Napoleon Dynamite. Is there anything he can’t do? Continue reading


