The Perils of Dating -- Glad Those Days are Over

There’s a new woman working at the front desk of my gym. Most people who greet you there say hello or one of its variations such as hi or even good morning. They also wish you a good workout. However on Tuesday this new young lady went so far as to afford me a big smile and ask how I was. I assured her that I was fine and in turn asked after her health. Both comfortable that the other was doing well I proceeded to the locker room. It had been a short but pleasant encounter. But it lingered. 

I found myself wondering how I would have felt in the same situation decades ago when I was young and single. (Of course were I young she might have been more wary of me. It could be that me being an older gent, she feels safe being particularly friendly.) In this same situation when I was twenty-two I’d have been unable to happily go on about my day. No indeed, I would have wondered if her friendliness equated to flirting. Was she signaling her interest? Was I crazy not to chat with her? Should I flirt? If I get more signals should I escalate the situation and ask her out? Am I reading too much into her friendliness? After all she’s the public face of the business, it’s her job to be friendly. Maybe I’d linger to see if she greeted other patrons in a similar manner. Indecision and doubt would be maddening.

There you have one of the perils of youth. The dating world is fraught with such situations. Do I take a shot? If I don’t will I regret it? What’s the worst that can happen? It was deflating but never humiliating to be rejected. Sometimes the issue was finding the right moment. People might always be around. You often tried to tailor your “line” to the situation, to that one thing you knew you had in common. You didn’t want a standard pick up line. Should you be flamboyant or straight forward? Should you utilize flattery or save it? Were you sure she'd be right for you and you for her? Was it just that she was pretty or was there more to your attraction? The worst could be electing not to ask a woman and subsequently regretting it.

For a lot of men liquor makes the whole proposition a lot easier. This was especially true for me as an alcoholic. A drink or two in me could provide just the right amount of courage that I needed. Too many drinks could ruin the whole deal.

Once I was in a library sitting at a table doing research. A lovely young woman sat across from me. We had a brief exchange about one of the books I was using. I thought I detected some interest on her part on more than the book. My work ground to a halt. I replayed our exchange — more than once. I surreptitiously eyed her, noting her beauty and wondering if there were any other way to determine her possible interest in me. I next considered how to approach her. My talent — as today — was as a writer.I had pad and pen before me so decided a clever note was my best bet.

I’ve no memory of what I wrote but I’m sure it was “cute” and clever. I read it over, re-wrote it and was fully satisfied that upon reading my note, which ended with a proposal for a date, a romance would ensue. I tore the paper from the pad preparatory to passing it to her when some oaf sat next to her. They exchanged a brief kiss. 

Her goddamned boyfriend. 

I’d been literally a couple of seconds from….Not worth thinking about.

For some reason that moment stuck with me and inhibited me in future encounters. Nonetheless I rallied. I persisted. I was met with the same sort of mixed results that all men have.

How about the ultimate success, the woman I married? Funny you should ask. 

I was a reporter and she worked in a campus office I frequented. I noted that she was quite beautiful, several inches taller than me and most certainly “out of my league.” I didn’t even try. No pressure. It was she who practically asked me out one night. I jumped at the opportunity and have been in love ever since that first date. I guess love found me.

By the time we were “a couple” I no longer had to sweat through: should I or shouldn’t I? It was always exciting to get a “yes,” but the “I have a boyfriend” or “I’m flattered but no thank you” or “I’m a lesbian” or “yuck, as if” those stung. What was worse than getting a no was the agonizing over the decision of whether to ask and if so how. Glad those days are long over. 

A postscript. I once asked a woman if she wanted to go for a drink after work. To my delight she said yes. We got to the bar, sat down, ordered drinks and she began the conversation with this: “you know I’m gay don’t you?” I assured her that I was well aware of her sexual preferences. I proceeded to get very drunk.

