28 February 2022

And Many Happy Returns, The Author Celebrates His Birthday

The author. (Not a recent photo.)

Happy birthday.

To me.

Sixty-eight today and I swear I feel fantastic. My main problem with aging has been the chronological number attached to it and the fact that it indicates how much nearer I am to the end than the beginning. (There’s also the fact that I’m not the cutie pie I used to be.) I'm working on all that.

Perception.

I’ve always liked my birthday. For one thing I receive gifts. I like gifts. I also enjoy receiving cards, letters, texts, emails and in-person greetings from friends, kinfolk and acquaintances. 

The immediate family and I always have a special dinner on my birthday and a sweet and delicious dessert.

I don’t believe I’ve ever had a bad birthday. Indeed I’ve had some real corkers. Most of the ones from when I was four through a teenager were great. Birthdays as a kid are the best.

I’ve enjoyed a couple of surprise birthday parties. I like those. You often hear people say they hate surprises. I’ve never understood that. I love surprises — assuming they’re good ones. A surprise and a party combined are wonderful. Why wouldn’t someone enjoy that?

Some birthdays take on a special importance. Eighteen, twenty-one and all the subsequent ones that end in a zero.

I was not at all bothered about thirty, forty, fifty or sixty. In two years we’ll see how I feel about seventy.

I got up early today birthday or no. It’s a Monday and for me as a writer a work day. I plugged away at the novel for a few hours then worked out. Post workout I showered, made a smoothie and as a birthday treat the missus made me a bagel with smoked salmon. Yummy.

Now I’m writing again, albeit not working on the novel but keeping my blog going. 

My blog: one of the best-kept secrets on the internet. But I love it just the same. Hey, you’re reading it! Aren’t you?

After posting this I’ll go back to the novel, then I’ll read the New York Times and do the crossword puzzle. After that I’ll do some reading then watch an episode of Breaking Bad. I’m re-watching this, my favorite all-time television drama, in preparation for the final season of Better Call Saul — another show I love. 

Breaking Bad is just as good the second time around. It’s been over eight years since I watched it so there’s a fair amount I don’t remember. Great re-discovering scenes. I also have a greater appreciation for the cast. Particularly Bryan Cranston, but also Aaron Paul. I also think the world of the show’s creator, Vince Gilligan.

Later oldest daughter will come by and we’ll order dinner. (Youngest daughter is in Brooklyn, so can't make it.) As the honored guest I’ll get to wait at home as the missus and child pick it up. Shame it’s still not safe to eat out. Next year.

We’ll also enjoy some gelato for desert. 

Promises to be a good day. So far it has been. Like all my birthdays. I’m a pretty lucky fella, come to think of it.

25 February 2022

The Naked Truth and Bare Facts About Nudity


Naked. Nude. Bare. Unclothed. In the raw. In the altogether. Au naturel. Disrobed. In one’s birthday suit. In the buff. Starkers. Undressed. Stripped. Baring all. Nothing left to the imagination.

Titillating? Obscene? Erotic? Inappropriate? Natural? Beautiful? Ugly? Functional? Freeing?

It all depends on the context and the eyes of the beholder.

Society has long had a fascination with nudity.  

Would going to a nudist colony be fun, or would it be too much? After all, from a man’s perspective, it’s not as if there would be nothing but beautiful young women there.

Nude beaches are the same. A great idea but in reality not a place to pick someone up or to stare. Both the colony and the beach are places for people who genuinely enjoy freedom from clothing.

There was a news story yesterday about a woman in Florida (where else?) who went into a bar where she was refused service owing to her advanced state of intoxication. In response, she removed her clothing, every stitch. The police had to be called. The kicker was that the woman is a lawyer. 

Public nudity in most places at most times in most countries is a crime. 

I guarantee that a lot of men saw that story and immediately wondered how old the woman was and whether she was fetching. (Men are like that.) She was forty-nine and you’ll have to see for yourself if you’re interested in her appearance.

I grew up in a Finnish family that regularly took saunas together. When I got older it became segregated by gender. So I am not prudish about nudity. A lot of people are and don’t like to strip or shower in gyms. I never give it a thought.

I’m a great admirer of the feminine form. As a young teen I would sometimes get ahold of a Playboy magazine. The women in them seemed impossibly beautiful, like nothing one saw in real life. Twas the nudity (okay, and the air-brushing).

As an older teen I finally went on dates, kissed girls and indulged in sexual fantasies. Second to contemplating sex was contemplating seeing an object of desire naked. It seemed the ultimate experience. When I finally saw a naked girl it lived up to my expectations, particularly since the experience included actual real life sexual congress. 

Subsequently I saw nude women in a strip club. It was something I initially enjoyed but soon found depressing. After all, it was an act of commerce. This was not a young woman who I was alone in a bedroom with, but someone others were staring at the same time. That realization killed the thrill.

Even after having seen a nude female and losing one’s virginity, I continued to spend hours imagining other girls naked — not to mention what bedding them would be like. This is a practice common among most heterosexual men I know, whether they admit it or not.

