I caught your special -- Sports Illustrated Swimsuit: 50 Years of Beautiful
on NBC TV the other day and I just thought I would drop you a note to say how much I enjoyed it and to ask a small favor. I've been a big one-issue-a-year fan of your magazine for the last half century although I am afraid you've never made much money off of me.
I'm one of those guys who looks for the slowest line in the grocery store when your Swimsuit Issue is on the magazine Stand. (Trainee cashiers are good, and women with lots of kids and coupons in the line are a plus.) While I am waiting -- sorry that took so long, dear, there was a line at the grocery store
-- I naturally pick up your magazine and thumb through it. Since I never give you money there is no way for you to know I exist. But I do. And so, thanks for your uncompensated efforts on my behalf.
As for your TV special, it was great. I think... I'm pretty sure... but I wasn't in the mood for it. The thing is: I am being treated for an aggressive form of prostate cancer and I am currently on drugs to reduce my testosterone -- miracle drugs that can keep a man with metastatic cancer out of the hospital and can spring a pedophile out of jail. In my case it is hoped that my "Androgen Deprivation Therapy" is temporary and I can be done with it this coming July 17th at about
2:15 in the afternoon, when my two years of the danmable stuff officially ends. Not that I am paying attention.
But anyway, the lack of T gives a man a different viewpoint on your TV specials. Not that I wasn't interested. It literally stopped me in my tracks. I missed the first few minutes; my wife had it on when I walked past the tube. I spent the entire show standing with the dog leash in my hand and an impatient dog fidgeting at my feet. So that part is the same. But I spent the whole time wondering why I was standing there. That sort of self-awareness is the gift of my treatment. In my 'normal' testosterone haze I wouldn't have been capable of that sort of self-analysis.
Still, I appreciate all the beautiful women in the low-cut dresses. Another gift of the Lupron is the speculation that, when some of the models who graced your pages in the sixties and seventies were working out their wardrobe for the show, they told their tailors to keep cutting the necklines lower and lower until they found cleavage. As I said, the ladies were all beautiful but living in a gravity field does have its effects over time. Uncritical appreciation of the female form is easier when a man has a few more nanograms per deciliter than I am currently scoring.
My small favor is that you do a lot of publicity for your big 51st anniversary
special so I don't miss it. My ADT should have worn off by this time next year and I am really looking forward to that gala event.