The Fetishist

I love shoes, and as a couple of Reader bloggers know, I love to wear a pair of metallic gold summer flats, purchased for a song at Payless. Alas, I might as well mail them off to magics, as for the next six weeks I will only be able to wear the left of the pair. I’ve just been fitted at the doctor’s for a “Cam Walker,” a clumsy-looking, stormtrooper-like boot meant to help correct a foot injury healing badly, due to immune response problems. As I hobble along, remembering to roll the foot along with the boot, heel to toe, and bend the knee, memory turns to an amusing evening a few years ago, and an encounter with a shoe fetishist, who would likely regard this boot with horror, a big black coffin for the leg.

The fetishist held dubious court at a winter cocktail party held in a tiny Manhattan loft. He had set himself up on a stool in a corner, with a fresh sketchpad in his lap, a stack of blank Christmas cards and envelopes, and a box of charcoal and sharp-nibbed calligraphy pens; eager to sketch all the sexy high heels as they sauntered in. At first, I thought he had been hired by the hostess, Kim, to sketch portraits or caricatures of partygoers. She whispered that his wife was an acquaintance who had come down with the flu, and so sent her husband in her stead with a potluck dish.

Unfortunately for the fetishist, the few women at this party were hipster-grunge or fashion-negligent scholars fresh from seminar, or else masculine dykes, all wearing the standard conservative loafer. I arrived in a pair of black and silver sneakers, purchased on the way to the party at the Astor Place Kmart, to replace the stylish but ineffectual boots wet through in the freezing rainstorm now threatening to turn to snow. As I approached, the fetishist’s gaze fell in disappointment to my clunky sneakers, then briefly rose to meet my eyes in polite, perfunctory greeting. He spent the rest of the evening in concentration on his sketchpad, or sweeping the room hawkishly, nipping at our our hostess’s heels, while I interrogated him on his fixation with the female foot:

Well, is it the shoe or the foot that interests you? Is it real to you, like a talking organ? Or is the foot mute, carrying a load of significance it can’t speak to? Is it similar to a fixation with genitals? Or does it defer the idea of sexuality? –Or is everything around the foot or shoe imbued with a sexuality that is blatantly in the open, unlike genitals, which are hidden under clothing?

Kim, the hostess, had been for months undergoing heavy psychoanalysis; the kind that is like a cerebral journey through a forest of symbolic language, rather than the emotional holding environment of psychotherapy. As a scholar of the Holocaust and diasporic testimonial literature, she, like many Jewish intellectuals, felt that psychoanalysis was a kind of necessary tradition, a socio-historical duty to the memory of Freud and his disciples.

She alone was prepared for the fetishist, sporting a pair of skinny, strappy, bejeweled stilettos. Kim stretched a long leg up to the mantle of the fireplace, and slowly rotated her ankle, as the Swarovksi crystals winked in the candlelight. The fetishist lit up like a Christmas tree, and asked if he could borrow them later for his wife to wear. The hostess beamed a goodnatured 'yes,’ which effected in him a visible fever; his cheeks staining with spots the color of the cabernet in my glass. My immediate thought concerned whether or not Kim would have the shoes cleaned after he borrowed them. Satisfied, he turned reluctantly back to my incessant questioning of his ‘condition;’ albeit while stealing a glance now and then in the direction of the hostess, who modeled her heels coyly, every move now visibly surfeited with erotic meaning.

19th century sexologists and psychologists like Kraft-Ebing and Binet condemned the fetishist as a pervert; Freud saw the fetish as a complex and very creative form of denial (as he did many psychological phenomena) of some originary trauma, by which early sexual energy is displaced onto an object rather than the organs and body of the opposite sex. As the story goes, the young boy sees his mother undressed and interprets her genitals as castrated, then ‘forgets’ this event through a fixation on an object related to the scene—her dress, shoe, foot, underwear, etc.—anything covering the offending object, or something ‘other’ upon which his gaze falls when he looks down and/or ‘away.’

Our foot fetishist could not confirm an ‘originary event,’ and had enjoyed a pleasant childhood. He did recall eyeing rows of colorful shoes in his mother’s closet, like so many candies displayed on shop shelves, accompanied by the comforting personal smell of her, softly noted with gardenia perfume, a heady concentration in this tiny room. It was a room that gave birth to a whole system of interpretation, a view upon the world that a sensitive boy would apply the rest of his life to everything about him, as well as the women in his life.