My understanding is that women do not similarly obsess about naked men. As Elaine told Jerry in an episode of Seinfeld, men’s bodies are important for their functionality. I believe that was the same episode in which Jerry had a girlfriend who liked to be naked as often as possible. Jerry found this a bit much, recognizing as he did that there was both “good naked” and “bad naked.” 

Today photos and videos of naked people proliferate on the internet. In all shapes and sizes. Some are engaging in pornographic acts, while others are artfully posing. Imagine that, all the nudity you could want. My younger self would have salivated at the idea. But there’s something off-putting about the availability. It’s not enticing.

Better is nudity in films and TV shows. Even if you’re absorbed in the story one can’t help but notice that someone on the screen is exposing, breasts, buttocks or genitalia. It can be distracting. It can enhance the story. It can be erotic. When it’s a well-known star there’s that moment when you think: wow, I’m seeing Jane Superstar naked. But if the story is good you quickly re-focus. If you're enjoying the nudity too much it mustn't be a very good film.

There is also nudity in art, which is a good place for it when done tastefully. It’s hard to imagine Michelangelo’s David wearing a sweater vest. People who object to nude figures in art are beyond help.

There is also very bad nudity as when a person is being seen or photographed against their will. Slaves were usually stripped naked when sold. An unimaginable act of cruelty. Non-consensual nudity is just this side of rape.

Some of those naked pictures on the internet are of people who never intended for the photos to be seen. A lot of that is in what’s called revenge porn. Horrible people do that.

Then there’s skinny dipping, a practice I’ve indulged in. We used to go up to my in-laws place in rural Oregon every summer. They lived near a river where I would swim most every day. Occasionally I felt like doing so sans swimming trucks. I preferred it but was reticent because, though isolated, there was still the chance of a fisherman or hiker happening by. Once while naked I swam a ways down river towards a rock I liked to rest on. I was about to get on the rock when I noticed a young woman by the side of the river wearing a bikini laying on a towel. She was pretty. I was (and still am) a happily married man with two children but couldn’t deny feeling, if not exactly arousal, a tingling about the situation. Of course there was nothing for me to do but swim back upstream, battling the currents along the way. I was thereafter more circumspect about swimming nude.

It’s interesting and sometimes depressing to note how certain cultures (often as a consequence of the its dominant religion) have, throughout history, treated nudity as sinful and considered indigenous people, as savages if they are in the habit of walking around naked. As if the human body was something to be ashamed of! That is a far sicker attitude than enjoying seeing someone naked. 

Many European cultures are much less inhibited about nudity than the U.S. Nude beaches are more prevalent, nudity on regular TV channels is permitted and communal saunas and steam baths are not uncommon. American is far more puritanical -- to it's own detriment.

One of the great attractions of nudity is that the human body can be a joy to behold. Obviously this is particularly true as a prelude to intercourse. 

Feasting ones eyes on a naked body can be enjoyed for artistic purposes or as part of the sex act. I’m for both.

22 February 2022

Smiles All Around, I See and Enjoy My First Gymnastics Meet

Photo by author

There were no fouls. No penalties. No offsides. No replay reviews. No taunting. No booing. No heckling. No collisions. No time outs. There was grace. There was athleticism. There was poise. There were cheers. There was joy.

It was a sports event but not the kind I’m used to. Yesterday I attended my first gymnastics meet: The University of California hosting the University of Arizona. 

Live and in person I’ve seen, football, soccer, basketball, baseball, ice hockey, tennis, boxing, rugby and track and field. I’ve enjoyed these sports to varying degrees, some of them, at times, I’ve positively loved and have provided me with some of my fondest memories. Some of also provided me with heartache and even caused -- if briefly -- anger.

Gymnastics was different. 

Competitors don’t compete face-to-face or even side-by-side. In basketball when you shoot the ball, someone is trying to prevent you from doing so or at least trying to (metaphorically) stuff  the ball back in your face. Football players do not run free, quarterbacks do not get a free pass to pass and receivers are not left to unattended to catch passes. Soccer players are forever being challenged for the ball and are not allowed to shoot unimpeded. These sports are the better for the constant struggle.

But gymnastics is better for the freedom of athletes to perform without interference. (You could have a very different version of gymnastics in which two competitors are on — for example — the parallel bars at the same time, or perhaps even more interesting simultaneously on the balance beam trying to knock their challenger off while they perform. Competitors on the floor exercise might be interesting too.) In a sense a gymnastics meet is an exhibition of the athletes’ talents. Whoever displays the greatest talent is the winner. That leads to another oddity — for someone like me — of gymnastics. Scoring is determined completely by judges. The official final score is not known until the meet is over. Weird.

It was nice to be at an athletic event in which everyone seemed so happy the entire time. There was no risk of one gymnast “getting in the face” of an opponent. There was no crying foul or scowling at officials or remonstrating against anyone. Every attempt at every event was celebrated by teammates with constant high fives and hugs. Each event concluded with an exhibition performance by both teams. Imagine that, athletes doing something that didn’t count towards the final score.

Photo by author
Coaches were little seen and never either barked at their players or the officials. No one yelled at anybody except to cheer them.

