Dodge City & Supermodels

This is the week! I’ll be leaving for Dodge City on Wednesday where the launch of the book None Wounded, None Missing, All Dead will be held. I believe all will go well and I’m looking forward to being in that part of the states. I turned 50 today and the trip to Dodge is sort of a birthday present. Fifty. When I was 14 that seemed so old. I hope Father Time cuts me the same deal that Dick Clark has. Pre-stroke I mean. When I was growing up I think wanted to be model. Ask any little girl what she wants to be when she grows up. Chances are she won’t say president or astronaut. Chances are she’ll say “Supermodel.” Let’s face it. Nothing sounds fun about the theory of relativity. Now walking down a runway wearing beautiful clothes with the possibility of dating Val Kilmer after a show – that sounds fun. And by the way, isn’t it about time we passed an absolute edict forbidding any of the tall, lanky stick-figures from uttering the words, “Modeling is hard work.” Y’know, we’re conditioned, weaned on, and addicted to “looking like” rather than actually “being” or “feeling.” The fact that we prize beauty is the reason that we live in a perpetually disposable society. We worship something that is nothing but transitory. The standards for beauty have changed more over the ages than the names tattooed on Angelina Jolie’s arm. One of the most recent beauty gotta-haves is big, full, pouting lips. And it’s really easy. The doctor takes a syringe full of fat from your rear end and injects it into your lips. The fat injection takes care of the fullness, and the doctor’s bill takes care of the pouting. You can get Botox, tummy tucks, butt-lifts, and breast enlargments. If you don’t like surgery you can buy Victoria’s Secret Miracle Bra. Victoria Secret’s products are a little pricey for me. I have the Walmart version of the Miracle Bra. It’s called the Hey, Clara Sue, them ain’t your hooters bra.” That being said, I’ve got to get that item packed before my trip. Hope to see you all in Dodge.