Who Decides What Good Music Is? -or- The Arrogance of Musical Taste

Studio 54, in New York

Decades ago I was in a packed car on my way to a baseball game. The other passengers and I were all in our twenties. Young and hip, leaning into the counter culture. College students or recent grads. The car radio was on as it would always be back then. A Jackson Five song came on, sung in falsetto. One chap made fun of the singing, others laughed. I said: “ahh yes, making fun of Black singers, the new racism.”

Of course there were howls of protest. No such thing was intended, I was told.

No, I responded, of course, but it’s part of an on-going theme among young white people of our generation convinced that particular kinds of music are superior and other kinds are subject to mockery. Especially the very different sounds of African American singers. Mockery can draw upon racial stereotypes even when the person doing the mocking has no conscious racial intent.

Again there was insistence that this did not equate to racism. “No, nothing does,” I said sadly. “All you have to do while making fun of people of color is say that it’s all innocent fun and you can get away with anything, including evoking the most demeaning of stereotypes.

There were a lot of issues involved. One of which was that white people of a certain stripe couldn’t accept that something was simply different and not to their taste, they had to mock it. It’s like how so damn many Americans who don’t like soccer have to tell you in detail why they find it boring instead of simply saying they weren’t raised with the game and don’t understand it so it’s not for them. One Yank — and this is just a few years ago — said to me that soccer is a sport for people who don’t like sports. Can you imagine the ignorance and arrogance of such a statement? It was also — I hate to say — representative of a very common American (usually white, male) attitude. 

Sidenote: once in college a friend of a roommate was at our house. He looked through my record albums (ask your parents) then told me: “you have terrible taste in music.” (I don’t remember exactly what albums I had at the time but I’m sure they included The Beatles, The Who, Rod Stewart and Stevie Wonder). What did he imagine my response would be? “By golly, you’re right. I’ll sell these and buy some new ones. Please tell me what music to like.” It was a strangely rude comment and purposeless, betraying the white boy arrogance of the time (what do I mean “of the time”? It still exists!).  In mock seriousness I told him that I was sorry that my albums weren’t good enough and begged his forgiveness. Then I put one of them on the turntable (ask your parents).

It’s a weird thing about musical tastes. I recall being at our principal’s house for a large gathering of some sort back in my middle school teaching days. Someone was talking to the assemblage so the rest of us were dutifully quiet. A colleague and I were sitting near the boss’s records. He pointed to them and frowned, even pulling a few out and shaking his head disagreeably. I didn’t recognize the artists so could only assume his message was that this was inferior music. I shrugged. To me this brief interaction indicated that he was of the sort who classed popular music into categories such as: classic, good and beneath contempt. As opposed to: this is to my taste, this isn’t.

I don’t get it. Who set the standard for what is “good” music and what isn’t? What happens if we don’t subscribe to it? I had people look at me askance because, for a time, I mostly listened to jazz. I could never understand why people care what music someone else listens to.

I’m a regular listener of a podcast that’s about my favorite English football (that’s soccer to you Yanks) team. I very much enjoy the host who is wise, witty and insightful. But on occasion he’ll make known his contempt for the musician Phil Collins. I can never understand why. Okay, you don’t like the guy’s music, why the hell should the rest of us care? How do people who like Collins feel when you speak contemptuously of him? Were it a right wing politician you were lambasting I’d say: go for it. But this serves no purpose. I don’t get it. People treat musicians they don’t like as if they’re war criminals. Bizarre.

Before wrapping this up I’ll return to my original point with this observation: I’m not the first to point out that the hatred (and it was hatred) that emerged in the Seventies towards disco was beyond strange. There is good scholarship and contemporary commentary arguing that portions of the disco backlash were entangled with racism and homophobia, particularly because disco culture was strongly associated with Black, Latino and gay communities. 

Full disclosure: I loved disco. Going to a club and dancing to music that was — imagine the concept — perfectly suited to dancing, was one helluva lot of fun.