The crowd was appreciative and cheered everything and why wouldn’t they? All athletes were out there clearly doing there best.

It can’t go unnoticed that I attended a women’s meet and not a men’s. First of all I like women’s sports and am particularly fond of women’s basketball. I’ve coached both boys and girls and the latter is invariably a much more enjoyable group to work with. When I coached soccer at school we had to, at one point, disband the women’s team because there weren’t enough teams to play. So girls were allowed to go out for the boy’s team which perforce made it the co-ed team. Every season we averaged around five girls out of the eighteen players. They brought a much greater team spirit and sense of fun while being just as fiercely competitive. 

Anyway my decision to see women’s gymnastics instead of men’s may betray some latent homophobia or objectification of women but I think it more a case of the beauty of the sport — for me — being enhanced by watching women do it. It's merely a personal preference though I wouldn't discount the possibility that I'll some day take in a men's meet. 

I was impressed with the entire atmosphere at the meet. The fans were highly appreciative and enthusiastic. They came in all ages too, though I believe a preponderance were Cal students. 

My favorite event was the bars. The leaps from one bar to another amazed me, as did the twisting, turning dismounts. But I enjoyed all the events and couldn’t help but think of the many hours of practice it would take to be merely mediocre at any of them. The Cal team — ranked among the top ten in the nation — are well past mediocre.

I had a wonderful time and plan to attend the team’s final home meet of the season. 

Smiles all around.

20 February 2022

Watch Your Language: Eleven Words and Phrases To Keep Out of Your Writing


I have a list of words — suggested by Benjamin Dreyer in his indispensable book, Dreyer’s English an Utterly Correct Guide to Clarity and Style — that I try to keep out of my novel and other writings. After finishing a draft of a chapter, I do a search for those words. In most cases when I find them they are summarily excised. There are exceptions, usually when they are part of dialogue; although even then I often find that they can be deleted and the writing is all the better for it.

Let’s have a look at them.

Very. Many words simply don’t need to be modified by “very” such as beautiful. Leave it at beautiful and if that’s not sufficient try another adjective like gorgeous or stunning. People are described as being “very happy” to see someone who is “very nice.” Can’t they be happy to see someone who is nice? Won’t that do? What’s the difference between frustrating and very frustrating? Or very common and common? I admit that sometimes "very tired" is preferable to tired, but then again wouldn’t exhausted be better? "Very funny" might be okay but couldn’t hilarious do the trick? Too many verys.

Really. The same deal here. "Really tired." "Really sad." "Really funny." I think really is an even weaker word than very. Then there’s “I think he’s a great singer, I really do.” We believed you the first time, the “I really do” didn’t emphasis your point at all, it was excessive. It "really" was.

Rather. I do not refer to rather as in, “instead of going to the movie would you rather stay home?” That’s perfectly fine. What’s objectionable is: “it’s a rather nice apartment.” Hunh? Something being "rather good" or "rather warm" is even weaker than really. Horrible word. 

Quite. This is a tricky one because it often works well in dialogue, especially with a British or pretentious character (and certainly with a pretentious Brit). “I’m quite sure,” “it was quite amusing” can be “quite all right” in dialogue but that’s the extent of it, otherwise keep it out.

In fact. Terribly overused and yet often unnoticed. There are cases for it, again mostly in dialogue, but it is, “in fact,” usually superfluous. It’s generally used to emphasize a point as in: “I was going to call you, in fact, I’d just reached for the phone.” Acceptable. However something like this is not: “she’s a great artist, in fact she’s the best in the school.” How about: “she’s the best artist in the school.” Saved seven words and said the same thing. 

Just. When used as in “it’s a just cause” it’s fine. Also sparingly used as in “we just finished eating,” in which case you are emphasizing how recently you finished. But never in such all too common misuses as “I just want to talk to her.” Or, “I’m just going to get lunch” or “I’m just going to leave this here.” Take out the “just” in those sentences and they're no different, save being a word shorter.

Some. Here’s one I’ve seen a lot of as a teacher. “After work we drank some beers.” You drank beer. “I’m going to hang out with some friends.” I’m going to hang out with friends. There are “some” cases when you can use the word as this sentence indicates — but be careful. “Do you want some of this soup” is, for example, okay though not great. Again, in dialogue it has its place. Some of the time.

Of course. Twice already while writing this I started to add, of course. Both times I stopped myself and the sentences were better without it. Here’s an example of its overuse: “of course, many people do not follow basic grammar rules.” No need for the “of course.” “Of course, I hope you have a good time.” Not needed. “Of course, we’ll be ready by the deadline.” Again, not needed. It is sometimes okay on its own such as in answering the question: “are you coming to the party?” “Of course!” But overall it is best left out of writing.

Actually. Horrible word. I was recently directed from the doctor’s waiting room to the little room where I was to be treated. The nurse said, “actually, we’re going to be in this room.” Why the “actually”? I could say, as many would, “I actually don’t know” but saying “I don’t know” does the job just as well. “Actually” is occasionally okay in dialogue to wit: “Bob actually said he would never come back.” In the case you are emphasizing that these were the exact words used. But mostly it is a word to be reviled. I'm "actually" quite tired of it. No, I'm tired of it.

