The Blogger Writes About Blogging and Books and Facts, It's Actually Kind of Interesting

I needed a photo so why not this one of Dua Lipa?

It’s been a week since my last post so I’m naturally feeling pressure to put something out today. If you think about it — and I don’t know why anyone would — it’s really rather silly. Not “really rather” silly so much as “just plain” silly. The fact of the matter is that virtually no one on this planet — and there are billions of us — reads this thing. I barely do and I’m the goddamned author. I’ve never made any effort to get readers. That’s not my thing. But anyway it’s odd that I feel this obligation to keep the damn blog going. It’s sixteen plus years old. This will be post number 1,593. Good lord that’s a lot of words. Many of them have been repeated such as “the.” I use “the” quite frequently. “And” is another one that I keep falling back on. On the other hand this is my first ever use of rhododendron on the blog. I didn’t even type it. I had to find the word on a search engine (guess which) then copy and paste it. I couldn’t be bothered learning how to spell it. Honestly am I ever going to use rhododendron again? Well maybe. But I wouldn’t bet on it. I don’t bet on anything anymore. I used to. It’s a good way to lose money. I’ve got enough to feel depressed about without adding, lost money because a three showed up instead of a king. Betting on the outcome of a sports event is nerve-wracking. So screw ever doing that again. One bet I cheerily made once was whether Jefferson City is the capital of Missouri (it is). I bet two co-workers lunch that it was. That’s what’s called a sure thing. If you wanna bet me on something that is an empirically verifiable fact that I happen to know, you’re on. 

Facts are different than they used to be. Before the internet there was one helluva lot of guesswork. What was that movie he was in a few years ago, the one about the space robot that befriends a flower? You and another person could go crazy trying to remember the name of that fucking movie. Not any more. Thank you IMDb, among other resources. No extended arguments or speculations about the number of kilometers in a mile. No wondering how long it would take to drive to Topeka. No trying to remember what year the Franco Prussian War started. (Hint: it was also called The War of 1870.) Facts are at your fingertips. Interestingly that doesn’t stop people from making up their own facts or ignoring real ones. There’s even this whiny fat felon running for president who ignores real facts and uses imaginary ones. People are dumb enough to buy what he’s selling. (I will not get started on politics, not today.)

I’m narrowing in on 500 words, is that going to be good enough to keep the wolves at bay? Seems kind of minimal especially on a morning when I’m on kind of a roll.

I roll on….

I’ve read some excellent books recently. Especially right now. I’m about 200 pages into Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead (just out in paperback!). Absolutely brilliant and I do believed destined to be one of my all-time favorites. I also recently read James M. Cain’s Mildred Pierce. You’re probably familiar with the film from 1945 starring Joan Crawford as the titular character. Or the mini-series from a few years back with Kate Winslet in the lead. Probably both. I also greatly enjoyed a book called The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach. And I liked The Sweet Hereafter by Russell Banks. Love the film of the same name. In the non-fiction category I recommend Timothy Egan’s A Fever in the Heartland. It reads like a novel.

Our house is becoming overwhelmed by books. This despite the fact that I’m constantly getting rid of them. But I buy more than I trade in. I’m a proud bibliophile. I'm not altogether sure why I keep books around once I've read them. Other than the fact I might read them again. There aren't too many books I've read multiple times. There are so many others to explore. You travel all over the world in books. In time. In geography. Into different minds, different circumstances, different perspectives. There are some people who don't read books and I truly don't understand them.

I hate to end this here — you’ve been a terrific audience — but I have the first draft of a novel to work on and a trip to the gym to make and various errands and well, you know how it goes.

Cheers.

The Author Gives Employment News and Then Discusses a Few Movies and TV Shows

Jessie Buckley and Olivia Coleman in Wicked Little Letters

It’s a wonderful feeling to be offered a job. To be wanted. Valued. Appreciated. I enjoyed that feeling yesterday when I was hired by Kaplan in Berkeley, an English language school where I can ply my trade as a teacher. I was interviewed and observed giving a twenty-minute demo lesson for fifteen students. Suffice to say it went well.