A successful white artist of the time named Bob Seger had a popular song which included the following lyrics: 

I like that old time rock 'n' roll

Don't try to take me to a disco

You'll never even get me out on the floor

Guess what, Bob, no one wants your grouchy old white ass on this floor.

Imagine having to express your disdain for a highly popular and totally harmless musical form in a damn song. Imagine that so many people liked it.

Was it racist? Not liking the same music that our African American brothers and sisters is not racist, it’s a matter of different tastes from different cultures. Ridiculing it? Looking down your nose at people who like it? When the thing you're ridiculing is a sound, voice or style closely identified with people unlike yourself, are you quite sure you're only making fun of the music?

Postscript: As I was writing this post I was listening to The Isley Brothers. I can picture some of the people I've known in my life who would make a snide comment about them. Their loss.

Not the Best Films Set in San Francisco But the Best Ones With A Lot of San Francisco In Them

Vertigo

I’ve previously done lists of the best films set in LA and the best set in New York. But there’s one other U.S. city that is featured in a lot of really good pictures and here I present ten of them for your enjoyment and edification.

Astute readers (I’m looking at you Goliath Nicholson of Boothbay Harbor, Maine) will be shocked to see that I’ve included, So I Married an Axe Murderer on this list but not The Maltese Falcon. They will likely say, “what the…?” And assume that I’ve gone mad. Ahh, but not when one considers the parameters that I’m here establishing. These aren’t just films SET in San Francisco, they were FILMED IN the city  and feature many of its more recognizable locales. So these movies  truly celebrate one of the world’s greatest cities and one that is an ideal movie backdrop. The Maltese Falcon has an opening shot that establishes that the setting is San Francisco but after that there’s nary a shot of the city. The movies listed below show parts of the city and its landmarks and notable establishments, some of which no longer stand.

Bullitt (1968) Yates. The famous chase scene sees Steve McQueen’s Bullitt zipping from one end of the city to another in a matter of seconds, something that we local yokels note but the vast majority of people who’ve enjoyed the film have been oblivious to. The car chase scene alone shows a lot of the city in all its hilly glory. Bullitt represents McQueen at his coolest (cooler than in The Great Escape? Okay, tied for coolest). It’s a confusing cop story but it’s so damn entertaining, who cares? SF sights in Bullitt include North Beach, the Airport, Enrico’s Cafe, the since demolished Embarcadero Freeway, Grace Cathedral, the Mark Hopkins, the Marina Green, Lake Merced, Pacific Heights, the Mission District and Russian Hill. And that’s just for starters. 

Vertigo (1958) Hitchcock. Maybe the most famous of San Francisco films and indeed one of the most famous and revered motion pictures of all time. Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak star in a story of murder, love, obsession and people paying for their actions. San Francisco never looked more glorious or glamorous. The Golden Gate is featured in a key scene. Stewart’s apartment still stands pretty much as was on Lombard Street and I’ve visited it. We also get Ernie’s Restaurant, the Fairmont Hotel, the Palace of Fine Arts, Mission Dolores, the Legion of Honor, Nob Hill and much more including Big Basin Redwood State Park. A visual feast.

So I Married an Axe Murderer (1993) Schlamme. Not by any stretch a cinematic classic but a fun — and original — romance, starring Mike Meyers in a charming performance. Nancy Travis is his love interest. See the Fog City Diner, Vesuvio Cafe, Alamo Square, Alcatraz Island, the Palace of Fine Arts and Candlestick Park. Early scenes in North Beach are the highlight for me.

Play It Again, Sam (1972) Ross. Written by and starring, but not directed by, Woody Allen, co-starring the wonderful Diane Keaton. Allen plays a Humphrey Bogart-obssessed film critic struggling to get over a breakup. It’s classic Woody Allen comedy with a typically excellent performance from Ms. Keaton. Featured in the film are Golden Gate Park, Aquatic Park, North Beach, SFMOMA and, as bonus, a bit of Sausalito. 