So. I refer here to the use of the word “so” as a modifier as in “I’m so tired.” So tired that what? “I’m so hungry.” You’re so hungry that what? Yes, I’m sick of this word (note I didn’t say “so sick” as many would be tempted to do.) There’s also “so” in dialogue as a pause at the start of a sentence: “so, what do you want to do tonight?” Yuck! If needed for authenticity in dialogue then maybe….

Bad English: So, I actually hoped that helped. In fact, I rather think it might be very useful. These were just some suggestions, of course. While I’m quite pleased with this, it was inspired by that really good book by Dreyer earlier mentioned. 

Good English: I hope that helped. I think these suggestions might be useful. While I’m pleased with this, it was inspired by the excellent Dreyer book earlier mentioned.

(Note that the Good English had fifteen fewer words than the Bad English.)

14 February 2022

No News is Good News a lot of News is Generally Bad, The Return of Headlines

Ana de Armas has a new film coming to Hulu

In the summer of 2020 I started printing headlines from various news sources and writing comments about them that were either pithy, snarky, wise or brilliantly on point (or a combination thereof). The response was so overwhelming (thank you, Humphrey Puddleduck of  Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin) that I made this is a monthly feature -- to enthusiastic acclaim. However I didn't get around to either December or January editions of this critically-acclaimed feature. The letters, texts, emails, telegrams and smoke signals came pouring in as a result. But heedless of your requests, we are resuming this beloved (reviled?) feature. Enjoy the February 2022 edition -- like it or not.

From CNN:

Americans less likely to have sex, partner up and get married than ever

Partner Up? Really, CNN? This is NOT acceptable. Another abuse of the word "up" in a phrasal verb. It joins "coach up" "link up" and "meet up" as linguistically blasphemous. I've railed about "partner up" before, indeed, quite recently, but to see it in the title to a story on a "respected" news source's website is too much. Enough with the "up." It makes me want to "throw up."

A billionaire CEO is on track to go further into space than any human in 50 years

If billionaires have enough money to joy ride into space than they have too much money and we need to start taxing these motherfuckers at a much higher rate. And for the love of god, let's start eliminating the jillions of loopholes in the tax code that these greedy bastards benefit from.

Florida's 'don't say gay' bill is cruel and dangerous

That's for sure. Ya know you get used to the idea of forward progress, situations that have started to improve continuing to improve, then some bullshit like this comes along. From the article I give you this quote: "As leaders in two LGBTQ organizations, we've been astonished to witness the progress we have made over the last decade. But it's also clear that our community's increased visibility has led to a backlash. There are currently more than 100 anti-LGBTQ bills -- the majority of which target transgender and nonbinary youth -- moving through state legislatures across the country." Fucking Florida.

'We're not asking for magical things': Anti-gun violence groups launch campaign to pressure Biden four years after Parkland

Sad to say that if we couldn't get any gun control legislation passed in the wake of Sandy Hook in which two dozen small children were murdered then it ain't happening. I hope I'm proved wrong some day.

From the New York Times:

Pedestrian Deaths Spike in U.S. as Reckless Driving Surges

Oh look everyone! More bad news. A pandemic, possible war in Ukraine, anti-voting legislation not enough for you? Not enough of a resurgence of book banning, racism and homophobia? Fine then, we'll throw in an increase in reckless drivers killing pedestrians. When it rains....

How Bad Is the Western Drought? Worst in 12 Centuries, Study Finds

Still not enough bad news for you? For those of us in the western United States we've got a drought of biblical proportions. We've had less than a half an inch of rain in the past six weeks and a quick check of the calendar indicates that this is Winter. When it doesn't rain it doesn't pour....

Wanda Sykes, Amy Schumer and Regina Hall to Host the Oscars

I'm sure there'll be fine but why they haven't asked Steve Martin to do it every year is a mystery to me. Given that I no longer watch the Oscars I don't really understand why I care.

Pastor Resigns After Incorrectly Performing Thousands of Baptisms

Excuse me, but it's a meaningless ceremony so being one word off doesn't mean diddly shit. But you do you, Catholics.

From the BBC:

Mexico violence: Gunmen attack wake, then target funeral

Monsters. They killed nine people who were mourning. The depths society has reached is immeasurable. 

Bionic eye tech aims to help blind people see

It's still in early stages but early results are promising. In other words what we have here is that great rarity: good news.

Why people still believe in the 'soulmate myth'

Ahem. I'm enjoying Valentine's Day with a woman who is my wife, soulmate and love of my life. Over forty-three years since we met and I knew within a week that she was "the one." It's no myth, you lousy cynics. 

From the Washington Post:

Judge to dismiss Sarah Palin’s libel case against New York Times

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Go back to being irrelevant, Sarah.