It turns out that the foot functions as an abstract symbol of the woman’s entire body, containing in abstraction all of its curves and dimples. In exemplem, he sketched a bold line on the sketchpad, and asked me what I thought it was.

‘Perhaps the curve of a new moon, or someone’s jaw, or a concave lens,’ I ventured.

“To me, it is the arch, the instep of a feminine foot.” He deftly drew two more lines, and it became a woman’s ankle. “But this foot is naked, and presents no challenge to the eye.”

I asked him if he then found the ‘naked’ foot boring.

“Yes and no—to me the bare, well-groomed foot is classical beauty, simply unclothed; it is more tempting when covered, and accented just so.” He drew a fluid, weblike netting over the sketch of the ankle, making it into a kind of gladiator sandal, all the rage back then in NYC; presently come into style in southern California. The shoe encases or cradles the foot—that is an important aspect of this fetishistic desire.

What of the toes? The calf? For this shoe and foot fetishist, these neatly combine the yin and the yang; the shape of the male organ folded and fitted into the elusive feminine. Did he find glimpses of the foot in art? For example, phallic symbols abound in architecture, whether intended or no. Yes, and in nature, too. The gentle slope of a tree trunk and its knots combine the phallic with the curve of an ankle. Something about Scottish artist Andy Goldsworthy’s cairns and ‘nests’ attracted him, making him think of the small rounded egg of the ankle, as did small country bridges spanning ponds or rivers.

Some years before the party, I had gone to a shoe museum outside Lyon, France, with a group of students and professors. We lunched at a village bistro, with the conversation at first a bit stilted, as it always is with a group of strangers, one half of whom are used to sitting on the other side of the desk from the other. But the sensuousness of food and wine loosened us; we feasted on plump chicken thighs in a rich butter sauce, a nicoise, and fresh bread. Plenty of local Rhône table wine was passed around and poured into little jelly glasses, until the roses bloomed in our cheeks, and laughter came easily and a bit louder than at the start of the meal.

After lunch, we toured the museum, which displayed the earliest known shoe; some thousand years BCE, it consisted of a flat, limp, leather sole, with a few frayed strings curled around it. We wandered obediently through the exhibit, stifling post-lunch yawns, until—shazam! A corridor let onto a room filled entirely with futuristic and fantasy shoes. Thigh-high silver boots, electric pumps, ‘screw me’ pumps, shoes made of exotic materials and textures including peacock feathers, lucite plastic, paper, and silk. Chunky, svelte, square and round; these shoes had personality! Yet all eyes were gathered as one to a particular shoe under a giant glass dome; as large as a small divan, it had a ‘heel’ like a corkscrew, twisting down to then saucily revolve upwards, wandering away—an erotic digression given tangible form. Faces flushed and the sterile white room was suddenly, consciously filled with the sound of human breath.

Our next stop was to see the stone castle of 'Le facteur Cheval.' Obsession led this simple country postman to build a stone and cement monument, full of religious and ‘heathen’ iconography, to the ideal of the ‘palace.’ His poor wife must have been bemused to see her husband work his worn hands, gnarled from a life of sticking letters and hoisting bags of parcels, into a bloody pulp against this handsome-ugly shrine. Grey stones were stacked and cemented into a labyrinthine structure of dead ends and passages, turrets and parapets, and curious epigraphs carved into its walls. The postman Cheval wanted his work to reflect all of the architectural styles known to man, and, curiously, wished that it would be entitled “Alone in the World,” which could relate to the many carved proclamations to the effect that he, Cheval, had built it himself; misunderstood, it was his dream alone. He built his own tomb among the towers and galleries, and was buried there when he died, a year after finishing the entire project.

Can it be said that we all have our fetishes upon which the world turns? Or do we label them something else? What distinguishes addiction from fetishism? The addict has no choice, and though everything in his world might carry the signature of the object of addictive desire, the addict does not live under the sign of certainty. The fetishist knows what is certain, and can read his own narrative in the objects of the world. But so can the ignorant crackpot, whose limited text suffers from anything but a healthy skepticism.