Blue Jasmine (2013) Allen. This one is directed by Allen but he does not appear. Cate Blanchett deservedly won an Oscar for her performance as a latter day Blanche DuBois, devastated by the end of her marriage and fortune and the subsequent imprisonment and suicide of her cheating husband. It’s dark but made watchable and enjoyable by Blanchett and a supporting cast that includes Alec Baldwin, Sally Hawkins and Bobby Cannavale. SF locales include Ocean Beach, the Golden Gate Bridge, Chinatown, Pacific Heights, and as a bonus, Tiburon.

The Last Black Man in San Francisco (2019) Talbot. Jimmie dreams of reclaiming the beautiful Victorian house his grandfather once owned, but which is now far beyond his means in a rapidly gentrifying San Francisco. With the help of his best friend, he devises a scheme to move back in. It’s a timely and engaging story and though an indie film drew the type of audience it deserved. Locales in the film include The Mission, The Portola District, the Tenderloin District, Bayview, Buena Vista Park, the Castro, Haight Street and Chinatown.

What’s Up, Doc? (1972) Bogdanovich. An ode to the screwball comedies of the thirties and forties and particularly to Bringing Up Baby. It stars Ryan O’Neal, Barbra Streisand, Madeline Kahn and the city of San Francisco. It was deservedly a big hit for director Peter Bogdanovich. The climactic chase scene gives a veritable tour of the city. Among the film’s SF locales are Alta Plaza Park, Pier 70, Bush Street, Lombard Street, Van Ness, the Financial District and Hyde Street.

The Conversation (1974) Coppola. If nothing else the opening scene gives you a very thorough tour of Union Square circa 1974. The Conversation is a mystery-thriller about a professional eavesdropper obsessed with a case that takes a dramatic U-turn. One of Coppola’s four great films from the seventies (you know the others). In addition to Union Square, you get the Jack Tar Hotel, the City of Paris department store, One Embarcadero Plaza, Alamo Square, Potrero Hill and Hayes Valley.

Milk (2008) Van Sant. This is a very San Francisco story telling, as it does, the story of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay person to be elected to public office in the U.S. Sean Penn gave an Oscar-winning performance as the title character in this inspiring story. SF sites in the movie include: The Castro, Lower Haight Street, Treasure Island, Chinatown, City Hall, and the Excelsior District.

Time After Time (1979) Meyer. A fun and underrated film from the seventies starring Malcolm McDowell and a young Mary Steenburgen. McDowell plays H.G. Wells who has ridden a time machine of his own invention from fin de siecle London to modern day SF in pursuit of Jack the Ripper. I know, that’s a meaty premise— but it works. You also get to visit Golden Gate Park, the California Academy of Sciences, the Golden Gate Bridge, Huntington Park, United Nations Plaza, the Hyatt Regency, Justin Herman Plaza, the Marina Green and….more.

Also see: (All excellent films but not quite as much San Francisco as those listed.) Zodiac, The Lady from Shanghai, Experiment in Terror, Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Dark Passage.

