Unsoft's List

m a j o r h e a l e y

When I was a young'in, suckling at the flickering fountain of coldlight basic cable for eight and ten hours per twenty four, I wasn't aware of the significance of many of the symbols and shadows that were being projected up on the cave wall for me. Composing about half of my waking universe, the fuzzy two dimensional, hardly customizable, take-it-as-you-find-it, thirteen channel (minus five or six) distorted window of fascination was never as much of a companion to me as it was another aspect of my existence - as real and important as the balance. I was so immersed in the hybrid world of black and white comfort and colorful fantasy that was the limited television landscape of the late 60's/ early 70's that my active imagination just integrated it all into one seamless day-to-day thing.

When I visit TVland for a little catch-up with my old daytime friends, I am struck by the sexuality that escaped me in my youth. You ever get that? I had no idea that Jeannie was so fucking sexy. When I used to wish I was Major Tony Nelson, it was because he worked for NASA and got to fly in space rockets. Now that nobody wants to be J.R. Ewing for any reason whatsoever, I am left with the cold hard realization that Major Nelson was some sort of class triple AAA buffoon for not taking advantage of the magic he had there, and in this case I'm talking about the kind initiated more so by winking than by blinking.

How about Samantha Stevens? Although I never found myself wishing I was Darren Stevens (either one), I recall mostly pleasant times watching that television show during which I lamented the Darren way of handling things. He had this beautiful gift that he had no appreciation for. I mean, he seemed to be a really good husband and father, and he loved his wife very much, but he couldn't accept her for all that she was. Even as a young child, I found that sad.

Ironically, Darren Stevens seemed to appreciate his wife physically while Dick York was (semi-openly) gay. Major Nelson had some fine ass just going to waste all the time, while Larry Hagman was a notorious womanizer. These are but a few of the things that escape the awareness of the five year old boy, but seem to be underscored in red to one aged thirty-eight or so.

Yes, I am sitting here with a straight face, telling all you guys that I never noticed that Elizabeth Montgomery was hot. I never thought about making out with any of the Brady girls. It never crossed my mind that some scantily clad blondie who went around saying things like "your wish is my command, master" had any sort of unstated appeal, just above my level of maturity, perception and sophistication. They were just some of the sub-people who surrounded me. As real as Scooby Doo.

The first time I remember noticing a film or television personality whose appeal to me I recognize now as sexual/physical was Jodie Foster. Now that I think about that, she's intelligent, age appropriate for me (unlike Elizabeth Montgomery, who is older than my mom) and has tended to come across a little geeky in film and television roles, especially those of her teen years. (It's important to note here that I didn't see Taxi Driver 'till College.)

This all makes me wonder about myself. I seem to have somehow missed blatant, targeted, fine-tuned and painted-on, pop-culture sexuality, while picking up on the deeper aspects of what I know today to be my own sexual nature and the power of attraction, as it applies to me.
What a great theme - the power of attraction. It's the underlying theme of me and how my sexual identity was shaped. It's mostly all in there. I somehow miss the really obvious painted on stuff, I can't resist cleverness in any format, and I rarely fail to appreciate magic for what it truly is. My ultimate strength and my Achilles heel all summed up in one shaky weblog entry.