"Pick me Simon! I have Jello!"
Jul. 28th, 2005 06:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wasabi_poptartI remember the moment I first appreciated Captain Kirk as a sexual entity.
It was my senior year in college. While working a slow afternoon shift at Blockbuster #U1 on Atlanta Highway, I'd popped in an episode of Star Trek to watch with one eye as I reshelved videos. I caught a glimpse of the monitor as I rounded the corner from Horror to Comedy, and that's when it happened.
He was fighting. His jaw was bleeding. His shirt was torn. His hair was mussed. And his eyes were green, green, green; devistatingly, unspeakably green.
Now I'd been watching Star Trek all my life, and was already devoted to that charismatic space cowboy, but I had regarded him more as a beloved family member than a sex object, like an uncle or a neighbor. His fondness for the ladies was the stuff of legend, but it never struck me as anything particularly salacious. I mean, those were the voyages of the Starship Enterprise, right? Besides, when you have no awareness of what getting laid even is, who's to say what goes on behind those sliding metal doors? Anyway, Chekov was more to my liking, with his Davy Jones haircut and Beatle boots. But that day, when not a girl's but a woman's eyes beheld Kirk for the very first time, some switch was flipped. Some wrinkle was carved. My synapses started to tap out fiery new sequences, to boldly go where no dirty thought had gone before.
Likewise, I remember the moment I first comprehended the carnal magnificence of Simon Le Bon. When Rio came out, I was in junior high, so I had long recognized Duran Duran as asthetically pleasing, ornamental works of art, like Flemish angels or GQ models. It was clear from the videos how much the camera loved Simon, and of course, how much Simon loved the camera, but I always fancied Roger most; dark, pretty Roger, with his perfect hair and sad eyes, who never made you work too hard to appreciate his beauty. By contrast, Simon always seemed too energetic and high-maintenance for me. Simon demanded to much attention, too much adoration; while Roger was impassive and still, Simon was kinetic and incendiary. Simon was just too much work.
However, sometime after college but before adulthood,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kitteridge and I were sorting through a box of her old Durannie memorabilia. There were hundreds of pictures and pin-ups of all five of them, but mostly of Simon, because kitteridge loved Simon best: she could keep up with him. And there was one picture of Simon wearing a slouchy Aran sweater, with an olive scarf looped around his neck with exquisite insouciance. His mouth was soft. His gaze was direct. And his eyes were green, green, green; green as Captain Kirk's. Maybe that was the trigger of the imago. I hadn't realized Simon had green eyes before. I hadn't realized . . . Simon, before.
It's a strange feeling when the paradigm of teenaged lust shifts and a trusted childhood fixture becomes a hunka hunka burning love. Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold; it takes a moment to catch your breath and regain your balance, but they're still there, just as they were. They haven't changed, but you have. And thank goodness for these dear old friends whom you already love and trust, because they were waiting for you on the other side, and now you know they aren't going anywhere.
Simon Le Bon is the James T. Kirk of rock & roll.
It was my senior year in college. While working a slow afternoon shift at Blockbuster #U1 on Atlanta Highway, I'd popped in an episode of Star Trek to watch with one eye as I reshelved videos. I caught a glimpse of the monitor as I rounded the corner from Horror to Comedy, and that's when it happened.
He was fighting. His jaw was bleeding. His shirt was torn. His hair was mussed. And his eyes were green, green, green; devistatingly, unspeakably green.
Now I'd been watching Star Trek all my life, and was already devoted to that charismatic space cowboy, but I had regarded him more as a beloved family member than a sex object, like an uncle or a neighbor. His fondness for the ladies was the stuff of legend, but it never struck me as anything particularly salacious. I mean, those were the voyages of the Starship Enterprise, right? Besides, when you have no awareness of what getting laid even is, who's to say what goes on behind those sliding metal doors? Anyway, Chekov was more to my liking, with his Davy Jones haircut and Beatle boots. But that day, when not a girl's but a woman's eyes beheld Kirk for the very first time, some switch was flipped. Some wrinkle was carved. My synapses started to tap out fiery new sequences, to boldly go where no dirty thought had gone before.
Likewise, I remember the moment I first comprehended the carnal magnificence of Simon Le Bon. When Rio came out, I was in junior high, so I had long recognized Duran Duran as asthetically pleasing, ornamental works of art, like Flemish angels or GQ models. It was clear from the videos how much the camera loved Simon, and of course, how much Simon loved the camera, but I always fancied Roger most; dark, pretty Roger, with his perfect hair and sad eyes, who never made you work too hard to appreciate his beauty. By contrast, Simon always seemed too energetic and high-maintenance for me. Simon demanded to much attention, too much adoration; while Roger was impassive and still, Simon was kinetic and incendiary. Simon was just too much work.
However, sometime after college but before adulthood,
kitteridge and I were sorting through a box of her old Durannie memorabilia. There were hundreds of pictures and pin-ups of all five of them, but mostly of Simon, because kitteridge loved Simon best: she could keep up with him. And there was one picture of Simon wearing a slouchy Aran sweater, with an olive scarf looped around his neck with exquisite insouciance. His mouth was soft. His gaze was direct. And his eyes were green, green, green; green as Captain Kirk's. Maybe that was the trigger of the imago. I hadn't realized Simon had green eyes before. I hadn't realized . . . Simon, before.It's a strange feeling when the paradigm of teenaged lust shifts and a trusted childhood fixture becomes a hunka hunka burning love. Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold; it takes a moment to catch your breath and regain your balance, but they're still there, just as they were. They haven't changed, but you have. And thank goodness for these dear old friends whom you already love and trust, because they were waiting for you on the other side, and now you know they aren't going anywhere.
Simon Le Bon is the James T. Kirk of rock & roll.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 12:03 am (UTC)yay! content!
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Date: 2005-07-29 12:38 am (UTC)I tuned in for the Durannie topic, but your writing is beyond lovely.
I had the same thing happen to me, except with Tom Selleck. I remember thinking as a youngster, watching Magnum PI, "ICK!!! Men are too hairy!!" but when he appeared on friends in the 90s, I was like YUM!! And i don't even like mustachioed men!
(hope you don't mind the post from a stranger) :)
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Date: 2005-07-29 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 12:40 am (UTC)I always loved John the best, and I think he's aged quite nicely.
Simon has gotten a little funky around the face.
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Date: 2005-07-29 12:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 12:51 am (UTC)Simon became yummier for me when I dated a man who looked like him in the mid-90s. squeee!!!
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Date: 2005-07-29 05:55 pm (UTC)Kirk.... Well, you know where I stand on the Kirk issue. Teh hotness.
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Date: 2005-07-29 07:09 pm (UTC)OOOOH! A most intriguing paradox!!!
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Date: 2005-07-29 07:11 pm (UTC)