things you should know about tim johnson -

when we met,
(keep in mind i was 22),
i didn't want him to be "tim".

"tim" seemed so not him,
not unique enough, not tall enough, not blue-eyed enough, not blonde enough,
not enough enough,
so i wanted him to change his name.

(remember, again, i was 22. these were the things i thought were normal to ask.)

i thought, hell, i wasn't always "landis",
so surely he can change his name.

so i suggested "gray". think about it: gray johnson.
now THAT is a cool name.
and yes, much of it had to do with the thought of us being called
gray and landis. landis and gray.
it worked for me.

he kind of chuckled, and told me that he had plenty of names to choose from,
that maybe i could use one of his other given names.

so i took the bait and asked,
what are they?

he is, officially, on the birth certificate and all:
timothy michael thaddeus francis johnson.

at that point, i knew he would never be:
mike, tad, thad, fran, frank, deus . . .
or gray.

because he was tim. and that was all he would ever need to be.

ADVICE - march edition

these are some things i've been thinking about recently,
and by "thinking about",
i mean, reading and pausing and absorbing.

we don't do enough of that, do we? pause. absorb.

so right now, do me a favor. pause.

read some of these.

absorb.

let me know what you think. that's a big one too.
you lurkers out there, hit the "post" button and show yourselves.
i'm feeling lonely. ;)

oniomania – the uncontrollable desire to buy things

ok, first, i'm afraid that they've named it.
second, i'm going to pretend i never read it, and it's not classifiable.

In the thirties and forties, Hollywood referred to actors as “rug actors”
(the ones who could do love scenes)
or “dust actors”
(the ones who could shoot and fight).
Don’t we all want a rug and dust man?

i got one. he's just more rug than dust. as it should be.

a two seater sofa is called a "tete a tete",
while a sofa for three was called an "indiscret".

and i always thought it was called a "too much tequila."

You're perfect, yes it's true. But without me, you're only you.
-faith no more

i LOVE this. if tim has taught me anything, it's that i'm perfect.

no, wait. that's not the point, is it?

i guess if i were perfect, i could figure it out,
but i have to go buy something right now.
maybe a rug.

pit bulls pose for papa -

what? i'm having an alliteration moment.

different kinds of porn (part 2)

as we all know
(or as all the people who are googling this phrase and coming to my site seem to know)
porn is a wonderful thing.

it is defined as : creative activity (writing or pictures or films etc.) of no literary or artistic value other than to stimulate sexual desire.

which, for the life of me, does not sound like a bad thing. or a non-artistic thing.

for example:


that there, my friendlets, is ultimate fighting champion, somebody or the other. and while his purpose in life may be to rip the heads off of other guys in a cage match or to conquer the spartans or to simply make gerard butler look like a wimp in real life, he pretty much rocks the real life porn category.

in the same way the boy below does. only more in the alien pouty lips/scary fine cheekbones, so pretty you want to put it on a shelf. or mess it up a little. or a lot. depends on the day.


and then there's this:

is he mormon? is he a skinhead? will you care when you get it to yourself? i don't think so.

on a side note (why not, landis? you're in a rambling mood today) my tastes range wildly. always have. and there's not much more fun than "window shopping" like this. i mean, you don't have to try anything on, but the merch sure looks good from the street, don't it? ;)

there's also fashion photography porn. that insane world where anything can happen, as long as it happens in clothing that costs a mortgage payment, with perfect bounce cards all around to light the scene, and everyone looks like your ideal catwalk moment brought down to . . . well, in this case, the mud. gotta love the mud and a couture gown:



much love out to mr. meisel, for his particularly skewed take on, well, everything. in some ways it is my favorite kind of porn, it takes you radically out of the "real" and settles you in a place where possibility is the only guide, and perhaps the only expectation.

ooh. i like that. where possibility is the only expectation.

like on a real couture runway:

gaultier is a master at this. a gold leafed hand on his couture runway simply caught my imagination up and held it for days. it was a russian icon come to life, a hindu blessing in motion, a false idol given a momentary truth.

or, even, PLEASE, tiny bells down the back of a pair of hose. i mean, you can HEAR the walk, you can feel the metal weight, you can imagine the simple naughty joy they would bring. even in the supermarket. perhaps most of all in the supermarket. life needs more moments of random beauty, of things that aren't SUPPOSED to be. but simply are. so there.


and i'm not sure why, i'm not particularly enamored of this gown. it's tricky. it's not technically beautiful. but i find it almost viscerally thrilling. i WANT to know the feeling of wearing something so ridiculously impractical and so wrong to the eye. something more barbie cake topper gone rebel, and yes, that lifts it into the nearly pornographic for me. transgressive in a frothy way feels more modern today than all the leather and straps could, it breaks boundaries for the eye and for the body in a new way. i adore.

and in smaller ways, i find porn on the streets. in the day to day hit of a BIG RED BAG on a pretty girl:





and yes, i do think suri is in that bag, but still. who wouldn't secretly kill for a birkin the size of their . . . toddler? it's WRONG. but they all are such stop signs in the world of street reality that they create enough frisson to be new porn.


but here's the porn that breaks my heart. it's "porn" because i find myself going back to it again and again, stumbling over it and gasping a little, wondering if they know how wonderful, how beautiful, how slightly erotic, how alive they make me feel. it's "lost friend" porn, the kind where you find a photo of someone you once were very close to, or perhaps knew only slightly but felt connected to, or a stranger you see on the web and somehow know in a way you can't describe. it's the human web, brought to film, caught in a moment, wrapping itself around you and pulling hard. it is the frisson of life that you cannot predict, it is the gift of a www stumble, and it is indescribable.

so thank you , my friends, for these kinds of forbidden shared moments:


the ever beautiful sandra durham and her husband pete, lost to me for awhile, turning up in amsterdam, living what i can only tell is an amazing life.


the smoky and talented, rough and tumble, delicate and lively jennifer parke,
daughter of my first mentor, frank,
and a constant source of surprise.


and of course, my argentine muse, julia francioni, on some sojourn in berlin,
giving another moment of inspiration,
of colorful delight,
and probably unaware of the impact she has.

these, my friends, are the best kind of different kinds of porn.

the kinds you never see coming.