Some people appear to be fetishists for a deadly sort of nationalism; vision colored by the limited palate of a flag, they attempt to triumph over any intelligent doubt or questioning of the doings of government with accusations of traitorous or spoiled ingratitude. Some fetishize the trappings and doctrine of a dominant religious creed; uncuriously, most often when a violent history justifies a current crusade. Some fetishize authority and discipline; be it the equipment of domestic law enforcement, or the signifiers of a foreign and even long dead totalitarianism. Some fetishize an ethnocentric hatred of people of a specific race or an ‘invasion’ of immigrants, blaming all of society’s—and one’s own—ills upon them.

Others still fetishize a blind, rote hatred of the opposite sex. All of these kinds of fetish are quite often to be found in the same feckless individual, secure in his fetid cloud of certainty. These fetishists are also haunted by a rich, unexamined, and complex code of signs which excites them at the slightest provocation, and which seems to hinge upon the concept of “other,” the intimate, repressed, feared, and hated 'not me' upon whom one’s very identity is necessarily, and too frequently, bloodily inscribed.

It is enough to hobble the mind.

Against these ‘conditions,’ I gladly prefer to consider the scribbled, feverish desire, the harmless aesthetic of the shoe fetishist; forever chasing the subtle and slippery curves of a not-quite graspable feminine to the furthest corners of his imagination. I’ll have to go through some boxes in the hall closet, and find that Christmas card, with its sketch of a humble Kmart sneaker.

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More Banker's Hill/Mercy Outpatient


Interesting. I've never seriously considered a foot or shoe fetish. I, too, wore a boot for many months after an injury playing baseball here in Tijuana. Heal well, SD.

Magics, I "stand" corrected. You have got a great memory--yes, I had the blue and silver "moons" on when you saw them. For you, I can get rock-n-roll themes, like patterns of tiny skulls on a black background. Right now I'm wearing black ones with a great silver dragon--they just keep coming up with amazing designs.

Hey single, it is so strange we came up with this topic within a few days of each other--something in the air? :)

Or a good handle...well, refried it sounds like you DID get off on the right foot after all, unless it was your left...

Actually, we did win that game, SD. The newspaper headline the next day brought me a lot of snarky comments from my teammates, it was the first game of that season, something about getting off on the right foot...

It was the last game of baseball I played.

"Snarky" and "foot" in the same passage.



SnarkyFoot. Good name for a band.

naked is good... almost naked is amazing

SD: Three months. And that was after three months in a cast. I shattered my heelbone. It wasn't fun.

ooooh good stuff here SD...i enjoyed reading. you should keep your pretty gold sandals to later be able to show off those even prettier toes...i remember the pretty blue and chrome pedicure and was dying of envy. i wish you fast healing :)

ooohh skull and crossbone pedicure...god that sounds fabulous! i can't wait :)

Good article, very academic (quite different in tone than mine) : ), but so interesting! It certainly added more questions to my considerations of the racial fetishist. In the end, I totally agree that I will take the foot guy over some of the others any day.

Woops, double your post, double your fun?

Most interesting. I hadn't really considered the toolish behavior of certain types of individuals to have a fetishist cause.

"The fetishist knows what is certain, and can read his own narrative in the objects of the world."

Wow. That statement alone could be expanded into a book.

"Fetid cloud of certainty..." Is that what that smell is? ;)

Take heart, Daniels. I'm sure there are fetishists aplenty who will soon be lined up outside your door to get a gander at you strutting in one of these. Sexy stuff.

Hey AG, that is EXACTLY what the boot looks like. Attractive, aren't they? :)

I'd be curious to know how long you had to wear yours, Gringo.

Joe, I agree. Something should be left to the imagination! :)

BTW, all: Check out singleandawesome's blogs. She's got great narrative voice, and is always very entertaining:

Magics: Next time you scoot your hind down here for a visit, I'll Minx your toenails, dear--something to look forward to. I think I had on the checkered black, gold, and cream Minx when you saw them. There are a multitude of Minx patterns and colors, but you can't get them done very many places, and it is expensive. I would mail you some for your toes, but would need to show you how to put them on. It's easy once you get a demo. Just use a hairdryer and a glass file--like a sticker, with heat application.

