It’s Friday and I like to keep it lighter on weekends, so here are a few more links about full frontal nudity in films and some info on actor Emile Hirsch’s full frontal nudity. I’ve been focusing on this for a variety of reasons, one of which has to do with the double standards in the movie industry between men and women.
This article/post talks about Emile Hirsch where he discusses doing nude scenes in films.
He needn’t worry. Hirsch may have played a horndog teen in love with a porn star in The Girl Next Door, but after his career-making turn as Christopher McCandleless in Sean Penn’s recent Into the Wild, no one is going to mistake this twenty-two-year-old actor for a celebutante.
This web site actually has full frontal nude photos of Emile Hirsch.
I love these “read more at” articles, as if I’m not going to link to them and I’m going to steal their precious, brilliant content and make millions of dollars. Get real. You’re screwing up my blog posts and I’m going to link to you anyway. It’s not as if I can hide anything online.
In any event, small rant over and you can click the link above to read more. As a side note, if you get a chance to see the film “Killer Joe,” you’ll see how well Hirsch can act. He’s not just another pretty face.
Full Frontal in Japan
A web site called Naver Matome from Japan recently started to catalogue a list of male full frontal nudes scenes in films. I found this on Rocket News24, a clever web site I always enjoy. I’m also curious about this because I have a following of readers in Japan and I’m curious about what interests people all over the world.
With summer, the season of blockbusters, it can be hard choosing a film to watch. Perhaps you want to base your movie selection on the appearance of a guy’s junk on screen. Whether you’re looking to catch or avoid some, penises are popping up in comedies like Forgetting Sarah Marshal, super hero flicks such as Watchmen, and sports movies such as Any Given Sunday at an ever increasing rate.
You can read more here. It’s very entertaining. This is how they will be classifying penis, and those who own one.
Penis Owner: Kevin Bacon
Penis Gauge: 5
Free Excerpt: Internal Desires
I have a new indie book coming out soon on Amazon titled, Internal Desires. I’m opting into the lending program this time, which means the book will be only offered at Amazon for three months. It will also be a .99 e-book. I’ve posted my thoughts about this before, both good and bad, and I like to experiment all the time. I honestly never know what to predict and experimenting is the only way to figure out what readers want most.
This is a short story/novella that’s almost 13,000 words. I use the term short story loosely because I come from the school of thought where short stories are usually shorter than 7,000 words. I know there’s debate on that. I’m only going by what I’ve been doing for publishers for many years.
Here’s a short excerpt, in raw version without final edits:
One warm Thursday morning a few years ago I helped my mom and dad pack their new pick-up truck at six o’clock, with suitcases they’d bought for their twenty-fifth anniversary cruise, a silver and white gift-wrapped box that held a crystal bowl, and the blue and white insulted cooler my mom had always used for picnics and family road trips.
Then I kissed them goodbye, watched them climb into the cab, and stood in the driveway next to the back door in my bare feet. I’d just crawled out of bed and I was only wearing dark blue basketball shorts that went below my knees. My short dark hair was sticking up and my eyes still hadn’t fully adjusted to the bright Montana sunshine. As I watched them pull out of the driveway and disappear down the long gravel road that would lead them to the main road, I waved until I couldn’t see the taillights anymore.
I went back into the house and up to my bedroom. I fell into bed face down and went back to sleep. My folks were going to a wedding in South Dakota for a second cousin I’d only met twice in my lifetime…once at my grandfather’s funeral and another time at a family reunion in West Yellowstone. They’d wanted me to come along with them but I’d backed out with what I thought were two excellent excuses: I had to be home for the last baseball game in a league I’d been part of since high school, and I had to help break in a new horse at the dude ranch where I worked part time.
Both excuses, however, could have been avoided and I could have gone to the wedding with them if I’d really wanted to go. The baseball league I’d been playing with since high school had lost every single game that season and the final game on that second Saturday in July didn’t even matter. We were only going through the motions by then and I didn’t need to be there. But more than that, I’d already decided I would not go back and play with them after this season ended.
That same summer I’d graduated from community college and I was planning to attend a four year college in the fall. And the excuse about breaking in the horse was almost as lame as the baseball excuse. I’d been working part time as a cowboy at a dude ranch since I’d graduated from high school and the horses weren’t exactly bucking bronco rodeo material, if you catch my drift. They were old and tired, weak and friendly. They were bought and maintained to entertain overweight tourists from all over the country who wanted to experience the Wild West in Montana in a gentle, inauthentic way. The horse I told my mom and dad I had to help break in was so mild and so even-tempered he ate right out of my hand.
The truth is I didn’t want to go to the wedding. My mom and dad rarely travel. They never even leave the property. They had me later in life and they’re both retired now. So I’d never actually been all alone in the house. I’d been too young to leave alone when they’d gone on the twenty-fifth anniversary cruise and I’d gone to stay with my grandmother. I knew it would take them two days to get to their destination, they would be there for two days, and then it would take two more days for them to return. I wanted to take advantage of being home all alone for almost a week. And even though I gave them lame excuses, I did have an excellent reason for not wanting to go with them.
When I finally did climb out of bed that Thursday I checked my phone to see if my mom and dad had left any text messages. We’d already agreed that texting would be the best way to communicate while they were gone. They knew I couldn’t talk long if I was working at the dude ranch, and I had a bad reputation when it came to answering the phone. But I never missed a text and they knew it. If it hadn’t been for me I don’t think they ever would have bothered to learn how to text message anyone. They were in their early sixties and none of their friends texted.
I glanced at my phone and saw one incoming message. I tapped the screen and read it aloud. “Just checking in to see how you are, sweetie. Your dad doesn’t like stopping for restrooms, but other than that we’re fine. Keep in touch. Love, Mom.”
I replied the same way I usually reply to them. “K.”
I smiled when I set the phone down on my computer desk, relieved that I’d decided not to join them. My dad was the type who liked to keep driving until he needed to stop for gas. My mom was the type who needed to pee every twenty miles. I’ll never forget the last road trip I took with them to West Yellowstone. My dad actually threatened to get an empty mayonnaise jar at one point so my mom could pee in that instead of stopping every half hour. You can imagine the look she sent him.
After I showered, I went down to the living room stark naked and turned on the TV. I felt so free and adult because I’d never walked around naked that way in the house before. I didn’t have to work that day and I knew all my friends were busy. I wanted to rest up, too. I had big plans for that night, something a little outrageous and possibly dangerous. I wanted to do something I’d never done before and I was so nervous about it I could hardly concentrate on the movie I was watching. I couldn’t even eat. I wound up falling asleep on the sofa sometime around five in the afternoon out of sheer frustration. When I opened my eyes and glanced at the time on the cable box under the TV it was almost seven-thirty.
I went into the kitchen, ate a candy bar, and gulped a can of diet soda. My mom had left prepared meals on the freezer with little notes on them, but I didn’t want to eat anything too heavy that night. Then I went back up to my bedroom and checked my messages again. My mom had left another text that read, “We’re stopping for the night. Your dad’s legs are getting stiff. Hope all is well. Love Mom.” It was only about a twelve hour drive from Great Falls, Montana to Hot Springs, South Dakota. But I knew my dad couldn’t deal with more than six hours in the car at a time. I also knew that with all that stopping and going along the way thanks to my mom’s bladder, not to mention an hour to stop for lunch, a six hour drive with them could turn into eight or nine hours.
I replied with, “It’s all good here. Love, Randy.” I added the love part because I knew my mom would like it.