Monday, October 03, 2005
Crouching Keno, Hidden Pannido
"Come on, come on, come on now, touch me babe..."
--The Doors, "Soft Parade"
for Julie, who hooked me with up some Carolina barbecue this weekend. It was off the hook, Bernie.
Boy, there are so many things that creep me out. Or rather, there are things that I find profoundly disturbing, and rather than simpy expel them from my brain -- as I suspect most healthy people do -- I construct a mental film-strip (let's call these "creep-strips") of all the unsettling images and force them to play in endless, repeating loops in the sixth grade health class of my tortured brain. Currently featured: the eyeball popping out of its socket on that episode of ER I saw a few weeks ago, and some pictures I stumbled across online of a bedroom literally sprayed with human feces (when I say "stumbled across," I mean "saw in a 'gross things' thread on a message board I frequent. A non-scatological message board, I should add). I can't stop thinking of these horrible things and grossing myself out. I'm making myself sick about the one and worrying myself to death over the other. To be clear, I'm worried about my eyeball popping out, not losing control of my bowels and spray-painting my house with the resultant crap-paint. It's not helping that I am having trouble with my eyes/contacts at the moment. I need to get them checked out, but I've got no money and no insurance so I am just going to cross my fingers and hope it goes away. Usually, that works. Because I'm a hypochondriac and most of the stuff I think is wrong with me is all in my head. Where all my troubles exist. In my brain.
Anyway, previous creep-strips have prominently featured the stars of that photo you see accompanying this post. I watch a fair amount of PBS, and although I never contribute during the pledge drives and I critique the programming with the frequency and vituperation of the perennially hipper-than-thou irony class, I'm still PBS's bitch. I'll watch anything that comes on public television, even if the subject matter bores me (gardening), confuses me (foreign policy in the middle east) or enrages me (My Hero). So, when the twin towers of touch, the Keno brothers, got their own show (Find!), trading on their Antiques Roadshow popularity, I tuned in. Of course, I tuned in. Have you seen the Keno brothers? So life-like! Really, what they're doing with robots these days...
There is something about the blond bespoke boys that leads one to expect a much more elitist kind of bitchery from them, but they're actually quite pleasant. In fact, they are too pleasant. And therein lies the source of my discomfort. The Kenos are very appreciative, very enthusiastic, and very, very tactile. The Kenos stroke, caress, rub, clutch, embrace, fondle, finger, handle, and pat every thing within grasping distance. Now, I realize that they are antiques appraisers, so a certain amount of physical examination is absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, the degree to which the Kenos palm everything around them makes me anxious.
Also...oh, there's just no easy way to say this. Identical twin males...somehow, exponentially creepier than fraternal twin males, or even identical twin females. I apologize to any twin sets who manage to stumble across this blog. But I can't deny that I'd find the Keno Karess a lot less worrying if it wasn't done by the Brothers Grim.
And finally, I'm convinced that one of the Kenos is gay, but I can never remember which one I think it is -- because I think that Leigh and Leslie have carried the ol' twinsteroo-switcheroo into adulthood. I know that one week, the overly-groomed eyebrows of one Keno belonged to "Leigh," and the next week they were sported by someone I was supposed to believe was "Leslie." Anyway, I know that both the Kenos have progeny, and one is married. That's Leslie (maybe), who unfortunately for The Gay One, is also the "better looking" Keno. For Leigh (I think it's Leigh I'm talking about), it must be hard to suffer through life as a closeted antiques dealer (the gayest of gay cliches) and to not even be the better-dressed or better-looking of the set. I mean, when the straight member of an antique-dealin' terrible twosome is the one making more consistent visits to the esthetitican...well, now you're beginning to understand why I was captivated by Find! and why I entreated Julie's friend, Amy, to photoshop the Kenos into my then-current other creepy obsession: Jack 'N' The Box's meat-clay concoction, the pannido.