Yes, AG. I know the inventor and co-owner of the company, and my cousin takes care of US relations for the product, which is worn by Beyonce, Madonna, etc. etc. etc. They are keeping it exclusive at the moment, doing Vogue shoots. I think they should make Minx more available to the everyday woman--I'm stopped on the street constantly, and wish I had more answers for the Minx-hungry public.

Yes, magics. I think we might have skull & crossbones designs. There are Harley Davidson ones too, which are sort of rock-n-roll. On election night, we had Minx with an actual photo of Obama on each nail :)

Refried, sounds way worse than my "Liz Franks" injury. I hope you people won that game!

Yes, AG. I know the inventor and co-owner of the company, and my cousin takes care of US relations for the product, which is worn by Beyonce, Madonna, etc. etc. etc. They are keeping it exclusive at the moment, doing Vogue shoots. I think they should make Minx more available to the everyday woman--I'm stopped on the street constantly, and wish I had more answers for the Minx-hungry public.

Yes, magics. I think we might have skull & crossbones designs. There are Harley Davidson ones too, which are sort of rock-n-roll. On election night, we had Minx with an actual photo of Obama on each nail :)

Refried, sounds way worse than my "Liz Franks" injury. I hope you people won that game!

Hey AG, I was wearing the "San Diego Vista" a couple months ago, and thought they looked like a Balboa Park view. I'll have to ask if that is what she had in mind when she printed them.

AG wrote: "Did you know there's even one called "San Diego Vista?" (Although I can't see WHY it's called that.)"

Geez, refried, did we not notice our pun--"getting off" on the right foot? insert collective groan here :)

insert collective groan here :)

Collectively inserting?


Is that camera even ON?

You'll make a fine psychotherapist--or cinematographer--one day, AG :)

I like SnarkyFoot for brand of shoe. Isn't it a "Lisfranc" injury? Yes it is.

Ah ha...then it is more Fraaahhhnchh than I thought, KisMETic. Just heard the doc pronounce the name (certainly not as Lee franche, and more like "Liz Franks," which to me sounded like a shoe designer. Have not yet looked it up, as MRI news subsequently overshadowed this diagnosis, revealing a nondisplaced fracture.

"SnarkyFoot" may well be my next handle, at least for the next couple of months ;)

Shhh. Nan, that's our little secret, eh? ;)

Heehee. Nan thought Daniels was a dude.

A truly bodacious, excellent dude, I'm sure.


It's been said that there are over 5,000 sexual fetishes.....which leads to the only honest and real question-Which one is yours? ;-D

"A truly bodacious, excellent dude, I'm sure."

Or a Rasputin-like court intrigue-ing, poisoner type, I'm sure. :)

Pete, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not a fetishist. Sure, there are many kinds of fetish, but there is a big difference between common fantasy and the phenomenon of the fetish, as a kind of libidinal fixation, rooted in childhood trauma or some 'originary' event. I recommend reading some Freud--Beyond the Pleasure Principle and the case studies of "History of an Infantile Neurosis" for more on this.

Right! For an exhaustive catalog of every type of fetish at work and play, in the form of a relentless machine of possible fetishes, yes. For metacommentary on fetish, better to go with Freud and some psychoanalysis ;)

Or do as I did: read The 120 Days and follow it with Psychopathia Sexualis. What's amazing is that Krafft-Ebing corroborates de Sade's material, yet the manuscript for The 120 Days wasn't discovered until AFTER the publication of Psychopathia.

SD-I think Freud was VERY underrated. I also didn't mean you specifically when asking that question. I've heard of History of an Infantile Neurosis and would love to read it. From what I've heard,it takes an open mind to fully understand it.

31: Did not know, russl--are you sure of that? de Sade wanted his stuff out there--was it because he was locked up when he wrote it?

32: I know, Pete. I was just answering for myself, as part of the 'everyone' you were asking--rhetorically :) So what do you mean by Freud being underrated? The general public seems to have a passing understanding of the concepts of "Freudian slip" and of the idea of the Oedipal, etc.--if not a complex understanding. The only psychoanalyst to infiltrate public consciousness in that way--and he's been long dead--though along with Nietsche and Marx, seen as one of the great thinkers of the 19th century.

I would say that Freud got a bad rap in academics for quite a while--in cultural studies, they still teach that his was a sexist, Imperialist agenda. Sure, whose wasn't back then? At any rate, we have to take our Freud with a grain of salt, but his concepts will always be useful.