I’d been down in the dumps for months about not being gainfully employed on a regular basis since April. I’d left LSI in Berkeley last December as the school was falling apart for EF in San Francisco a steady, stable school that seemed to be thriving. EF closed its doors in June. LSI is still a going concern. (Shows what I know.) The difference? Paying SF rent versus owning the building you operate out of.

So I look forward to a regular paycheck but much more than that I look forward to doing something I’m rather good at while I’m still in peak form. I love the work. I love the interaction with students. I love helping students improve. 

In my younger days I wouldn’t have imagined that I’d still want to be working at my age. I imagined retirement as paradise. It can be. If you’ve worked long and hard at a job — especially one you never really loved — the notion of having a daily lie in and all your hours to yourself can be enticing. But why would I want to retire from something I love doing? 

Some people cannot handle retirement, it even leads to an early death. I’ve known of a couple of people who sank into despair when their working days ended and died within a year. Likely of ennui. My father initially struggled with retirement but then he found activities such as fishing, gardening, canvassing for the Democratic Party and chillin’ with his grandkids. During my brief flirtation with retirement I was delighted to fully occupy myself with writing -- a couple of novels emerged. If I had to I could handle retirement with aplomb (or a peach or an apricot). But I don’t gotta.

My starting date is still to be determined though likely shortly after Labor Day. Can’t wait.

******************************************************

I saw Sing Sing at — as they used to call them — a moving picture house last Sunday. As he did in last year’s Rustin, Colmon Domingo turns in a brilliant performance and he has quickly established himself as one of our preeminent actors. Sing Sing is the true story of the famous prison’s theater rehabilitation program. Many of the actors play themselves in what is obviously their film debuts. The blend of professional actors like Domingo and “real people” like the previous imprisoned works seamlessly. It's one of the films that is all the more effective because it’s a true story.

I also recently caught another new movie, Wicked Little Letters, on Netflix. What fun! Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley are brilliant. Miss Buckley first came to my attention as the homicidal nurse, Oraetta Mayflower, in season four of Fargo. She has emerged as an absolute treasure. Letters is delightfully funny, delightfully British and is another film that is all the better for being based on a true story. In this case an investigation into the anonymous author of numerous crudely insulting letters sent to the residents of the seaside town Littlehampton. 

Speaking of fun, I also recently re-watched The Birdcage (1996) Nichols starring Robin Williams and Nathan Lane. It’s one of those rare films that is literally laugh-out-loud funny. To be clear this means that the viewer (in this case, me) laughed loudly on several occasions during the course of the picture. I titter and chuckle a lot during comedies but to actually loudly guffaw is for me unusual. For there to be numerous instance of this is rare indeed. Most of the laughs came courtesy of Mr. Lane who was just then emerging as a star.

What else makes me laugh out loud these? Seth Myers on his show Late Night for one. I just started re-watching 30 Rock and the first two episodes provoked outbursts of empathic chuckling. Prior to thatI  had worked my way through all eleven seasons of Frasier and many of its episodes did the trick. Frasier, by the way, is great comfort viewing. It doesn’t ask a lot of you, it's not provocative but it doesn’t, shall we say, talk down to you. Great cast but my favorite is David Hyde Pierce as Niles. Perfect comic timing. More laughs are coming next week when Martin Short and Steven Martin return in the newest season of Only Murders in the Building. What joy.

It's Time Once Again For....Movies I've Watched Lately A Few of Which I Liked Greatly

Cary Grant and Leslie Caron in Father Goose

Father Goose (1958) Nelson. I recorded this on TCM with some trepidation. I might have seen this when I was a kid but I remembered nothing about it other than it starred Cary Grant and Leslie Caron, was set during World War II on a tropical island. Would this be another of those dumb comedies from the early Sixties that were barely funny then a dull as corduroy now? Nope. What a delight! This was Grant’s penultimate film in perhaps Hollywood's most storied film career. He turned mediocre films into good ones and good ones into great ones and great ones into classics. Father Goose is no classic but by the grace of Grant it is a thoroughly entertaining one hundred and fifty-eight minutes of cinema. It’s so much fun to see the suave and debonair Grant (the man knew how to wear a suit) playing a gruff, unshaven, sloppy beach bum turned hero. Grant plays a former history professor who wants to wile away his life on his boat but the war has gotten in the way and he’s enlisted to be an observer for the army. He does this reluctantly and even more reluctantly he rescues a woman (Caron) and the seven girls she’s in charge of. The rest is predicable such as the two principals bickering constantly then falling in love. Nonetheless it’s great fun. Everything from script to supporting characters to editing is fine, but Grant is magnificent.

