On buffets

Is the ubiquitous all-you-can-eat buffet a symbol for the demise of modern civilization? Buffets are as popular as ever in our society, and they show no sign of slowing down, disappearing, or changing. You have been there: you pay one price for your plate and drink, and you can eat until you either pass out from a diabetic coma, your stomach ruptures, or you throw up. Chinese buffets are the most fun, but I find all buffets to be both sinister and creepy as we serve ourselves out of aluminum bins. Buffets seem like a good idea, but they seldom, if ever, are. For most people the idea of the buffet, unlimited food for just one price, seems like a real good deal, but the buffet is just a sign of the times: in a land of plenty where many poor people go hungry, those who have ten dollars in their pocket can pig out to their heart’s content, eating until their stomachs protrude and good taste and manners have left by a rear door. Obesity is a serious problem in our country, and buffets do nothing but feed the problem. Having experienced several buffets I must say that the buffet actually works against a person’s self-interest. The actual amount of food that any person should eat in any given sitting should not really exceed the volume of one closed fist or one cup, eight ounces. Overeating then becomes a national pastime, and the results are ugly and unhealthy. Success has made us fat and sassy, and we all overeat all the time. Our waistlines show it. Now when I go to a buffet, I pick my favorite food and get one portion. I will later add a few fruits and vegetables to accompany whatever protein I might be eating that day. I eat that food and stop. There is nothing cost-effective about me going to a buffet because I don’t take seconds, don’t stuff myself, don’t exercise my gluttony ghost. I’m no saint, but lately I come to realize that a balanced diet combined with portion control is a blueprint for a healthier lifestyle even if I don’t get to eat a lot of sweets and desserts. Just because we have the food does not mean we should eat it. Stuffing ourselves to the point of blindness is, in the long term, unhealthy and detrimental. The buffet is symbolic of the paradox that industrial and agricultural success has brought to our nation and cultural. We have more than we can ever, or should ever, eat. As our waistlines expand, instead of thinking about why that is happening, we just buy bigger clothing, baggy shirts and stretchy waistbands. We lack self-control in the face of delicious luxurious food, and we are willing to sacrifice our collective health. Temptation lies at the heart of the buffet, and buffet owners know that the only thing we cannot collectively resist is temptation itself, ergo, buffets proliferate and are successful, and type-two diabetes becomes a bigger and bigger problem. There is nothing ethically wrong with the buffet, but it does bring out the worst in people who consume too much food, too much sugar, too much starch, too much fat. Buffets are everything in excess, and too much of a good thing, as they say, is a very bad thing even if we are trying to get the most for our dollar. Here the dollar is just as traitorous as Judas or Brutus.

On Mae West

She was clearly ahead of her time. Mae West was a liberated woman who loved sex and didn’t give a damn who knew it. Unshackled by the bonds of matrimony (although officially married twice), she had as many boyfriends as she cared to have and was completely unapologetic about any of it. Feared by many, despised by some, men wanted to be with her (and so did a few women) and women secretly wanted to be like her. Her blond hair and hourglass figure were her luxurious trademarks, and she made no bones about being an actress or that her acting was any good. She was just herself and that was enough. What gave her freedom from the repressive American society out of which she grew was her debonaire attitude of sophisticated charm, her sexy double entendres, and that shape. She was an original and that is what made her special. She was unashamedly and unabashedly herself regardless to whom she was talking. Hounded by groups who would censor her act, she never feigned decency or politically correct behavior because she didn’t care what the world thought of her. She knew that men desired her open and blatant sexuality, and she also knew that women feared her independence and liberation from the shackles of a repressive society that normally did not allow her kind of lifestyle. She rejected the hypocrisy of puritanical America, shunned monogamy as anachronistic and limiting, had sex with whom she wanted. What is so remarkable about her as a person and an entertainer is her charismatic ability to charm, entice, seduce just about everyone in the room. She was dead sure of herself as a woman, and she wasn’t going to let anyone around her forget who was in charge. The Hayes Bureau tried, often, to censor both her language and actions, and they often succeeded, but having watched her movies, I realize that it was her personae as the independent, liberated, sexual being that they could not contain, hold or censor. Her famous tag line, “Why don’t you come up and see me sometime” is loaded with sexual innuendo and bravado: she is the sexually active predator looking for some new action. This is her pick-up line. She says, “Honey, when I’m good, I’m good, but when I’m bad, I’m very good.” Implicit in her double entendre is a flawless reference to her own raw sexuality. When a young lady sees Mae for the first time, she exclaims, “Goodness,” to which Mae responds, “Darling, goodness had nothing to do with it.” The liberated sexuality of Mae West lies in stark contrast to the repressed Victorianism of the early Thirties that was just recovering from flappers and the wide-open partying of the Roaring Twenties. No one could contain Mae West, and she could steal a scene from heavyweights such as W. C. Fields or Cary Grant simply because she was so outrageously open about who she was. Contemporary performers such as Madonna or Cher could only wish they had the energy of this all-star diva.