The 5 best Super Bowl commercials

They're fucking commercials. Why the hell do we celebrate them? Talk about skewed priorities. You'll have to excuse my hatred of commercials but it's real and deep. I'm ever so thankful for the DVR function that allows one to record and fast forward through commercials. I got around the commercials during the Super Bowl as I always do, by not watching the game. Works every time.

Cook Islands confirms first coronavirus case — two years into pandemic

Geez Cook Islands, try keeping up, willya? 

From Vanity Fair:

‘Deep Water’ Teaser Trailer: Ben Affleck, Ana de Armas’ Erotic Thriller Debuts on Hulu in March

I hope it's good. At least it gave me an excuse to use a photo of Miss de Armas in this post.



11 February 2022

Dancing With Janis Joplin


The following story is execrated from my forthcoming novel, Blood of Love.

I arrived late to Steven’s party having wanted to catch up on my studies first. When Izzy opened the front door I immediately recognized that there was something different about the house. I noted a cluster of people in one place, not all that unusual, but it seemed as though everyone’s attention was directed towards that cluster as if within that group of people something important or fascinating was happening. Izzy was smiling enigmatically at me but I didn’t think to ask her what was going on.

Then I heard a voice emerge from within that cluster that sounded familiar but also seemed out of place at Steven’s. I noted that the focus of the cluster seemed to be on one person, a woman. It was her distinctive voice that I'd heard. I got a look at her through the tangle of bodies between us, but couldn’t make out exactly what she looked like.


Izzy was still smiling at me and I finally asked her, “who’s the woman getting all the attention, she sounds vaguely familiar.”


"A personal favorite of yours."


"I give up, who is it?"


“Janis Joplin.”


To accent Izzy’s revelation and my consequent surprise, the woman laughed loudly. 


“My God it is her. What’s she doing here?”


“Jason invited her through a mutual acquaintance. When she got here she said to Steven, ‘I hear you have kick-ass parties.’”


“My God, I love her music. I’m totally starstruck. Can I meet her?”


“It’s a free country but it may take awhile, she’s drawing a lot of attention.”


"I've never met anyone famous before."


Knowing I’d need the fortification of a drink if I was to say anything intelligible to Janis fucking Joplin, I went to the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of whiskey which I proceeded to down in three quick gulps. I poured myself another and made my way in the great singer’s direction.


I got to within a few feet of her and gawked as best I could, peering over shoulders. Janis was in the middle of telling a story that seemed to be about some backstage shenanigans at a recent concert. When she finished everyone laughed heartily, especially Janis. She then asked someone to get her another glass of Jack Daniels, adding, “why not bring a whole fucking bottle?”


Eventually a few people peeled away and I moved to within a few feet of my idol giving me an unobstructed view. She was not an especially attractive woman but at the same time positively exuded sexuality. Her voice was raspy yet had a certain indefinable quality that added to her sensuousness. Janis was wearing a plain short skirt below a flowery blouse. She had what appeared to be half a scarf wrapped in her long, scraggly hair. 


I'd been within perhaps thirty feet of her at a concert but was now within three feet. She was utterly beguiling.


Suddenly Steven appeared in the middle of the circle as if man on a mission. He cleared his throat theatrically while gently taking my arm. He bowed to the great singer.


“Janis, I take great pride in introducing you to a man of many great qualities -- too many to here enumerate -- who also happens to be among your legions of devotees. This is my dear friend David.”


“Hi, David.”


I was momentarily stunned silent but quickly recovered.


“It’s great meeting you, you're my favorite singer, I’ve seen you in concert three times.”


“Far out. Did you get up and dance?”


“It’s impossible not to dance when at one of your concerts.”


“That’s really groovy, man, you seem like a cool dude.” 


I wished it were somehow possible to take her words out of the air and hang them on a wall for permanent display. Janis Joplin had said I seemed like "a cool dude." No words, no honor, no award, had ever meant as much.


I had to keep the conversation going.


“Your shows are magic.”


“Thank, man. So, what are you into?”


This was too much: she was asking about me!


“I’m a student here at Cal and I’m heavily involved in the peace movement. That and music like yours and parties like this one.”


“Far out.”


Janis then turned her attention to someone who asked her a question about the Monterey Pop Festival. 


I continued to stand in awe. It was as if there was a glow emanating from Janis. She had a presence that I was unused to seeing in people, as if energy flowed around her. The one other person I knew of with a similar quality was standing next to her, Steven.


I felt a strange and wonderful euphoria, despite barely having a buzz from the whiskey. 


Eventually I grew self-conscious about standing beside Janis and staring so went about the usual business of mingling. As I talked to other people I found myself continually looking over in her direction. I desperately wanted to spend more time talking to her but was determined not to make a fool of myself so kept my distance.


An hour later I was sitting on the sofa chatting with Izzy when Janis plunked herself down next to me.


“I’ve been fucking standing for hours, I need to sit,” she said to the room. Then to me, “it’s David, right?” 


Janis Joplin remembered my name!


We talked and having already broken the ice and with whiskey coursing through my veins it now felt perfectly natural. Janis and I discovered we had a mutual fondness for Jack Kerouac and talked about his books then other authors. I asked her questions about her music and touring but she seemed more interested in discussing what she called “normal shit like books and food and sex.” We never got around to talking about sex, but sitting next to Janis it was certainly on my mind.


