Hard Shopping
February 18, 1989
Hello. I'm still here. They say it was some party. No Blue Diner today, so when Jane eventually woke up, I went to Thayer Street for coffee and dessert with Jane, Olaf and Lisa. Olaf said that I was in fine form last night. "I asked what you were up to and you said, 'I'm reading a couple of bad books about Jesus...don't ask.' "
I told Olaf that I'd also read an interesting book about rubber love. Jane and Lisa wanted to hear more, so I described the rubber aprons that English housewives commonly wore in the Thirties and the impact that they had upon the psyches of the little boys that were spanked over them. Then I told them about the genre of "mackintosh magazines" which feature pictures of women in rubberized raincoats and Wellington boots. Oh those English.
At the Brandeis Bookstall, I picked up a copy of William Manchester's The Glory and the Dream which retails many anecdotes like the one about the writer who asked John Maynard Keynes if he knew of any historical parallels to the great depression and was given the answer, "Yes, it was the Dark Ages, and it lasted four hundred years." I've read it before but Alan's copy is falling apart and I'll want to read it again. I also bought National Defense by James Fallows. I know a few people who might like to read it, even though it is a bit out of date.
My room sure is clean. Jane said, "It looks nice here."
I've been listening to Debussy Preludes almost every day. It's time to find some new music.
I won't see Jane tonight. She's still working on that backdrop and will finish it after my bedtime.
I saw Amy last night. We watched The Awful Truth with Cary Grant and Irene Dunn. Very cozy. She has to get more shots for her trip to Thailand and is already black and blue from the ones she's had.
Debbie just called. She says that she is breaking up with John. It seems that John won't leave his wife and Debbie "can't go on with things the way they are." It's been a year. Debbie has been talking about breaking up for months. She was very funny describing the lengths she goes to, to avoid the final confrontation.
She says that she doesn't like going out in the cold weather and just reads what she can pick up in Penn. Station.
"No wonder you feel so cheap."
February 26, 1989
I've been busy. The Ramones song, The KKK Took my Baby Away has been in my head constantly. My friends ask, "How is it going with Sonja?"
I tell them that space aliens stole her brain. When they offer sympathy, I can only say, "When it comes to women, I've been treated much better than I deserve."
Tuesday, I was talking with Bill (I water his plants and feed his bird when he's out of town) and the subject turned to attractive waitresses. Bill said that his favorite is a blond woman at the Blue Diner who is in a band. I said, "Funny, my favorite is also at the diner. She has dark hair in a sort of Prince Valiant cut. Recently she has been returning my smiles instead of scowling like she did for the last year or two. We went for dinner. His waitress was there. Linda is cute. She was very friendly with us (though I was in an interesting mood and, I'm afraid, my behavior was pretty obnoxious). Linda was tolerant in her flame and little devil print pants. She plays guitar in a band called Witch Doctor.
Bill talked about his relationships with women. He lived with one for about three years and, over that time, she made big strides in her life. He didn't. He thinks that she wasn't as giving as he was and that explains the discrepancy in progress.
I replied, "Society is a vampire.(note 5) We are taught to do things to benefit the group against our personal interest. We are expected to value work enough to work enough to spend enough to feed institutions and people of no value to us." I was in a really obnoxious mood, if you know what I mean. "Quit your job. Give up your business. I know that it seem interesting and satisfying and props up your self-esteem, but don't forget that your short time on Earth is the only precious thing you have."
Bill protested. He recited the usual justifications for the work ethic.
"Bill, the work ethic is a fraud. It is an instrument of oppression."
"But what if everybody did that? How would anything get done?"
On Wednesday I went to Hubba Hubba to pick up the Mad Max boots. When I got home I discovered a pair of size twelve boots in a size ten box. I had a conversation with Jim about some things he would like to see. I offered to help.