I think the book you would TOTALLY dig, Pete, is Civilization and its Discontents. He was dying from jaw cancer from all those cigars (that were apparently NOT just cigars), and wrote out his bleak predictions for the human race--as he defined it, human race would be white Euro-America, of course. :)

Growing up and reading what I could,it occured to me that Freud was found to be overrated because of his incesant focus on the Oedipus Complex. From I've learned of the guy,that is hardly true. I think he put great focus on it but I don't think that was to be his defining subject. He did alot of work regarding cerebal palsy and the ego. I think he was right about ego and repression. I've been told that when I was raped,my emotional maturity stopped. When I commited my armed robbery,I had the emotional intelligence of a 13 year old,not a 23 year old. Now that I'm 33,I have the emotional intelligence of a 25-26 year old. It's assumed that once I caved in to my demons,that the wall literally came crashing down and I had to scramble to fix it so I didn't lose precious time required to gain it back. If that makes any sense. My therapists have told me that when all is said and done and I work hard,by the time I'm 40,I'll have the stability,emotional intelligence and thought processes of a normal 40 year old. It's one of the reasons why I decided to create a blog. Therapy at it's finest :-D Purge the soul and pick up the pieces....

(#34) Yeah, it's good, cheap therapy, ain't it, Pete. And it's also the lazy man's way to journal; sure beats handwritten journal entries. Just print 'em and paste 'em, if you want to do it that way. And it brings about self-knowledge and self-understanding that you only understand through doing it.

(#33) "are you sure of that? de Sade wanted his stuff out there--was it because he was locked up when he wrote it?"

Exactly. He wrote it on one long scroll when he was locked up in the Bastille. He hid it in a cubbyhole in the cell, and it wasn't discovered until the 20th Century. I read it and saw things like a guy trying to have sex with a statue and thought, "Oh, come on, de Sade. You can't possibly expect me to believe that!" Then I read Psychopathia Sexualis, and there was the very same thing. And it was published before the manuscript to The 120 Days was discovered in the cubbyhole.

Best album title ever: Civilization and Its Discotheques by the Fibonaccis.

Pete, it looks to this layperson that you are taking massive strides toward health--and if I might ask--you don't have to answer, but I'm dying to know: What was it that led you to make such a 180 shift? One second you were trolling, spewing hate (mixed with a fair amount of pain--I always noticed), and the next you were suddenly opening up to everyone, and having civilized conversations. Did you have some kind of epiphany? Did you suddenly realize things were different on this site, and you could trust us, or was it something else? I appreciate whatever you can answer on that, but understand if you don't want to go into it :)

"Civilization and Its Discotheques" Hahhaha, russl! Yes, I remember now about them discovering Sade's manuscripts, hidden in a wall. Freaking amazing! Besides his obsessive attention to detail, what blows me away about Sade is how he managed to create this giant clockwork fetish machine, with all of the characters functioning as different parts: wheels, levers, gears, etc. The most startling fact of all is that this narrative structure, this hydraulic 'machine' (remember that hydraulic garden statues were all the rage in the 18th century), neatly functions as a philosophical synechdoche of his century's mechanist society...

Oh yes, forgot to mention Kraft-Ebing. It has been quite a while since I looked at it, and more recently (which is years ago), read him only via Foucault (another fetishist--you know he was a leather man, as legend goes :)

I guess it was the fact that I'm tired of always being misunderstood. Believe me,there will still be times when I won't agree with what everyone says and there will still be times when I'll rant at something or someone. I use my past experiences to give me a greater voice to speak the truth as I see it. Growing up,I had no voice or balls to stand up to the world. I was always beaten down by my peers because of pure jealousy. Whether it was by violence,intimidation,emotional abuse,physical abuse,mental abuse or a reverse psychology,they made me feel inferior. If the truth was the sky was blue and I knew it but they knew it and refused to acknowledge that,I was beaten or harrassed.