We'd gotten on the topic of other singers when Steven turned up the music and announced: "it pleases me to invite one and all to dance, anyone who does not avail themselves of this opportunity shall be forever shunned."


"Sounds like an order to me. Let's go, David."


I danced with Janis Joplin!


It was wonderfully surreal as if an LSD-induced hallucination had been actualized. We danced to two songs before she took someone else by the arm and I in turn danced with Emily Legly, a frequent guest at Steven's bashes. 


"What was it like to dance with Janis Joplin?" Emily asked me.


"Unreal but wonderful. But, say, I like dancing with you too."


"Thanks, but I doubt it's the same."


It wasn't.

 

A half hour later when Janis announced that she was leaving, it was as if the coach had turned back into a pumpkin. The magic was over. It would now be merely a party where before it had been a special event.


I walked with her and her two friends to the door. Before leaving she hugged me good night. It lasted two seconds. Two glorious seconds that left me tingling.


“David, you appear to be in a state of grace,” Steven said to me immediately after. “I would put your exact location as somewhere between clouds eight and ten.”


“I’ll never forget this night or that hug.”


“I don’t see what all the fuss is about as celebrity means nothing to me but I rejoice in your happiness.”


At home I could not sleep so composed a letter to Cordelia knowing that she, as as big a fan of Janis as I, would be happy for me, though perhaps a bit jealous. I’d thought to get Janis’s autograph and inserted with the letter. 


I finally fell asleep and dreamed, of course, of Janis Joplin.

06 February 2022

From the Scandalous to the Outrageous to the Inspiring True Stories About Interesting Women

Grace Slick, singer

I present to you today nine stories about nine interesting women, including a singer,  three actresses, a queen, a First Lady, an activist, an athlete and a writer. I've edited some of the experts for brevity but have not added to or altered  any.

From a 1978 story in the Washington Post, Grace Slick:

The Grace Slick stories abound, and most of them are true. She appeared on a Toronto radio program and began an earnest discussion about masturbation. She walked into a hotel restaurant barefoot, was asked to put her shoes on, and responded by kicking the restaurant man in the leg. (She was discovered in the hallway later that night, still barefoot, shouting and holding three white uniformed security guards at bay with karate poses.)

She swore at interviews, roared around San Francisco in her black Aston Martin, showed up at a White House tea for Tricia Nixon (both women attended the same private Manhattan college) in a see-through crochted blouse and purple middy skirt, with Abbie Hoffman as her escort. "My bodyguard," she exclaimed. The White House declined to admit them.

From her Wikipedia page, Marliu Henner:

Henner has hyperthymesia or total recall memory; she can remember specific details of virtually every day of her life since she was a child. On December 19, 2010, the CBS News program 60 Minutes aired a segment that featured six individuals thought to have this condition. As a longtime friend of 60 Minutes correspondent Lesley Stahl, Henner was included on the show. Henner also discussed her superior memorization abilities on other programs….

From the Palace of Versailles website, Marie Antoinette:

Marie Antoinette enjoyed entertainment and was influential in choosing shows to be put on at Court. She encouraged artists and she loved court balls. As was required by her position, she also entertained her circle in her apartments, where she was a keen player of billiards and cards, often playing to excess, both losing and winning large sums, to such an extent that the King became worried and banned some of the more risky games that were swallowing up entire fortunes. Marie Antoinette was a musician, playing the harp and the harpsichord. She could also sing. She supported the composers she appreciated, like Grétry, Gluck and Sacchini. She had a very refined taste and as a result was patron for many artists….

From the website Dametown, Jean Harlow:

Jean Harlow
Jean Harlow lived across the street from canine superstar Rin Tin Tin and his owner Lee Duncan. The old boy was 16 (Rin-Tin-tin, not Mr. Duncan) and as he was dying Jean went over to cradle the dog’s head. The dog died in the Blonde Bombshell’s lap.

Jean’s autograph is considered to be very rare as her mother signed all her fan mail. (I have one of those. (I bought it with my saved-up allowance through the Nostalgia Book Club when I was about 12. I distinctly remember squealing and doing a little dance!)

Its said that, like fellow screen star Carole Lombard, Jean dyed her “cuff to match her collar.” or should I say “muff.’  Hard to believe, only because Jean was a natural blonde and very fair already. It is true about Lombard; George Raft walked in on her while she was dyeing her hair ‘down there’. 

From page six.com, Faye Dunaway:

When The Post reported that actress Faye Dunaway was fired from the Broadway-bound play “Tea at Five” — after allegedly slapping crew members and throwing things at them, and creating a “dangerous” environment in which no one was allowed to wear white lest it distract her — some people were not surprised.

“My first day on the set, she slapped me,” said Rutanya Alda, who appeared with Dunaway in the 1981 movie “Mommie Dearest.”

Alda, who played the assistant character to Dunaway’s Joan Crawford, told The Post that they were filming a scene when “instead of doing a stage slap, she slapped me on the cheek, hard and for real.”

