Hey: Did you ever lie awake at night and wonder, “What would it feel like to be Ice-T’s wife, Nicole ‘Coco‘ Austin: Lying on the beach, getting a tan, and looking at the world from between my ginormous, saltwater-filled ta-tas?”
I know I sure have. That’s why I was so startled when the cello-esque Coco, right—nude model, actor, and dancer—posted this disconcerting POV shot, above, on Twitter:
This is my view when I tan. Honestly, my boobs don’t look this big, it has to do w/the cameras perception
Well, Coco, they do say the camera adds ten pounds.
(Also, I just noticed another odd optical illusion: Coco says that her jugs are fake while her butt is real. But if you take the above right photo, then scroll down and cut it off just above the small of her back, it looks like the neck and cleavage of a woman with implants. Weird.)
In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve known Ice-T, right, casually, for years, have met his lovely wife, and she’s quite sweet. In fact, in the YouTube, below, Ice talks about the moment he first saw the woman he’d eventually marry.
What’s most striking about his description of the events, though, is the utterly un-baller way their chance meeting proceeds. I mean, telling her how beautiful she is? Magic tricks? Playa….
But, then, on the other hand, it worked, right? Who’s to argue with breas…er, I mean success?
Well, hell has a sequel. On November 17th, in Left For Dead 2 (Xbox 360/PC), Valve revisits the world where an unnamed pandemic is turning human corpses into fast-moving, flesh-eating gargoyles. However, this time, one of the four playable “survivors” is a Black woman, above. Hell better step the hell back.
Ever seen this movie?: An angry couple is in their humid apartment’s living room, screeching at each other. The man, in a fit of passion, loudly slaps the woman.
Instead of cowering, though, she becomes enraged. “YOU FILTHY MOTHER$%&@#%!!” she curses, holding her bruised cheek in pain and shock. He tries to apologize. “Baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened!” She’s done, though. Her eyes go cold. “Oh, I got somethin’ for you…you dirty MOTHER$%&@#%!!” she screams, as she disappears into the darkened bedroom.
Typically, she returns with a gun. But wouldn’t it be cool if the next thing you heard were servomotors…then the sound of a smashing bedroom door frame as she emerged from the dark, not with a .38, but piloting one of these, above: A Super Armored Fighting Suit (S.A.F.S.), from the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion?
Marketed by the unstoppable Sideshow Collectibles, this Medicom Toy piece, marketed in collaboration with Toys McCoy, is fully 1:6 scale. The eight-pound, 16″ tall, finely detailed unit
combines vinyl, PVC, and metal to bring you this articulated fighting suit, complete with fully realized 12-inch figure pilot. The Super Armored Figure Suit features opening hatch and arms, articulated shoulders and waist, and a manipulator on the right arm. The interior details of the machine are perfectly realized with lights and the 47mm Prg. 56 Examiner razor revolves for added authenticity. Driving this detailed super suit, the female pilot features a headset inspire by U.S. and German models, comes with switch-out gloved and bare hands, and comes clothed in an authentic figure uniform.
The mecha opens out and can completely encase the pilot inside, above. Plus the driver’s got what every guy collector wants on his toy girl warriors: Fully erect nipples, engorged, no doubt, from the adrenalized rush of battle. Hey, no one should ever put their hands on anyone else in aggression, and no man, especially, should ever do so to a woman. But when you’ve gotta fight back, girls, go robotic. Out 1st Qtr 2010, limited to 600 pieces. MEDICOM TOY Super Armored Fighting Suit (S.A.F.S.), $1,249.99.
In high school, Etsy craftsmaker VulvaLoveLovelysays she “was more than an outcast, I was an untouchable.” Hurting desperately to connect with someone, she tried to drown her pain in meaningless sex, but only ended up getting abused, assaulted, and despising herself more.
It wasn’t until she saw a performance of Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues that she began to peel away the layers of self-denigration that she’d built up.
And how. Today, the artist not only fashions pieces like this 2-inch pudenda-positive polymer clay pendant, right, but also creates massively hysterical works like the huggable “Utera Maxima,” above.
“Utera” is 20 inches tall, 29 inches wide, with a fallopial tube “wing span” of 69 inches. The piece is
crafted out of fuchsia fleece. The detailing is done in dark pink, light pink, and white candy striped detailing.
