A rare Madonna trade ad from 1983 in the style of a magazine cover.
If it's true that dogs pick up on your moods, I feel bad for my normally spunky little Shih Tzu; they must be moping and confused because I'm in one of my manic-depressions (I'm rarely manic or depressive, I'm both at once) that could be S.A.D. but are more likely the result of O.C.D. My whole life has been one compulsion after another.
As a kid,
I collected buttons, Boys Life Magazines, baseball cards, Farrah Fawcett pinups, Charlie's Angels cards and stickers and MAD Magazines. The I graduated to 45 singles (in particular Billboard's Top 40) and, after flirtations with artists such as The Go-Go's, Eurythmics and Cyndi Lauper, Madonna EVERYTHING.
I turned into
a dirty old man around age 30 and began hoarding beefcake imagery (original photographs as well as tear sheets from magazines) and have been known to avail myself of the Web's free porn (isn't watching 75 10-second snippets better than sitting through a 60-minute opus directed by a queen who thinks he's the next Scorsese anyway?). When
I "grew up," I started collecting photography and paintings. Prop color proof used in the making of The Making Of A Male Model.
These categories sort of simultaneously leave out and encompass things like books. Abercrombie & Fitch catalogues, CDs, Jon-Erik Hexum memorabilia and, well, some other stuff, like iPhone photos.
And let's not forget the ultimate compulsion: FOOOOOD.
You were asking why I never started drinking or smoking?
When I start looking for something, I keep going until I find it. I have saved everything I've ever seen that I liked in any way, including every picture from every magazine that's ever crossed my path; on top of that, I'm not passive, I seek out all these stimuli in order to have more choices. Then I keep my picks forever and ever. That makes me sort of like a packrat who reads Soldier Of Fortune.
See following image for description.
