Soaped Up

Though I have many items and travels to write on, I must first address the passing of Marilyn Chambers, that former Ivory Soap girl who went on to become a major league star in a minor league industry. If you are young, of course, or if you have lived an appropriately good life, Ms. Chambers' passing might be either inconsequential or overdue.

But, if you are a man my age and have not lived an appropriately good life, you know of whom I write. Maybe you even know why.

Ms. Chambers and I first became acquainted decades ago. Though I do not remember where we first met, I can guess that it was a large, dark theater of some sort, probably at or around midnight in a part of town that I should not have been in. I was, more than likely, accompanied by young men of similar circumstance and like mind: youthful, lustful, easily amused. Over the years Ms. Chambers and I would cross paths again, both of us less youthful, not quite as lustful, yet perhaps more easily amused. One of those celluloid heroes, she never seemed to age--just became a bit more grainy in than she was in 16mm.

I reckon, now, that Ms. Chambers' popularity will rise just as it might were she a famous author or even Heath Ledger. I don't, however, think that I will revisit her oeuvre, for I believe I have reached a point where I understand how fantasy and heroes alike can move through time as we would like them to. Rather, I see how it is better to leave her alone, to leave her as she was presented to us (which might not be as she wanted to be presented, for that matter).