Popular Culture Review Vol. 17, No. 2, Summer 2006 | Page 53

“It’s My Body and I’ll Show It If I Want To” 49 manage a safe distance from their readership, thereby preserving images of the Black screen goddess in the White goddess ideal. The alluring photos on the front and back dust jackets show Dandridge and Carroll as epitomes of beauty, dignity, and exquisite Black ladyhood. Carroll, for example, is photographed most seductively. The book’s title Diaharm! is emblazoned in upper-case bold red letters on the front dust jacket. Goldberg breaks the mold beginning with the dust jacket. The text’s title and the name of the author appear embossed on the spine rather than on the front cover. The extreme close-up iris shot of Goldberg’s dark brown face and dark berry lips on the dust jacket presents her looking directly at the reader, sans a smile. On the back cover, the extreme close-up head shot exhibits Goldberg winking at the reader with a Cheshire cat smile; her dreadlocks are splayed in nimbus fashion. The musical term "Riffs”—the title of the table of contents—signals Goldberg’s main intent: to be raw, direct, and to the point. Yet, interestingly, Goldberg gives the reader no visual access to her full body: there are no family or celebrity photos within the text. Her denial of visual gratification forces the reader to visualize through the author’s narrative sketches and through the narrative techniques of naming, detailing, and description. In effect, we absorb Goldberg through words and ideas only, and they are unaccompanied by highgloss publicity photos and her body. Thus, of her own volition, Goldberg skirts a construction of the celebrity glamour-girl image made standard in autobiographical texts written by Black women in entertainment. The riffs of particular interest are "Wind,” "Head,” "Sex," and “Dick.” In the aggregate, these sketches give voice to those activities and desires that are usually only articulated within the private sphere. In "Wind,” Goldberg undertakes a discussion of the bodily function of farting; the anus and all of its characteristic effluvia are addressed: “We all fart, right? But we don’t like to talk about it___Why is that?" (7). The sketch moves forward with a discussion of fart venues (elevators, buses, cabs, subways, and under the bedcovers); fart etiquette ("You shouldn’t be allowed to drop one of those silent killers and not claim it” [10]); and, fart sounds (power dumps or slow and silent). "Head" and "Dick” deliver an unabashed excursion into the obnoxious proclivities of (White) men in bathrooms with Goldberg as witness to the performing penis. She writes, "No one wants to be found out during the ohbaby period. Men . . . don’t leave their crusty underwear on the floor, they don’t piss in the sink. Yes, men actually piss in the sink” (29). "Sex” is a treatise on the pros of masturbation, and the beauty of satisfying the body’s sexual desires follows. She writes, "We all do Teel good’ things to ourselves, or to our partners, and that's cool as long as we’re all consenting adults about it. Whatever feels good, you know." (119). Consider this sketch: "I was once married to a guy who couldn’t give head to save his life. I was busting to tell him, ‘Get a Life Saver and put your tongue through it, motherfucker. That’s all you gotta do’” (137).