Broadway wig designer Paul Hunt­ley, who worked with Dunaway on a 1996 tour of the show “Master Class,” claims to have witnessed her wrath. “Faye didn’t like how the hairpins were being presented and she slapped my assistant’s hand,” recalled Huntley. “[The assistant] was horrified and did not know what to do.”

According to the book “Easy Riders and Raging Bulls,” during the filming of 1974’s “Chinatown,” Dunaway had a habit of urinating into trash cans and a disdain for flushing toilets in her dressing room. Rather, the book claims, she called in Teamsters to do the job, leading to multiple resignations. (Dunaway told author Peter Biskind she had “no recollection” of such doings.)

Once during filming, the book alleges, Dunaway said that she needed a bathroom break but director Roman Polanski asked her to wait. Later, when he bent down to speak with the actress through a car window, she allegedly responded by tossing a cup of liquid into Polanski’s face. It was full of urine.

From history.Com, Mary Todd Lincoln:

Mary Todd Lincoln had always had a hard time meeting the severe expectations for women of her era. Women, even famous wives, were expected to focus on the home and not seek attention or appear in public, but Mary loved the spotlight and had a knack for publicity. This created friction during her husband’s life, and after his death it would prove disastrous.

The first whiff of trouble came in the form of Mary’s own reaction to her husband’s death. Though the era was known for its lavish displays of mourning, social custom also dictated that upper class women suppress their emotions in public. But Mary, who had also lost two of her sons in childhood and who is thought to have been bipolar, showed no restraint in her grief. Soon after Lincoln’s death, Washington was filled with rumors of the scenes Mrs. Lincoln was making within the White House. She terrified onlookers with her expressions of pain.

Later, in a tell-all book about the days after the assassination, Mary’s servant, dressmaker, and confidante Elizabeth Hobbs Keckley recalled “the wails of a broken heart, the unearthly shrieks, the terrible convulsions” of the bereft widow. Though those reactions might seem appropriate for a woman who witnessed her husband’s traumatic assassination at close range, they were seen as indicative of an unladylike craving for attention at the time.

From the Wikipedia page of Fannie Lou Hamer:

Fannie Lou Hamer
Hamer traveled around the country speaking at various colleges, universities, and institutions. She was not rich, as confirmed by her clothing and vernacular. Moreover, Hamer was a short and stocky poor black woman with a deep southern accent, which gave rise to ridicule in the minds of many in her audiences. Although she often gave speeches, she was often patronized by both black and white people because she was not formally educated. For instance, activists like Roy Wilkins said Hamer was "ignorant", and President Lyndon B. Johnson looked down on her. When Hamer was being considered to speak as a delegate at the 1964 Democratic National Convention, Hubert Humphrey said, "The President will not allow that illiterate woman to speak from the floor of the convention."In 1964, Hamer received an honorary degree from Tougaloo College, much to the dismay of a group of black intellectuals who thought she was undeserving of such an honor because she was "unlettered" On the other hand, Hamer had supporters like Ella Baker, Bob Moses, Charles McLaurin, and Malcolm X who believed in her story and in her ability to speak. These supporters and others like them believed that despite Hamer's illiteracy, "People who have struggled to support themselves and large families, people who have survived in Georgia and Alabama and Mississippi, have learned some things we need to know." Hamer was known to evoke strong emotions in listeners to her speeches indicative of her "telling it like it is" oratorical style.

From britannica.com, Martina Navratilova:

From 1975 Martina Navratilova was consistently one of the top five women tennis players. She made her first claim to the number-one position in 1978, after winning the Virginia Slims championship and the Wimbledon women’s singles final. In 1979 she again won the Wimbledon women’s singles as well as the women’s doubles and was ranked the undisputed top player.

In 1982 Navratilova won 90 of 93 matches, including 41 consecutive matches, and 15 tournaments, notably the Wimbledon women’s singles and the French Open women’s singles. The following year she won 86 of 87 matches, the U.S. Open women’s singles, the Wimbledon women’s singles, and the Australian Open women’s singles. Beginning with the 1983 Wimbledon title, she won six consecutive Grand Slam women’s singles titles. The 1980s also marked the height of her friendly rivalry with Chris Evert. Navratilova pitted her serve-and-volley game against Evert’s baseline style in 80 matches, winning 43 of them. In 1986 at Filderstadt, West Germany, she became the second player in modern tennis to win 1,000 matches.

By 1990 Navratilova had won the women’s singles championships of the French Open twice (1982, 1984), the Australian Open three times (1981, 1983, 1985), the U.S. Open four times (1983, 1984, 1986, 1987), and Wimbledon a record nine times (1978, 1979, 1982–87, 1990). In 1987, along with her singles championship, she won both the women’s doubles and the mixed doubles to become the first triple-crown champion at the U.S. Open since 1970. On winning her 158th title in 1992 in Chicago, Navratilova had accumulated more championships than any other player, male or female, in the history of tennis. She retired from singles play after the 1994 season, having won 167 titles in all.