The Miracle and the Mundane, 39 Years of Sobriety

Dionysus, Greek God of Wine

I had thirty-nine years clean and sober on Sunday. People at AA meetings often talk about the “miracle” of their sobriety. I’m ambivalent about this. Maybe in large part because my sobriety is a product both of a miracle and the mundane. It is the mundane that has kept me on the wagon lo these many years. I refer to AA itself and the principles of its program. Pretty ordinary stuff. Going to meetings. Doing service. Following the program’s twelve steps. Speaking your truth. Not picking up the first drink. In theory staying clean is simple. In fact I’ve never found resisting booze to be much of a problem. The harder part is learning to live sober. You take drugs from a junkie and you’ve got one confused person. Their life has revolved around getting high. In a sense it’s like food. Think about how much time we spend thinking about food. What do we want for dinner tonight? Shall we eat out? Which restaurant? That new place or a familiar one? In the mood for Chinese? How about a pizza? Shall we try a new recipe? Then there’s grocery shopping. There’s usually one big trip to the market every week and — out of necessity — one has to pop into the store another few times. Out of milk. Running low on vegetables. Food is a constant. It’s not only the act of consumption, there can be social settings around dinner. A first date. Having friends over. Thanksgiving. Business lunches. Getting together with an old friend for lunch. Brunch, maybe for father’s day or a birthday. Anniversary dinner. Now imagine taking all that away. Take one pill a day and your nutritional needs are met for the day and you wont feel a single hunger pang. Imagine how much simpler your life would be. Not only are you not having to bother cooking you’re done with washing dishes and grocery shopping. No expensive restaurants to mess with your budget. But think of how empty that would feel. No, that wouldn’t do at all, your life has lost much of its richness, its texture, its rituals.

Okay, you get the picture, now take liquor away from a drunkard. It wasn’t just getting high it was how. It was where. It was with whom. A dreary day at work? That martini at 5:30 is going to be heaven sent. It may lead to a half dozen more — hell, hopefully it will. Wine with dinner. Beer on a hot day (or a cold one for that matter). Beer after a workout (or after sitting around for an hour). A brandy after dinner. Then another. It was also such a treat to talk about drinking. Practicing alcoholics love talking about what they’re going to drink, what they are drinking and what they had been drinking. They even like talking about their hangovers, even while in the throes of one. They’re like purple hearts to a soldier.

An addict’s life may well be built around getting high, and even when it isn’t the centerpiece, it fills in all the spaces around it.

So expecting someone to navigate life without the possibility of getting high is a big ask. That’s the hard part. It’s a new world. True, one with many benefits but a radical change. Imagine making that change when other aspects of your life are on shaky ground. I got sober while starting my teaching career — as a sub. Two weeks after I stopped drinking and using my wife told me that she was pregnant. It turned out to be a difficult pregnancy that had my beloved in the hospital. And I couldn’t drink. And I didn't drink.

This was no miracle. This was going to meetings, getting a sponsor and doing the steps. Not easy but not rocket science either.

I mentioned at the beginning that I was ambivalent about the idea of associating miracles with sobriety. I did not dismiss the possibility of divine intervention. Okay, maybe not divine, but inexplicable. 

When I woke up on September 13,1987 my first thought was that I was an alcoholic. I got out of bed. My wife of two-and-half months was sleeping on the sofa. She had determined that this was enough and she was leaving me or kicking me out. I sat at the edge of the sofa. She woke up. I said, “I have a problem.” She said, “I know.” I had never — not once — considered for a second the notion that I had any sort of problem with drugs or alcohol. After all I hung out with other users, some of THEM had a problem. But me? No, I was having fun. The lightning bolt had struck in my sleep. Two psychiatrists have refused to believe my story, both insisting that I must have had a clue before I went to bed that night. 

Fuck them.

To reiterate, I owe my sobriety to the unexplained and the easily explained. Mostly I owe it to all the other people who I’ve met in AA. Without each other we are not just alone, but helpless. There’s a lesson there.

Don't Pet an Angry Porcupine, The Blogger Offers Advice to You Young Whipper Snappers

Don’t listen to anyone who says: “when you get out into the real world.” The whole world is real, even if you’re in college.

If you’re working someplace where there’s a CEO and a custodian, treat them both the same. Neither is superior or inferior to you. We’re all equal.

Speaking of treating people….Treat people the way you want them to treat you. Simple.

If you’re talking to someone and they start going on about astrology as if it’s a real thing get out of the conversation as soon as you can. You don’t want to waste time with such nonsense.

Vote for candidates who are going to help the disadvantaged. Don’t vote for those who would help the already wealthy or those who sow fear.

It’s great to enjoy sports and become invested in a team, but if a sports result depresses or angers you, you’re doing it wrong. 

