The sun came out again, but yikes! it is so damn cold. It was nice to know, then, that I could warm myself in a starlet’s fury as I read that Jessica Alba threatened to sue Playboy for putting her on its cover with a promotional photograph from one of her recent flicks.

As veteran readers of this scroll of lechery will know, I have admiration for Miss Alba even though I’ve only seen her in one movie, Sin City--but I have contemplated many of her lovely photographs. The gigantic billboard for her Cosmopolitan cover, which temporarily adorned part of the construction site of the new Hearst Building on 57th Street, was one of the few justifications for assembling that glassy monolith and foisting it on the eyeballs of a helpless public.

I have to admit I was suckered into buying that new issue of Playboy sight unseen--meaning, it was shrink-wrapped and I couldn’t inspect the inner contents before purchase. But when I saw Miss Jessie on the cover, I figured there would be more good stuff inside, not necessarily nude or topless--she could be wearing a burlap sack and I would look at the pic! She’s got a “shayne punim,” or beautiful face as they say in Yiddish. At least, I figured, there would be a few more good photos. Instead the cover turned out to be primarily a come-on for their pictorial about sexy celebrities. There was no exclusive Playboy pictorial of La Alba.

I’ve been ogling Playboy since about the age of twelve (does it show?) and I have to admit that this issue caused a major chink in my perception of their invincibility in providing “entertainment for men.” This is the best they could do, a promotional shot from Into the Blue? At least they didn’t have Paul Walker on their cover too, like the posters for the movie, which seemed to hedge its visual pitch about whether it was cheesecake, beefcake, or bothcake.

Jessica Alba flummoxes me, however. She makes a big deal about not getting nude in photographs, but it was okay for her to be hung up by her wrists in a skimpily dressed condition and get whipped by a paunchy troglodyte in Sin City?

Well, I’m sure there’s some complex rationale behind it all. And as long as she keeps posing in a wide variety of settings and costumes, I’m happy...

Meanwhile, what’s with my CD players? I had two admittedly cheap portable ones--Duane Reade drugstores are my audio supply centers--and they both conked out at the same time! Did they have something against the Andrews Sisters? Is it a crime for Sir Cranky to repeatedly listen to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and Apple Blossom Time while he works?

And then, as if in a show of unity, the D batteries in my Aiwa CD boombox--purchased at the late great Nobody Beats the Wiz audio/video stores--seem to have expired, and I have to go out at lunch and get more of those so I can listen to Mambo Fever as I shave later while getting ready to see my favorite stripper Lily...

Liz Smith in the New York Post recently wrote about the new movie V for Vendetta with Natalie Portman, and Miss Smith predicted that V would turn out to be the “big movie” that King Kong wasn’t. Well, you know how I feel about the new King Kong if you’ve read my earlier post “The new King Kong drives women mad--literally!” But I want to emphasize that no matter how big or small Peter Jackson’s movie turns out to be (and it had some brilliant stuff in it), kudos go to Mr. J because most probably thanks to his flick, the 1961 giant ape movie Konga was released on DVD by MGM in a great new print. I've mentioned Konga here before, but those who missed my analysis: here is richly demented entertainment! Michael Gough as a strident, neurotic middle-aged mad professor with a yen for a Busty Blonde Coed is a character straight out of today’s tabloid culture. In fact, Gough’s creation of a serum to cause gigantism in his pet gorilla, Konga, takes second fiddle to the movie’s bizarre melodrama of him being nasty to his longtime fortyish girlfriend and lab assistant--who takes revenge on his attempted infidelity with Busty Blonde Coed by making Konga fifty feet tall. Busty Blonde Coed’s arm gets caught in the snapping jaws of a mutant Venus Flytrap, and Gough gets carried around London in Konga’s paw ala Fay Wray. More fun than the new King Kong, and way shorter too...

It’s Friday and I guess my mind is wandering a bit. I hope that’s okay with you...

I was happy last night because the blog Gawker, which covers doings in Manhattan media, was kind enough to spotlight my blog again in their Blogorrhea section. If you haven’t seen Gawker, it’s full of interesting tidbits on a daily basis. I have their URL on my Sites I Like list, but I’m providing a link below to the special mention of strippersversusdvds...thank you, editors Jessica Coen and Jesse Oxfeld, for helping me get my musings aka ravings further out into the world...your rating of “Ewww” I take in the most affectionate way! I hope you peruse some of the other very excellent blogs here at the ‘Stream, too...

Well, it’s already past twelve and my breakfast has digested itself, so I think I’ll take break, eat some lunch (Blimpie versus Subway?), do some work, and then come back here a little later for more Friday ramblings, particularly about Lindsay Lohan’s breast-teasing dress, and my hopes to see Lily tonight...so enjoy your afternoon!

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