From a New Yorker article, Shirley Jackson:

Here’s how not to be taken seriously as a woman writer: Use demons and ghosts and other gothic paraphernalia in your fiction. Describe yourself publicly as “a practicing amateur witch” and boast about the hexes you have placed on prominent publishers. Contribute comic essays to women’s magazines about your hectic life as a housewife and mother.

Shirley Jackson did all of these things, and, during her lifetime, was largely dismissed as a talented purveyor of high-toned horror stories—“Virginia Werewoolf,” as one critic put it. For most of the fifty-one years since her death, that reputation has stuck. Today, “The Lottery,” her story of ritual human sacrifice in a New England village, has become a staple of eighth-grade reading lists, and her novel “The Haunting of Hill House” (1959) is often mentioned as one of the best ghost stories of all time. But most of her substantial body of work—including her masterpiece, the beautifully weird novel “We Have Always Lived in the Castle” (1962)—is not widely read. 

In a new, meticulously researched biography, “A Rather Haunted Life,” Ruth Franklin sets out to rescue Jackson from the sexists and the genre snobs who have consigned her to a dungeon of kooky, spooky middlebrow-ness. Franklin’s aim is to establish Jackson as both a major figure in the American Gothic tradition and a significant, proto-feminist chronicler of mid-twentieth-century women’s lives. In contrast to Jackson’s first biographer, Judy Oppenheimer, whose 1988 book, “Private Demons,” somewhat played up Jackson’s alleged occult powers, Franklin argues that Jackson’s sorceress persona was mostly shtick: a fun way to tease interviewers and to sell books. Jackson was interested in witchcraft, she writes, less as a “practical method for influencing the world” than as “a way of embracing and channeling female power at a time when women in America often had little control over their lives.” Similarly, Jackson used supernatural elements in her work not to deliver cheap thrills but, in the manner of Poe or James, “to plumb the depths of the human condition,” or, more particularly, to explore the “psychic damage to which women are especially prone.”


02 February 2022

Delighting in Woody's Last (At Long Last) Rifkin's Festival


Two years late Woody Allen’s newest film, Rifkin’s Festival has finally arrived in U.S. cinemas. It has long since appeared in Europe and Hong Kong. 

I was utterly enchanted by it; for me it's his best film since Blue Jasmine and his best comedy since Midnight in Paris. It recalls some of the great auteur’s early work with a main character, Mort Rifkin (Wallace Shawn) struggling with love (his marriage is, in his own words, fraying) and eternal questions about the meaning of existence. Mort is a cinephile who in fact has taught classes on cinema. Rifkin’s Festival is rife with nods to great films of yore: The Seventh Seal, Citizen Kane, Breathless, Jules et Jim, Persona, The Exterminating Angel, 8 1/2 and Wild Strawberries.


Our hero is in the gorgeous city of San Sebastian on the northwest coast of Spain (I wanna go there I wanna go there I wanna go there….) for a film festival. His wife (Gina Gershon) is a publicist for several actors and directors there, most notably a renewed French director, Philippe (Louis Garrel) with whom she is clearly smitten.


While his wife and Philippe are off being cozy with one another, Mort explores the city. After experiencing chest pains, he is referred to a Doctor Rojas (Elena Anaya) who turns out to be a lovely woman. She is in a difficult marriage of her own. Mort falls for the doctor and makes excuses to see her again. They become fast friends.


The plot takes no surprising turns but the manner in which it resolves itself is endlessly entertaining, including Mort’s dreams and visions in which he or those around him are depicted in scenes reminiscent of some of the great films already here mentioned.


Rifkin’s Festival had the wonderful effect of making me want to re-visit many films, it also stimulated me to want to further pursue my art. That I also had cause to continue pondering life’s great question was yet another bonus. Woody Allen has long been the master of making us laugh and think at the same time. That he is in well-worn territory here is no drawback. It is like visiting an old friend and hearing a different version of a familiar much-loved story.


Woody's work, like that of many, has been stalled by the pandemic but not stopped in its tracks. He has another book coming out soon, this one a collection of New Yorker essays and he has completed writing a play. He hopes to start filming his next picture in France this Summer or Fall, pandemic permitting.


There was a lovely article about Woody from Wallace Shawn that appeared on The Wrap in November that I only recently became aware of. Also, Woody was film critic Leonard Maltin’s guest on his most recent podcast. I recommend both the article and the podcast.


Speaking of Woody, last weekend I once again watched Radio Days (1987) which I rank among his best works. What a beautiful love letter to that bygone age when Radio was king. There are so many wonderful moments in the film that it’s impossible to believe that it’s running time is under ninety minutes. It’s like a collection of wonderful short stories.


By the way, both of Woody’s daughters worked on the production of Rifkin’s Festival. Bechet is an artist whose interests do not, apparently, lie in films, but Woody reports that Manzie wants to get involved in film production, perhaps as an assistant director. 


Woody’s autobiography, Apropos of Nothing is now in paperback. It ranks among the best celebrity bios I’ve ever read and certainly the funniest.


At eighty-six the living legend shows no signs of slowing down. How lucky for his legions of fans.