I hesitate to admit that in a fit of seventies porn nostalgia a couple weeks ago I ordered a pair of prescription aviators with brown gradient tint from our opticianry school.  I was in the market for a new pair of glasses and dropped in to see what I could get at cost.  I'm fairly conservative in my tastes, but there was something about these frames and where I am in my internal porn star journey that just seemed right.

But I also knew that to get the full effect I would need new shoes at the very least, and possibly a whole new wardrobe, not to mention a new walk, accent, and persona.  A whole new Bom-chicka-wah-wah, basically, for my amped-up mojo.  You can't pimp your accessories and not pimp your life. 

I'd done my best to dress accordingly, and I'm telling you —no joke — when I took them out on their maiden voyage this afternoon, guys were doing that little point-n-wink thing to me, like, "aay, how you doin'?"  People were nodding at me on the sly, like, "yeah, baby. Welcome to Le Club." It was like I was wearing magic glasses that allowed me to see right into this weird demimonde of real life cheesy, porny scenarios around every corner. 

But when I got home and all my housemates tried them on, and someone mentioned George Michael, I realized they probably weren't all that.  Anyway, even they were, if everyone's a porn star in them then no one really is, right?  Still, it's a good thing it doesn't take much to wow 'em in these parts.  In New England, mild is wild.  You can stretch a little bit of flash for light years. 

So I'm gonna hold off on the shoes for now.  I don't want to scare people off.