This has seen publication before, but on the evening of the new Batman movie, I couldn't stop thinking about Julie Newmar. So allow me, with a little bit of red face, to share this with you.
The Legend of
Julie Newmar and
What Could
Have Been with Wonder Woman
By Weston Ochse © 2007
So allow me to relay both my tale of Julie Newmar and my
hypothesis as to what could have been with Wonder Woman, I'f only I might have had a driver's license, a car, and a way to drive from Tennessee to California. You might realize how
much pre- and post-pubescent thought went into this. Many of you will
understand why. For those of you who don't get it, move along. There's nothing
to see here. Frankly, it's even a little embarrassing.
I believe that timing and placement are everything. How many
times have you seen beautiful women with average dudes? Beautiful women with ugly dudes? And how many times have you walked away
mystified, wondering what kind of drugs the dude was feeding the woman (and
where could you get some)? How could
that be? Not to over-simplify, but there
is a great belief in circles, some of which I bang around in, that women care
more about the way they are treated, what the man is thinking, and don't put as
much weight upon the Brad Pitt-Sexy-Meter of their partner. Not that looks
aren't as important, they aren't as much as the main attraction as they are
with sexually heated bull men who generate more testosterone than brain cells. For
those of you shaking your head, move along. There's nothing to see here.
Let's take Julie Newmar for example. She was the first and
hottest Catwoman starring on the Bif Bop
Pow Batman TV series with Burt Ward and Adam West. She was also a Playboy
Bunny hopping along the Hefner trail. In the 60s and 70s she was about as hot
as they came. Boys and priests, when they weren't lusting after each other,
lusted after her. To put it simply, she was a sexpot.
The father of a (now ex) in law-type relative of mine who
shall remain nameless told a story about one summer when he and four of his
college pals made a road trip from Maine to California. When they got to Los
Angeles, they partied, had major sex, a few drugs and lots of fun. A tidbit of
information came to them, the tidbit being the address of the aforementioned
Julie Newmar. Boys being boys, they decided that Julie's life would be empty
without them, so they hopped in their car and trundled up the coast until they
arrived at her ranch. As one ten -armed,
ten-legged sex-hungry tongue-twisted teenage monster, they rushed to the door. And
when the living breathing Ms. Catwoman herself answered, they could not have
been more stunned. Four of the boys stammered and were unable to conjugate a
greeting. The father of my in law had no such problem. Whether it was
intelligence, a more elevated level of suave, or pure dumb fucking luck, he was
able to clearly articulate a sentence beginning with "Hello, Ms.
Newmar," and ending with "I'd love to help you around the yard today
in exchange for a good meal and some conversation." So while the other four were sent back to the
minor leagues, this young man destined to be the father of an ex in-law
proceeded to prove my idea of timing and placement. To this day the man will
swear to you on a stack of silver age X-men Comics and a Gideon Bible from a Malibu hotel that his dessert
after his home-cooked meal was none other than the tenderest parts of Ms.
Newmar served up hot, rare and smoking. For those of you shaking your head,
move along. There's nothing to see here.
You don't believe it?
Come on. Go to the mall and look around and ask yourself how some of
those regular galoots get those beautiful babes. Time, placement and a good line will
get you in the door. What you do after that is up to you.
What does Linda Carter have to do with all of this? Ponder
this one my fellow denizens of the Dark Place. If you are like me, you spent
part of your teen years ogling over her costume, praying to the gods of
vertical hold that she'd explode right out of the red, white and blue material.
Many nights I closed my eyes dreaming of being tied up with her rope and
telling the truth. I think puberty makes you stupid, and the combination of
puberty and Wonder Woman made me a fucking moron.
Then I grew up and found out that Linda Carter (unfortunately) spent her entire time playing Wonder Woman drunk off her star-spangled ass, allegedly willing to be with anyone, and everyone who'd take the time to say Hi, or I'm a Fan, or Knock Knock, Landshark. Volumes have been written about her now embarrassing exploits. Any of us could have made our dreams come true. Any one of us. It could have been me. That thirteen year old kid that I was had no sympathy for her. Like I told you, puberty made me a fucking moron.
Then I grew up and found out that Linda Carter (unfortunately) spent her entire time playing Wonder Woman drunk off her star-spangled ass, allegedly willing to be with anyone, and everyone who'd take the time to say Hi, or I'm a Fan, or Knock Knock, Landshark. Volumes have been written about her now embarrassing exploits. Any of us could have made our dreams come true. Any one of us. It could have been me. That thirteen year old kid that I was had no sympathy for her. Like I told you, puberty made me a fucking moron.
So here's my hypothesis. Any man with brains, moderate looks
and personality has a better than average chance of hooking up with any
celebrity on the planet. It all comes down to timing and placement and a little
luck.
For those of you shaking your head, move along. There's
nothing to see here.
Realize that I've accomplished the same thing. A guy like me got a girl like Yvonne Navarro. If that doesn't prove it, I don't know what does.
Realize that I've accomplished the same thing. A guy like me got a girl like Yvonne Navarro. If that doesn't prove it, I don't know what does.
For those of you who stayed till the end, thank you. Now dream about Julie Newmar. I know I still do.
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