Someplace--I don't remember where--I heard someone once say that there ought to be a law against old men dancing. Once the adult male reaches, say, 40, he simply should desist any movement at all to music because something unseemly simply happens when old men dance publicly. I support that legislation.
And I know that ever since Mencken--well, maybe ever since Oliver Cromwell--we Calvinists have been seen as sworn enemies of good times, driven by diligence and cleanliness, dour, unflinching in our devotion to God and our abhorrence of all things human. Puritanism is the sneaking suspicion that someone, somewhere is having a good time, Mencken once wrote, and we've been living with that sentence for somewhere close to 100 years now.
So I know what I'm risking is potentially scandalous, an admission akin to double jeopardy, an old man and a Calvinist to boot about to say something that will undoubtedly register somewhere far beyond the far reaches of the "eeeeoooouuuuwww" scale.
But I'm going to say it anyway: this photograph--the one above--is, to me, or, would be for sure if I was considerably younger, well--I don't know quite how to say it--okay, sexy.
At the Getty Museum, I was walking above the courtyard here pictured, when I saw this gentleman taking aim at a lady friend who was draping herself rather daringly up against all that marble female nakedness. I grabbed my own camera and shot (I don't think anyone saw me).
There it is. I've said it. Confession is good for the soul, after all.