Spend as little time as possible talking about people behind their backs particularly if you’re being negative. Also avoid those who like to trash other people.

Learn from your mistakes but don’t dwell on them. 

Don’t simply move on when something bad happens, it’s okay to process it and experience your feelings. Take your time and when you’re ready, then you can move on.

One of the greatest strengths a person can have is the ability to ask for help when needed. It’s not a sign of weakness to seek help, it’s a sign you care about yourself and recognize that none of us can do it alone.

Another strength is the ability to sincerely apologize. Don’t write a note. Don’t say: “sorry if I,” leave that “if” out. Look the person in the eye. We all make mistakes, an adult acknowledges them and makes amends.

Look for the good in people. Try to find reasons to like a person. It’s lazy to find a single fault and write the person off for it.

Don’t spend too much time looking at your phone or computer screen. They are valuable tools but don’t stare at them for the sake of it. Sometimes when you’re standing in line instead of scrolling through your phone try thinking. It’s good for you.

You’ll be a happier person if you’re not doing anything to excess, this includes, drinking, watching TV, working, eating. Moderation is healthy.

Drink plenty of water. Get exercise. Have a regular sleep schedule. Watch the amount of sugar you eat. Eat vegetables, fruit, beans, legumes and nuts.

I strongly recommend being a vegetarian. It’s better for your health. It reduces the number of animals that are slaughtered and it helps reduce the effects of climate change.

Pet a dog or a cat as often as you can. Better yet. Have one in your house, if possible.

Enjoy music, it’s good for you.

Hugging is good for your too. Try to have people in your life to hug regularly.

Laughter is good for you too. Find some comedies or comedians to enjoy. Have a hearty laugh with friends. In fact, find friends who like a good laugh. 

Remember that “a lot” is two words and that there’s no s at the end of the word “anyway.” You don’t want to come off as a rube. Also watch out for redundancies like “past history” “pre-planning” and “more hotter.” While I’m on the subject, don’t say “sounds like a plan” when someone suggests a plan.

Read books. It’s good for you in so many ways. If nothing else, reading a book instead of scrolling through social media helps maintain your attention span. But reading does so much more for your brain and for your heart.

Keep a journal. It’s a great way to release your feelings. It helps your later decision-making and memory and can be fun to look back on, not to mention instructive.

Generally speaking if you’ve got a choice between going out and doing something with friends and staying home and taking it easy, get the hell out of the house. When you’re old you’ll have plenty of time to sit in the house.

Never brag about being busy. Nobody’s impressed. If anything, boast about having carved out free time. Don’t be afraid of relaxing.

Try finding a career that you’re going to love. If all it does is pay the bills then it serves a purpose but it’s not going to give you the psychic income you need.

Do the best you can to resolve disputes within family. You need each other.

Follow current events. At least have a sense of what’s going on in the world. We need as many informed citizens as we can get. Also, vote and study the candidates and issues.

If you suffer from depression or anxiety do not hesitate to ask for help. There are a lot of things you can do for both such as exercise, meditation, yoga, and walking.

Be wary of doctors prescribing medications. Sometimes they’re literal life-savers but some doctors are overly-reliant on getting out the prescription pad. Be particularly aware of possible side effects.

If you feel guilty about something you’re doing or are hiding what you’re doing, maybe give it a rethink.

Don’t be one of those people who tries to do eighty per cent of the talking in any given conversation. Avoid those people who tell you every detail of their lives and don’t in turn ask after you. Conversations are to be shared, not dominated.

Travel. Especially outside of the country.

One of the hardest things to master is acceptance, but you’ve got to be able to accept that some things can’t be done and some things cannot be changed. If anyone tries to tell you that “nothing is impossible” ask them to pick up a bus.

Learn the difference between sharing good news and bragging.

As I used to tell my players when I coached youth sports: play hard, have fun.