Speaking of Wolford

We lived for a while in Austria when I was a kid. Even from pre-pubescence, I remember Wolford. I remember seeing their posters all around Vienna, I remember the impossibly gorgeous women, their impossibly long and slender legs posed in often impossible contortions.

Over the next little while, I'll post some samplings -- not, of course, because I'm interested in assembling them, but because it may lend insight regarding early influences.

We'll start with 20 favorites from their Fall/Winter 09 collection.

Cave tour

We went on a camping trip this weekend - just an overnighter with some friends, to a nearby camping ground we like. Part of the area includes a cave, of which I took the two eldest kids on a guided tour while my wife waited outside with our youngest.

Not far into the cave, I noticed a couple of tall, college-age girls that seemed to be sticking closely together while part of a larger group. One of them had a BYU sweatshirt on. While the guide made some introductory remarks, the more attractive of the two and I met eyes a few times -- nothing lingering, just some quick, crossing glances. Then the guide turned off the lights to demonstrate what the cave's discoverer would have experienced when his candle went out, and my mind turned immediately to an imaginary scenario in which the lights stayed off for a few moments longer, I walked the few steps over to her, whispered something succinct in her ear, grabbed her breast, and we groped and kissed in the darkness for a few minutes and restored ourselves to order before the lights went back on.

She remained a distraction--that sounds like it's her fault--for the rest of the tour. In one tight passage, I casually brushed the outside of my right hand against her butt, tight in her jeans. But wait, there's more! What makes that even more repulsive--not to mention abysmal karma--is that I used the back of my hand because the rest of it was holding my son's little hand. I won't say that I recoiled immediately from the action. But I gradually became heavy with disgust over what I'd done. Few will argue that it was a cardinal violation, but it was a small token of pathetic perversion.

They had accents, so I later chatted a bit with the second girl, asked where they were from. One from the Czech Republic, the other from Slovakia. Stream of consciousness in the immediate wake of getting that info included: LDS and/or living in the fast lane at the Y? Why'd they come here from there? Prague. The Jewish Cemetery. St. Vitus Cathedral. The Mucha Window at St. Vitus. Mucha. Mucha women. Czech women. Czech models. Eva Herzigova. Daniela Pestova. How'd Paulina Porizkova (subject of the only two model posters I ever bought in adolescence, one of which was for this movie, the other was of her in a striped swimsuit, and they lasted a couple of months on the back of my door before my dad pulled them down; actually, I had the movie poster and two Paulina swimsuit posters, but the other was way too racy to post in plain site, so I think it hung on the back wall of my closet behind my shirts, but that, too, was short-lived) end up with Ric Ocasek? So money lands you a gorgeous Czech girl. Notorious former-East Bloc sex trade. Mail-order brides.

Continuing Education

I was looking up a word at Merriam-Webster.com, when for some reason I wondered whether it was time for a career change. What, with my already-impressive portfolio and all, imagine what I could do with studio lights, a viewfinder and professional subjects!)