For God and Underwear

So chances are, you don't go past Exits 14/15 on I-95N in Connecticut that much. It's a shame, really, because God is watching all those who do. And He wants all those motorists to know He cares. He is with them. How do I know this? He has a billboard telling me so. It's even signed "God." I didn't know He was into outdoor advertising, but what do I know? I know I should be comforted to know He has his eye on me and the other motorists on I-95N, but frankly, it's slowing down traffic, and I wonder how many motorists have gotten into accidents staring at that billboard when they should be focused on the road ahead. God knows.

And another thing, I know there's a writers' strike going on but who's brilliant idea was "What would Jesus REALLY do?" airing tonight on CNN? Is this REALLY a good idea? Do we REALLY need to hear Jerry Falwell's views on the war in Iraq (again) and how Jesus would have/would handle it? REALLY? At least they could have included Anderson Cooper. But no.

Moving right along...

So about two weeks ago, I take my daughter to her tae kwon do class, make myself as comfortable as possible on one of the metal benches in the waiting room, and crack open the latest New York Magazine (my "gift" for renewing some membership, though I didn't have a choice). And there, somewhat spread-eagled on the very first spread, is a guy in a dazzlingly white bikini, though I first thought it was underwear, apparently advertising cologne -- of course! -- in a boat... on a lake... practically naked.

I quickly shut the magazine and reopened it. Yup. Still there. I couldn't quite believe it. (OK, maybe I'm just a prude... about some things. Just seemed odd to have a near-naked guy spread-eagled on the first spread of New York Magazine.) So I turned to the father of one of my daughter's friends and said "Dan, check this out." There was no denying it now. Clearly there was a near-naked man poking out from the very first spread of New York Magazine.

Ah, how times have changed. Remember the days when if you wanted to advertise a bra, you had to show it next to or on top of a fully clothed woman -- a woman typically wearing a turtleneck or a modest dress? And I can't remember a single ad for underwear, besides Underoos, which were for the six and under set. Don't those days seem so long ago and quaint? Now, thanks no doubt to Madonna, undergarments are outergarments. And long gone are the days of modest advertising.

Go into any Abercrombie or Hollister, stores that attract a tween and teenage crowd, and you are surrounded by packages featuring perfectly sculpted males in briefs or boxers or the oh-so-popular boxer briefs. And these boxes of boxers are not tucked away in some dark back corner. Oh no. They are prominently displayed. Oh how today's young women are going to be disappointed. Tip: Don't judge a package by the cover.

So while I am on the topic of underwear... I must have received at least three emails and as many catalogs from Victoria's Secret since I started typing this note. OK, I exaggerate a bit. But REALLY (Thank you, Jesus), why me? I've got an OK body, but I'm no Gisele Bundchen. Not even close. Though frankly, besides Gisele, who is?

Over the years I have bought some shirts, a pair of men's style PJs, and what could best be described as a granny nightgown (long since discontinued, clearly because of lackluster sales) from Vicky's Secret. (What's the secret you say? These women have no nipples!) But nothing to elicit this deluge of catalogs and emails. And another thing: Who the heck buys this stuff, specifically those skimpy undergarments? I mean, there are, what, 122 women out there who actually look like a Victoria's Secret model? Maybe it's an aspirational purchase? Buy this push-up bra and thong and you too will look like Heidi Klum?

So I asked my spouse, who thinks women look sexiest in large, flannel pajamas, and he said, men. Men buy Victoria's Secret stuff. I am assuming for women (most likely a mistress), but you never know. Still I am curious. If you know, let me know. Enlighten me.