On Mae West

She was clearly ahead of her time. Mae West was a liberated woman who loved sex and didn’t give a damn who knew it. Unshackled by the bonds of matrimony (although officially married twice), she had as many boyfriends as she cared to have and was completely unapologetic about any of it. Feared by many, despised by some, men wanted to be with her (and so did a few women) and women secretly wanted to be like her. Her blond hair and hourglass figure were her luxurious trademarks, and she made no bones about being an actress or that her acting was any good. She was just herself and that was enough. What gave her freedom from the repressive American society out of which she grew was her debonaire attitude of sophisticated charm, her sexy double entendres, and that shape. She was an original and that is what made her special. She was unashamedly and unabashedly herself regardless to whom she was talking. Hounded by groups who would censor her act, she never feigned decency or politically correct behavior because she didn’t care what the world thought of her. She knew that men desired her open and blatant sexuality, and she also knew that women feared her independence and liberation from the shackles of a repressive society that normally did not allow her kind of lifestyle. She rejected the hypocrisy of puritanical America, shunned monogamy as anachronistic and limiting, had sex with whom she wanted. What is so remarkable about her as a person and an entertainer is her charismatic ability to charm, entice, seduce just about everyone in the room. She was dead sure of herself as a woman, and she wasn’t going to let anyone around her forget who was in charge. The Hayes Bureau tried, often, to censor both her language and actions, and they often succeeded, but having watched her movies, I realize that it was her personae as the independent, liberated, sexual being that they could not contain, hold or censor. Her famous tag line, “Why don’t you come up and see me sometime” is loaded with sexual innuendo and bravado: she is the sexually active predator looking for some new action. This is her pick-up line. She says, “Honey, when I’m good, I’m good, but when I’m bad, I’m very good.” Implicit in her double entendre is a flawless reference to her own raw sexuality. When a young lady sees Mae for the first time, she exclaims, “Goodness,” to which Mae responds, “Darling, goodness had nothing to do with it.” The liberated sexuality of Mae West lies in stark contrast to the repressed Victorianism of the early Thirties that was just recovering from flappers and the wide-open partying of the Roaring Twenties. No one could contain Mae West, and she could steal a scene from heavyweights such as W. C. Fields or Cary Grant simply because she was so outrageously open about who she was. Contemporary performers such as Madonna or Cher could only wish they had the energy of this all-star diva.

On Yul Brynner’s Hair

As a child I thought Yul Brynner had a lot guts to let his head go around naked. The man had no hair. None, zero, zippo, null set, no hair, and what made this really odd was that he was proud of his bald pate. From what I could tell he was making a career out of his baldness. I thought this was extremely bizarre and weird because handsome male leading men usually have good hair. What kind of strange anarchy is this? Flying in the face of Sampson and all the good-hair people in the world, he deliberately thumbed his nose at accepted convention and did his own thing. Was there a lesson in this, I asked myself. Clearly this man is not conforming to any known convention of beauty, so how does he get away with it? Cary Grant, Rock Hudson, James Dean, these men all had very good hair. Even today, look at someone like George Clooney: his hair is freaking perfect! I guess you are wondering about my personal hair agenda, but I have none. That is, I have no hair, which is not really true, but the little bit I still have is not worth mentioning and if I grow it out, it makes me look like a medieval monk with a graying tonsure. Not cool, not handsome, not worth having, so I cut my hair very short to emulate my personal hair hero, Yul Brynner. Yes, Telly Savalas is also very bald, and in much the same way. Getting your skull to go naked does fly in the face of tradition and rejects traditional conventions of male beauty concerning hair. I am not jealous, and just because I say that does not mean I am jealous after all. Letting your scalp go free is very liberating. I spend no money on combs or expensive hair care products, using about a half teaspoon of shampoo a day. I don’t worry about having a bad hair day. The rain will not ruin my recently coiffed locks, and the humidity will not wreck my perm. Getting a haircut is a rather simple assignment. Of course, now you can see the scar from where I ran into that old apple tree when I was six and had to get stitches. My hairline goes all the way to my back. Gray hair is not a problem. Split ends are not an issue either. When I had hair, it was always a mess, so I think this is better. I have come to terms with the Yul Brynner look, and I like it.