Thursday, I went back to exchange the boots. Liza wanted to go downstairs and asked me to cover the counter for her. Janet was buying tit-clamps. She said she was a mental health worker and likes to unwind with her new boyfriend. "This is all new to us. We have four point restraint on the bed, but there is still a lot to explore."
Janet said, "I can't believe I'm telling you all this."
I showed her some hardware. I suggested she try on a latex dress. The stock was low, but I found a scoop back, rear zip dress from Pure Sex of England. While she was in the dressing room, Liza came back upstairs. While rummaging through the rubber dresses, I saw some black leather pants. "Liza, do you have these in a size thirty-two?" Janet was taking a long time in the dressing room.
When Janet came out, she said something about situps. I said, "Yeah, latex doesn't hide much." I helped adjust her dress. "You have to reposition your breasts." She reached in and did.
Janet said, "I feel really good that I'm able to try things like this at the age of thirty-five."
I ducked into the dressing room to try on the pants and the size ten boots. When I came out, Janet said, "Ooh, now it's my turn to adjust you."
Kirstin said, "That looks really sexy, Arthur." Kirstin is eighteen.
Liza said, "You have to have those."
They were right. I bought the pants and went home.
The phone rang. It was Sonja. "Arthur, it's Sonja. I found out that I have Saturday free and I wondered if we could get together Saturday night."
I expressed my surprise. Sonja heard that as hostile. "No, I'm just teasing you a little. Sonja, I'd love to see you. I'll meet you at the Coffee Connection in Coolige Corner at four."
"Sounds good. I'll see you then."
Friday was full of excitement about an impending blizzard. It didn't feel like it but the supermarkets were full of people stocking up for the storm. I told people that I'd become so excited about the snow that I ran out and bought batteries and it was only when I got home that I realized that I had no battery powered appliances. "You don't have anything that uses batteries, Arthur?"
I was thinking about being snowed in with Sonja. I knew that I had a bottle of Veuve Cliquot somewhere.
Saturday we had a minor snow storm. I used it as an excuse to wear my new pants and boots. I found Sonja near the Coffee Connection. "Before we go to my place, let's go to Bildner's to get the chocolate thing I want you to taste. We can also pick up anything we might need tonight. I have some Champagne but not much else."
We bought orange juice, cheese and crackers and of course the truffles. We took the subway to my place. I chilled the wine. I played music by The Upsetters for Sonja
February 27,1989
Sonja was playing a penlight on my dead flowers. She projected upon the wall a dance of looming, stretching shadows. I could watch forever.
I brought out the wine and chocolate. I was unable to think of a seemly toast. I almost lost it watching Sonja eat the chocolate. What is it about seeing a woman's pleasure that is so thrilling?
Sonja said, "Drink your Champagne. Or do I have to get out my riding crop?"
I told Sonja, "I'm glad you escaped from the flying saucer." She laughed. She was wearing some of my clothes. They provided better access than the outfit she'd arrived in.
When Sonja was playing with the light, she found some silver chains I'd made. I'd forgotten about them. I gave Sonja a necklace. She'd better like it. She'd better like me.
Sonja removed the petals from the rose I'd given her on Valentines day and put them in a ziplock to take home. She talked about her childhood in a Jehovah's Witness family.
"Our father had us all wear our hair long as a token of our submission." Sonja told me about their attitudes toward women, sex and birth control. They reflect the moral ambiance of the time when the sect was founded. This led to a discussion of the birth control controversy a century ago and we saw the remnants of that battle in the abortion issue of our own time. I told her what I knew about the masturbation panic during that time.
Our discussion of birth control as an historical phenomenon didn't seem to bear on anything that we needed to deal with ourselves.
Lolo appeared. She was packing to move out. I couldn't believe how bad she looked.
Sonja was wondering why women in their early thirties get so desperately insecure.
"I don't know. Gravity? It does seem that after a few failed relationships, people just want to know where they will sleep and when they will eat and who they will see. They say, 'I need some structure in my life.' It is as if they lose their ability to improvise. Why don't they have confidence that they will adapt to future events as well as they have to past ones? This need for certainty is a weakness."
