Further mmmuse-ings
It dawns on me that, given my "I just want to know her" opening entry, and my focus on Jillian Ann's bosom pics and on models in general thus far, that you might be thinking that this is just going to be a blog written by a fellow who sits around webgawking at hot women who he'd be too timid to approach in bars, and then tries to figure out ways to chat them up online.
And nothing could be closer to the truth. But that's not the image I feel like projecting here, so my next entry will be a bit different. But before getting to that, I should point out that there's nothing wrong in chatting up hot women. Or in women hotting up chat men. Oops, chatting up hot men. Hmm, paging Mr. Freud. But, seriously, when a beauty's eyes meet ours with acceptance, then aren't our spirits elevated, along the curves of that beautiful face, into a straighter trajectory toward who we hope to be? Ok, so that sentence truly sucked, but the sentiment's real even if the craftmanship falls short. There's a reason why The Muse was played by Sharon Stone, and why Venus de Milo's tummy doesn't look like mine.
But there is also danger, of course, in judging solely based on the physical. For one thing, you'd be silly if you thought Sharon Stone's performance was only skin deep, and, for another, it's often unfair to expect inner beauty to match outer beauty (or lack of it). And I could write a good deal about that, but I don't particularly feel like it. Of course, if the stranger who blogged about me is actually Sharon Stone, and she digs me, I could probably be convinced to improve on that beauty-curves-trajectory sentence.
But for now, I want to write about another excellent blog. And I have found one, sort of, and as soon as I can manage to tear myself away from reading it, I'm going to eat something. But eventually, after reading and feeding and fielding the occasional phone call, I'll tell you about it.
In the meantime, for an interesting gloss on the effect of beauty, check out Pumpkin, a remarkably flawed, but still remarkable indie pic by Christina Ricci who looks remarkably good in it. <---See, I just remarked about it.
Also, just for the record, despite my blogistic difficulty separating my attention span from Jillian Ann's bosom, my favorite picture of her (inasmuch as I've been able to surf about her portfolio without feeling like a big pervypants) is actually not one of the sheer-topped ones. I like the fourth from the bottom in this group, because it's a neat melange of frailty (the perilously slender delicacy of her waist) and strength (her face), and because the architecture of her hips shifts the bikini into a mix of concealment and, for lack of a better word, accessability. It's a really interesting shot, I think. Oh, and it's kinda hot, too.
;)
And nothing could be closer to the truth. But that's not the image I feel like projecting here, so my next entry will be a bit different. But before getting to that, I should point out that there's nothing wrong in chatting up hot women. Or in women hotting up chat men. Oops, chatting up hot men. Hmm, paging Mr. Freud. But, seriously, when a beauty's eyes meet ours with acceptance, then aren't our spirits elevated, along the curves of that beautiful face, into a straighter trajectory toward who we hope to be? Ok, so that sentence truly sucked, but the sentiment's real even if the craftmanship falls short. There's a reason why The Muse was played by Sharon Stone, and why Venus de Milo's tummy doesn't look like mine.
But there is also danger, of course, in judging solely based on the physical. For one thing, you'd be silly if you thought Sharon Stone's performance was only skin deep, and, for another, it's often unfair to expect inner beauty to match outer beauty (or lack of it). And I could write a good deal about that, but I don't particularly feel like it. Of course, if the stranger who blogged about me is actually Sharon Stone, and she digs me, I could probably be convinced to improve on that beauty-curves-trajectory sentence.
But for now, I want to write about another excellent blog. And I have found one, sort of, and as soon as I can manage to tear myself away from reading it, I'm going to eat something. But eventually, after reading and feeding and fielding the occasional phone call, I'll tell you about it.
In the meantime, for an interesting gloss on the effect of beauty, check out Pumpkin, a remarkably flawed, but still remarkable indie pic by Christina Ricci who looks remarkably good in it. <---See, I just remarked about it.
Also, just for the record, despite my blogistic difficulty separating my attention span from Jillian Ann's bosom, my favorite picture of her (inasmuch as I've been able to surf about her portfolio without feeling like a big pervypants) is actually not one of the sheer-topped ones. I like the fourth from the bottom in this group, because it's a neat melange of frailty (the perilously slender delicacy of her waist) and strength (her face), and because the architecture of her hips shifts the bikini into a mix of concealment and, for lack of a better word, accessability. It's a really interesting shot, I think. Oh, and it's kinda hot, too.
;)