This guy is positioned somewhere between a Roman bust and an image from a muscle magazine - the kind of publications written about by Christopher Nealon in Foundlings: an image that quite self-consciously seems to belong to an earlier style. But he lacks the alluring, come-hither eyes of so many of the men in these magazines, with photographed or in drawings (at least to go by Nealon's evidence). Instead, he has the mean, pinched glare, and the turned-down mouth, of the kind of man you wish wasn't about to do some work on your car. Very New Jersey.
Generically, however, he belongs to the boxing ring - or at least, this is almost where I found him - at least, he - made of some kind of flesh colored foam rubber - was in a sports aisle in Target (yes, o.k., I was in those parts satisfying my desire for another small plastic pony). I wish I'd stopped to look for his alleged function - he looked unsatisfying as a punch bag, but could, I guess, have a certain usefulness in learning where to aim blows. I initially gave him added grandeur through filleting him from his position on a supermarket shelf and giving him a background of dark purple opulence - but in the end, pale mauvey-pink seemed much more fun, and gave him a whole different aura.
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