We listened to the suppressed Beach Boys album, Smile (note 6), and went to bed. Sonja asserted her right to sleep on the outside. "I need room to stretch out."
"I could get a bigger bed." I turned down the thermostat so we'd huddle for warmth. (I'm no fool.) Like me, Sonja has good circulation. She gives good infra-red. I fell asleep wondering why I liked her wearing my clothes.
I woke up a couple hours later because the phone was ringing. It was Lisa. "Are we going to breakfast, or what?" I asked Sonja if she would like to join us at the Blue Diner. She didn't have time so I told Lisa I'd be over in an hour or so.
I brewed Sonja some Zimbabwe 053 and she said, "You make me feel like a spoiled brat."
Sonja told me how nice Lisa was when she first came to Boston. Lisa had been helpful when Sonja had no place to live, etc. Sonja said that for some reason, people who are friends in Alaska have trouble being interested down in the lower forty-eight. I mentioned the Alaska/St. Croix axis and speculated about how much more interesting people are who abandon their responsibilities.
It was hard to separate to dress and leave. Real hard. As I walked her to the subway, we talked about how much we'd gained by living part of our lives outside of cities, (Sonja in Vermont, Australia and Alaska me in Montana and the Virgin Islands). We agreed to meet "next Saturday at the Coffee Connection at four." I kissed her good-by and watched her disappear underground.
As I continued my walk to Lisa's the snow was melting furiously and I wished I'd worn sunglasses.
Olaf let me in. Lisa was looking very well. She wore red leather pants. "They were bell-bottoms until yesterday." We went to the Blue Diner but when we got there, there was a long line because it was later than usual. We decided to go to the Stage Deli instead.
As we walked around, we observed all the Sunday morning couples and couldn't help wondering about all the Saturday night couplings.
"You can be sure it wasn't a pretty sight."
Lisa asked me some questions about normal sex.
I said, "How would I know?"
We had an extensive conversation about the meaning of "normal" in terms of statistics versus values.
Lisa was trying to figure out if there was a place where, "a woman is her own person. Some of the women I've seen from Africa appear to have a prouder presence."
I felt that it might just be good posture and reminded Lisa that these women still must do the cooking and cleaning. "If you're interested in autonomy, would you really wish to be a Muslim woman?"
Lisa said that she would be willing to do the chores if she could have the kind of sex life she wants.
I said, "Society, almost by definition, imposes a view of the world on people that interferes with being your own person.
Lisa wondered if it had been any different in historical times.
"I don't know. I suppose it's always been a pretty grim existence for most people. There've been individuals able to communicate and experience pleasure, but we rarely get past all that social/cultural stuff and live a satisfying life. That's why Prince Gautama had to leave everything behind. And that's what Jesus meant when he said, 'Leave the dead to bury the dead.'"
We reached the deli and were deciding between breakfast and lunch. We continued to talk about the history of sex, and in making a point about the weird way groups of people generate mass delusions, I told Lisa about the Victorian masturbation scare. Girls boarding schools were viewed with horror as places where innocent girls were seduced into wicked behavior by their classmates. Vestiges of this fear still remain in the stories told about institutional bed checks to make sure that the sleepers hands are outside the covers. Doctors and other authorities published sensational pamphlets and books describing the signs by which one could recognize the chronic masturbator; by his haunted expression, and changed attitude (lassitude, apathy, withdrawal etc.). (note 7) I recommended Mark Twain's delightful lecture, The Science of Onanism from that era. In light of Lisa's great interest in the subject, I suggested that she read The Bourgeois Experience series by Peter Gay.
Lisa pointed out a middle aged woman in a pink chiffon dress wearing total makeup, perched primly on her chair.
"Please Lisa, not when I'm eating. You know how squeamish I am."
So we moved on to the pedophilia of the ancient Romans. I told her. "In classical times, many doctors believed that menarche was triggered by sexual intercourse. This means that girls were being married before they got their first period." I described to Lisa what I could remember from Seutonius about Tiberius and his shenanigans on Capri.