“Utera Maxima” should look great in your car, riding shotgun, flickin’ the finger to drivers who get too close; draped across your bed, where fortunate boudoir visitors can pay due homage; or seated in a place of esteem on your living room couch when you serve tea. Plus, the next time some nosey kid asks you where babies come from, you can just point. Vagina Pendant Necklace, $17 + $1.99 s/h. Utera Maxima, $45 + $12-$25 s/h, depending on country of destination.
For his book Flight Attendants, documentary photographer Brian Finke spent two years flying the friendly skies, with airline carriers from all over the world, in order to record the work, leisure time, and home lives of his volume’s titular employees. For example, this woman, Roshayati, above, was giving a safety demo before her Air Asia flight’s departure.
Rachel Papo‘s Serial No. 3817131 goes inside the days and nights of young women in Israel’s Defense Forces, for whom service is mandatory, as it is for all young people in the that country. (The book’s title was Papo’s own i.d. number during her military stint in the late ’80s.) As the body language and expression on the face of the soldier, above, makes clear, not only is war long stretches of boredom spiked my moments of sheer terror, preparing for it, apparently, is also.
What’s truly interesting, though, is that while these women’s occupations seem to be as different as they get, they share more than might immediately be apparent. Safety, training, freedom, even boredom all weigh heavily as issues in their respective fields. That became clear to me, at least, when I had the chance to talk to Papo and Finke about their own work.
Both artists are guests today on my WBAI-NY / 99.5 FM radio show, NONFICTION, this afternoon, Friday, June 5, at 2 pm ET.
You can hear their ideas by tuning in at 2 pm. If you’re outside of the New York tri-state, check out our stream on the web. If you miss the live show, dig into our archives for up to 90 days after broadcast.
Blessed, or cursed, with a bustline out of proportion to her diminutive frame, author Susan Seligson joined the “Lemons? Make Lemonade!” brigade and wrote a book about America’s fascination with breasts.
Stacked: A 32DDD Reports from the Front chronicles the writer’s travels everywhere from the offices of a plastic surgeon specializing in breast enhancement, to New York’s best bra shop, to a Las Vegas convention of exotic dancers. There, Seligson waits to meet the cantilevered Maxi Mounds, right, whose 42M brassiere cups each hold one 20-pound ta-ta stuffed to capacity with polypropylene string.
Susan Seligson is the guest today on a repeat edition of my WBAI-NY / 99.5 FM radio show, NONFICTION, this afternoon, Friday, January 9, at 2 pm ET.
We’re also joined in the conversation by photographer Jordan Matter, whose “Uncovered” project depicts New York City women in public places—at street crossings, on park benches, by bridges—completely topless. He photographed Susan for “Uncovered,” and she documents the experience in Stacked.
You can hear their ideas by tuning in at 2 pm. If you’re outside of the New York tri-state, check out our stream on the web. If you miss the live show, dig into our archives for up to 90 days after broadcast.
The functionally titled Tall Black Women blog posts pics and info about women of African descent who range between six feet and seven-and-a-half feet in height.
What I love about Sprint’s Instinct “Romance” commercial, above, is its slick mashup quality, nakedly blendering dumb chickflick dialogue with a shameless cell phone pitch.
“Rachel, you know what your problem is,” the protagonist’s “biracial” BBFF urges over lunch (and faint, Ben Folds-ish piano chords). “You want everything: You want a husband, you want unlimited text, unlimited data, and unlimited calls.” Rachel gives an It’s-true-but-I’m-tired-of-you-telling-me-my-faults look in the other direction.
Then the climax: “Maybe you’re afraid to be in love!” the Best Black Friend summarizes, moments before Rachel’s breakthrough. “I think I’m falling in love…” she concedes, giving a girly headshake, “…with a phone!” Wow. What delicious crap.
Gentlemen: If the gauzy melodies of Steve Arrington’s Hall of Fame’s classic 1983 hit plays in the back of your mind while you gaze at Sarah Palin’s seemingly endless tresses, above (in a photo taken not ten days ago, yet!), you’ve fallen to the cursed infirmity that undoes all men!
I know I sure have. That’s why I was so startled when the cello-esque Coco, right—nude model, actor, and dancer—posted this disconcerting POV shot, above, on Twitter:
In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve known Ice-T, right, casually, for years, have met his lovely wife, and she’s quite sweet. In fact, in the YouTube, below, Ice talks about the moment he first saw the woman he’d eventually marry.
Marketed by the unstoppable 