I'm not saying that I know it all. I don't and when I know I'm wrong on something,I'll gladly admit that I was wrong. You're also right about this being a different kind of site. The first couple of times that my comments were removed,I was f***in' pissed. I was a teenager all over again and the Reader's web admins were my friends. Then I had more comments removed and noticed something-the comments were gone but I wasn't. Besides Fumbar and a couple of other random douchebags who actually had the balls to email me and tell me they were going to try their hardest to get me banned,I noticed that I had to give respect where due. You're a VERY intelligent woman,SD. You and most others I converse with on here are all people I'd want on my side. Even though I've never been in an actual fight and probably couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag,I'm the guy who stands up to whatever injustice I see happening. I'm most likely going to get my ass kicked but,so what? The principle is ALWAYS worth an ass kicking.

"Besides Fumbar and a couple of other random douchebags who actually had the balls to email me and tell me they were going to try their hardest to get me banned,I noticed that I had to give respect where due. You're a VERY intelligent woman,SD."

Who has been harassing you on email? If fumbler took the time to email you, then you should consider that a sort of compliment--he hasn't had the time to slam me yet, apparently :) If anyone else harasses you repeatedly, just start posting their "private" messages here on your blog--see refried's blog for example. That should put a stop to it.

You know, it's funny Pete. I haven't blogged on any sites besides this one, so can't compare--but I instinctively just know that it must be different. I was horrified by you, until you began to open up and started that blog. It was clear that you were a person in a lot of pain, and had quite a bit to get off your chest. I am really glad to see you do it, and that you found the courage, my friend. You have realized that we are not just nameless entities at whom you can spew--we are real people with feelings, too. I'm sure your therapist is just as proud of you as we are. I like this new Pete :)

As for the intimidation growing up, I can totally relate. I was a kid who was abused outside of school, but kept it quiet, and did fine at private school, while public school was a disaster. I was considered the smartest kid at school, and had a lot of friends until I transferred in sixth grade to a public school. There, the only group who would take me in was a group of Mexican girls who were considered the "good" girls--not in gangs, and who didn't ditch class. I remember these three girls with a lot of fondness; they still took me in, even though they made fun of my way of speaking, my vocabulary, and my clothes. My mother had to spring for a couple of Izod shirts and some Jordache jeans, which I wore over and over, so I wouldn't continue to get beat up for wearing the standard private school uniform of long skirts and socks. I was quiet for years, afraid to be ridiculed or hurt physically, with the exception of giving the class clown a fat lip, after he challenged me to a fight at the bus stop. My friends carried me off in triumph, saying I won the fight, but the triumph was short lived, and the taunting continued.


Kids are cruel, and we have to deal with the fallout for years afterward. The redheaded kid who suffered the "ugly" tag, the Mexican or Black kid alone in a sea of white faces, the "nerdy" kid with the wrong clothes and lingo (that would be me), and the sullen outcasts who--horror of horrors--ate lunch alone (that would also be me). Kids are the worst when it comes to intolerance of and punishment of difference. Mini Hitlers. It is sad to see that deeply-blushing 13-year old, embarrassed to be alive, who can't meet anyone's gaze. When I see this, I say a silent mantra for them that they will find the freedom and courage that comes with no longer caring what others think of you. I look forward to more of your thoughtful blogs, Pete :)

Pete...i'll loan u my steel toed sequined motorcycle boots to do that ass kickin' with babe!!!

take no prisoners homey!!!!

Thanks. :-D I wish I would've been more agressive growing up. I avoided fights when I was young out of fear of being beat down, I avoid fights now because I'm afraid that there is a pure evil that will be unleashed the first time I swing at someone and it connects. I'm afraid that I wouldn't stop until I killed him.

SD-I called out the guy out who emailed me. I believe Jerome was his name. My comment was deleted.


Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya...

You 2 were more fun kicking the crap out of each other. :)

Regarding the Marquis de Sade, hopefully everybody's seen this:

Rush received a Best Actor nomination for it, and deservedly so.

i saw that movie antiM...but i didn't feel it really explored the phenomena of focused only on the intrique and not the heart of it...the excitement of the emotional connection...the give and take of the master/slave relationship at it's most exhilerating best i say that?????

The BD/SM would get me to watch. Without that,it's just a French chick

"The BD/SM would get me to watch. Without that,it's just a French chick"

Have you seen it?

scrabblescrabblescrabblescrabblescrabble scrabblescrabble*scrabble

I agree with nan in #45. Though, as AG or RG would say, I love me some Geoffrey Rush!

scrabblescrabblescrabblescrabblescrabble scrabblescrabble*scrabble

Oh, yes, forgot to mention: For emotional SM, see A Heart in Winter (Un coeur en hiver) with Emmanuelle Beart and Daniel Auteuil.