Yesterday, I saw Glenda and said, "Look at me. My hair should be shorter on the sides, shouldn't it?"
Glenda replied, "Come over later this afternoon and we'll fix it."
When I arrived, Robert was in front getting the mail. It included a Christian music tape from Glenda's mother. Glenda said that her mother had been praying that Glenda would give up that Satanic rock and roll singing and find a more innocuous way to express herself.
"What is Christian music anyway?"
I said, "It's not a kind of music like baroque music or something. It's just regular bad music with a Christian content. You know, new age music for midwesterners. They have recognized the propaganda value of popular music and are trying to reach unthinking youths with their own message."
I used to play guitar in a band that did rock masses in New Haven. It seemed to be a "bait the hook" deal. If an appeal is made to young people by using electric guitars in church, they'll give up being irresponsible and self-destructive. A less senescent congregation will enhance job security for workers in the religion industry.
Yeah...right. While Glenda was trimming my hair, she asked if I had a television. I asked her if she could identify the product of the media. The hint I gave her was that the product is that which is bought and sold. I said, "We, the viewers, are sold to the sponsors by the networks. How often the obvious is overlooked."
I offered to give her a copy of Daniel Boorstin's book, The Image: a Guide to Pseudo Events in America. He shows that many things we tend to see as aspects of television are better described as characteristics of our culture, and existed long before the proliferation of broadcast video.
Glenda referred to the, "I just watch TV to relax" myth. Relaxed people don't buy a lot of things.
March 2, 1989
I went to Central Square to visit Amy. Ann and John were there. He was just leaving. We both said, "We've met before."
John said, "You're the history buff, aren't you?"
I said, "I guess so."
He said, "You're much more animated than the last time I saw you."
I said, "Oh yes, I'm very unstable."
Ann and John had just come from Crane's Beach. After running for some distance, they had taken an icy dip. Ann said the things that she likes most about John is that he challenges her to excel.
"Why doesn't he want to fuck me?"
Somebody had to explain male humans, I was the only man there.
"Well Ann," (she was lying on her back on the floor) "I'm sure it isn't anything about you. I'd like to. But I can tell you some things. You said that John and I remind you of each other. I can only speak for myself. Don't assume that these are attributes of his, but...You know that book that I was reading, The Outer Fringes of Sex? Well, it raised a rather interesting point. He was discussing the virtual universality of the incest taboo and contended that, because brothers and sisters grow up together, they create pre-sexual channels for their mutual aggression and have no use for sexual expression.
"I'm not sure that what he said is true, but this idea resonates with my own experience. I suppose my biggest dissatisfaction with sex is that I tend to lose interest in a woman when I've gotten to know her well. I no longer see her as a sexual object. This happens for a number of reasons.
"First, there is something peculiar about 'wanting' itself. There is an obsolescent meaning of the word, 'lacking.' In a sense, one can only want what one hasn't. I'm sure you've had the experience of wanting and wanting something till, when you finally got it, you found that you no longer had any desire for it."
Ann laughed and said, "There have been some men..."
(I had been thinking of shopping, not sex. But that is my problem.)
"Second, when you overlay social values onto a person's experience, there can be remarkable results. Many men are baffled. To them, women are completely opaque. They see women as alien beings with decorative fat.
"There are patterns of sensation built into our nervous system and body chemistry. We might call these patterns 'urges'. There is a sort of stencil of cultural stuff that we pick up in places like school;, family, religion, science, art and so forth. You know, the gutter. The interaction between the urge toward variation and the filter of social values leaves men with a lot to prove. If we don't see that we have anything intrinsic to offer, we try to prove our substance by taking her out to dinner. If we don't have money, we claim that women are 'goldiggers'. If we take her to dinner and she still won't let us in, we can worry about taking her somewhere more impressive next time. Or we can say that women are 'cock teasers'.
