Gazing at the Lizard King

I've found myself in the evenings not tired enough to sleep, and not bored enough to watch TV. While there are stacks of books here and there, there's nothing I feel like reading. This usually propels me to sit down at the computer and do some surfing.

I stopped back at Find A Death, only to realize they had a forum. After wading through posts about Lucille Ball, Marilyn Monroe, and John Belushi, I happened up Jim Morrison.

I'd always loved The Doors' music, but I'd never been compelled to read up on Morrison. Following one link to another, I was left with several thoughts. The first being it was absolutely amazing the writing he did in his short 27 years. I'd never realized he was so young when he died of an apparent drug overdose.

I also had no idea he was married in a "handfasting" ceremony. His story, however sad, was interesting. Then I started clicking on images because despite the fact he's been dead many, many years, he's quite pleasant to look at. I always felt as though I'd been born in the wrong decade, and the 60s would have been so much better than the 80s.

I came across these photos of him:





They proved to be quite "revealing." Giggling as I did it, I had to forward them along to FlipFlopMomma with a note confessing I saw the pics one night, and went back to find them again. I knew even if I couldn't quite formulate the words, she'd know just what I was driving at.

And, I was pretty sure that she would notice what I was noticing because she once did a blog post about "crotch gazing." She learned in those "growing up, congrats you've got your period" talks in elementary school that it was never nice to stare at a boy's crotch. You didn't want to make them feel bad that they were having changes going on with their bodies, as well.

Her response went like this, "His lady was a lucky woman. I can't stop looking at the crotch. I've got to go back and look some more."

I never got the lesson that she did about what you should or shouldn't look at. And, I've got to say, my eyes don't necessarily gravitate to that general area unless it's something so obvious such as these Morrison pics.

I've had several conversations with friends over the male parts and finer workings thereof. (So yes, if a woman says she never talks or thinks about such things, she's lying.) We've tried to figure out how it's something they can be so aware of, and then again, be so oblivious to.

One time, one of my friends carted her boyfriend off to the drug store. He was wearing those pajama bottom type of pants and going commando. She looked over just in time to see his pride and joy poking out, flapping in the wind. When she questioned him how he didn't know it, he said he had no clue. We really did assume that he would have noted a temperature change at the very least.

I've had to point out to my husband a time or two that he had a hole in his shorts and I could see the boys. When questioned, he totally denied that he knew anything about the hole and "how the hell was he supposed to know?" I was, of course, accused of checking out the merchandise and having a dirty mind always thinking about sex, but how couldn't I notice?

I can't draw any great conclusions about these photos of Jim Morrison, and whether he knew at the time he was going to get the desired reaction out of a couple chicks 37 years after his death. The one thing I do know is that Flip Flop Momma and I both have a sneaking suspicion why he called himself "The Lizard King."