Nope. Never heard of it until now. I haven't really explored my BD/SM side.

Does anyone remember a movie called"Two Moon Junction"?

Wow! That is a motley crew! How's the acting?

Two Moon Junction is a 1988 American English language erotic thriller and romance film directed by Zalman King, starring Sherilyn Fenn and Richard Tyson. The screenplay is written by Zalman King. The original music score is composed by Jonathan Elias.

The film has cameo appearances from Louise Fletcher, Juanita Moore, and in their final film appearances, Burl Ives and Hervé Villechaize. It also marked the theatrical film debut of Milla Jovovich.

Richard Tyson is so sexy in this. Sherilynn Fenn is great as well but there's something about his eyes. Kind of like Antonio Banderas in that one movie that I can't think of right now but love so I just found this link on sxe phil's YT channel...

A must view. You guys thought I was bad,he'd scare the s*** out of me... :-D

El Mariachi(Desperado) The original El Mariachi is so much more pure than the remake Desperado. Funny thing about the director Robert Rodriguez-He was able to film Mariachi on a low budget by being a guinea pig and lab rat at a hospital....

Enjoy ladies

El Mariachi(Desperado) The original El Mariachi is so much more pure than the remake Desperado.

By PistolPete

El Mariachi is light years better than the high tech, phoney Hollywood remake RR and Antonio Banderas did in Desperado. Light years ahead. The low budget is what gave El Mariachi it's cutting edge feel.

BTW- RR did that movie for $7K, on a credit card, and it grossed over $2 million;

Re #55:

I like the sidebar comment:

"Hey, ever wanted to see all of the worst stereotypes about America in one internet video? Take it away, Screaming Fat Guy at a Walmart McDonald's!"

Absolutely hideous. That's about when I turn around, look at him and yell, "SECURITY!!!" at the top of my lungs.

Oh, wait. No I wouldn't. Because I wouldn't be in a WAL-MART.

Once Upon A Time In Mexico was actually one of the better later sequels. I'm looking forward to seeing Boondock Saints 2:All Saints Day in a month or so. It's been ten years but the original was so awesome. I'm kind of like Paul Smecker's character.

I was laughing at that as well. I refuse to shop at Wally World.

Re #56:

I remember liking El Mariachi. Haven't seen it in a long time. But this one is much more memorable for me. (Also co-starring Banderas.)

Shoot, I was posting #61 while you were posting #59, Pete.

Great minds....

It's funny. People who think they know the movies usually say that Desperado is a sequel of El Mariachi. It's not. It's a re-make. Huge difference.

re: El Mariachi--looks like a fun romp through Mexico City! I love the title piece for the soundtrack--if it is. Spaghetti Western music set to a club beat, with classical guitar fingering. Nice!

The McDonald's guy--wow. I watched his "reply" vid, and wonder if he was acting. Badly, if so. "Vera, bring me some aspirin! I'm having a heart attack. F-- you!" :)

Oops, wrong title. I meant "Once Upon a Time in Mexico."

El Mariachi is way cooler than Desperado... none of those "comic/ dramatic moments".

Guys, don't forget Dusk 'till Dawn... stupid, yes - but damn entertaining. Just typing this I have a dopey grin on my face thinking about Cheech Marin's pussy monologue.

Once Upon a Time in Mexico was pretty good... Johnny Depp was killer in it. "Are you a Mexican, or a Mexican't?"

  • Joe

I really like "From Dusk Till Dawn", I think it is a pretty cool vampire movie, and it has a rock solid cast.

Oh, wait. No I wouldn't. Because I wouldn't be in a WAL-MART.

By antigeekess


You're definitely a K-Mart shopper..... all the way.

Or maybe Pic N Save.

"Are you a Mexican, or a Mexican't?"

So THAT's where Pete got it!

"You're definitely a K-Mart shopper..... all the way."

Antigeekess is a discerning catalogue shopper, if you must know--Puppy. She might be able to get you a good deal on an LLBean monogrammed puppy basket for that new bike, but you better be nice--you're gonna need a human to pilot it :)

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