"We think that women like mushy sentimental stuff, so we buy them flowers to show we are sensitive."
Ann said, "From the tone of your voice, I can see that you don't like sensitive men. Why not?"
"The sensitive guy ploy is merely a cynical or wimpy assessment of the filter of qualifications some women apply during the selection phase of the dating process. I think that women often use these criteria in reaction against their previous relationship. A woman, who is single again, wants things to be better the next time around. As a guy it is pretty easy to take advantage of this by really taking her seriously and being considerate. If a guy can manage to feel sorry for the whales, he can have almost any woman."
Amy said, "Yeah, you know Ann, like all those buzzwords."
"The sensitive guy ploy is only one of many, like being tough, or being cool. Approaching women in this way indicates insecurity and blindness, so of course, it is typical in men. This is an area where men are crippled by society that corresponds with the oppression of women."
Ann's shirt had ridden halfway up her body, exposing a lot of torso.
"As I said, John is very sympathetic. He may be perceptive enough to be able to relate to you as a friend. Perhaps this has a deflating effect on sexual desire. As I become more deeply involved with a woman, my feelings grow more intense. I see her as more beautiful, but somehow this closeness removes the tension that sex resolves. I no longer see my girlfriend as separated from my inner self. I think this is why perversions tend to amplify the difference in role and physical characteristics. This is especially important to me because I usually become involved with rather androgynous women.
"Thirdly, does John know what you want?"
"I want a beer."
March 4, 1989
Amy said, "I'm hungry."
I said, "You call and order and I'll go out and pick up the beer and pizza."
At the door, Amy and Ann each handed me some money.
"How come women are always paying me to leave?"
When I returned, we distributed the food and beer. Amy and Ann were on the couch. I sat on the floor at Ann's feet.
"Ann, have you told John what you want?"
"No. Not really. We had sex once. It was a year ago, in the dark, on the floor."
"Was it good?"
"I think so. John said that, in the past, he has always led with his dick and he wants it to be different this time."
"He may not even know that you want him. I've always had an unbelievable blind spot in this regard. One time I had a philosophy teacher. I must have been about nineteen years old when I knew Kathy. She was twenty-six. She was petite, blonde, and very pretty. School was ten or fifteen miles from my home and, since I don't drive, Kathy drove me home after class in her yellow Datsun 280Z. She'd always put her hand on my knee and say, 'Arthur, you want me to love you for your mind. Don't you know that I only want your body?'
"Of course, I knew she was only joking. Sometimes she would have me escort her to parties and she'd be flagrantly flirtatious. One night, when she drove me home, she asked to come up to my apartment. My first thought was that my room was a mess. This was my philosophy teacher. I couldn't let her see the disarray I inhabit. I marshaled every conceivable argument to refuse her request. There must have been fifteen minutes spent in her car spent with her insisting and me resisting. Finally, I succeeded and as I got out of the car, she asked me to call her husband and let him know that she was coming home.
"Another time, she said her husband was out of town and she was lonely in her house, out in the country. She invited me 'over for dinner'. Kathy drove all the way to New Haven to pick me up. When we got to her house (it was very isolated) she told me that her kitten had almost drowned in her bathtub. 'Do you want to see where it happened?'
"I was uncomfortable in her bathroom. Claustrophobic. I returned to her living room where it was roomier and Kathy came out and seemed mad. She offered to take me home and I went home.
"The point of this, Ann, is that ten years later I realized that Kathy wanted to sleep with me and I hadn't noticed."
We were having a jolly time. Making fun of men's ignorance cheered Ann up. It sure cheered me up. Ann really wanted a man. Amy was leaning against the radiator, warming her ass. She said, "I've got to go to bed now." Aside to me she said, "Tell me about your dreams next time."
I didn't need any sleep but I said, "Goodnight" to Amy and Ann and bemusedly, stumbled down the stairs. The three of us have a date in about a week. I hope they are desperate by then.