Didi (2024) Wang. In the theaters now. Set and filmed in Fremont, California, it is the story of fourteen-year old Taiwanese-American lad struggling with adolescence, his family, his friends and romance. It’s a fraught age for most. Sometimes “being ethnic” complicates matters. You’re straddling being a typical American boy and being a proud member of your distinct immigrant group. A different culture and a different language are at home. You walk out the door and your like apple pie. I grew up Finnish, American and Finnish-American (yes, they’re three distinct things). I could also relate to the title character because his family was not perfectly functional, adding another layer of complication to a life. Didi is not the first film to take on a young teen’s coming of age story but it is one of the better iterations of the genre. It’s honest story-telling. Young Isaac Wang — fifteen during filming — is a budding talent who, like an experienced thespian, does  a lot of acting with his eyes which are wonderfully expressive. Often raw and uncomfortable complete with drugs, profanity and scatological references aplenty. It’s set in the summer of 2008 so social media adds another element to the young man’s story. An excellent new film.

The Last Picture Show (1971) Bogdanovich. My top 100 films list is fluid. As evidence I recently moved this masterpiece from Peter Bogdanovich into the number four spot. There’s not a false note in it. There is no better telling of small town America. It is a riveting examination of the quiet lives of desperation that so many people live, have lived, will live. There are few escapes from the drudgery, the pain, the emptiness of the small rural town that supposedly composes the heartland and the values of “real Americans.” Out of high school you can get married. That’s something to do, that’s taking a kind of control over your life. That’s adding company to your misery. That the marriage has little chance of true happiness, that it’s too early, that it’s ill-conceived is not understood. You can join the military. It’s a way to escape. You’re paid, fed, housed, perhaps taught a trade or set up for college or perhaps you lose a body part or are traumatized or pay the “ultimate sacrifice.” If you’re bold you can go off to college. And maybe you won’t come back. The Last Picture show is a snapshot of a dying town. It focuses on a group of teens graduating from high school. But we meet other members of the community. They lie, they cheat, the have affairs, but they also offer wisdom and solace and protection for the young, if not for one another. Brilliant performances highlight the film including Oscar winning turns by Ben Johnson and Cloris Leachman. The star-studded cast also includes Cybill Shepard, Jeff Bridges, Timothy Bottom, Sam Bottoms, Ellen Burstyn, Club Galager and Eileen Brennan.

From The Searchers

The Searchers (1956) Ford. Another film in my top ten. John Ford’s best which is saying something in itself. As exquisitely shot as any picture ever made. Ford’s mastery as a director was never more evident. The framing of shots, notably the opening and closing of the film, are masterful. You can't tell a good story on film without someone who knows where and how to point the camera. This often entails both a great director and cinema photographer like the duo of Ingmar Bergman and Sven Nykvist or Orson Welles and Gregg Toland or Woody Allen and Gordon Willis or John Ford and Winton C. Hoch. The Searchers is more than just great film to look at. The odious John Wayne was at his best as the racist Ethan Edwards who along with his not nephew Martin (Jeffrey Hunter) pursues the kidnapped young girl Debbie (Natalie Wood). It’s a powerful story with solid performances all around and it’s one helluva fine movie to look at.

Double Wedding (1937) Thorpe. It’s easy to make a silly movie. It’s especially easy to make a silly movie that’s also just plain stupid. But making a silly movie that’s genuinely funny is a tough ask. Double Wedding manages to pull of this rare feat. Of course having William Powell and Myrna Loy — the best man/woman screen pairing from Hollywood’s Golden Age, or any age for that matter — as your stars makes the task a lot easier. Like Grant in Father Goose, Powell is playing against type. We’re once again used to a suave and sophisticated performance — with heavy dashes of wit. But here Powell as an artist and bohemian who lives in a trailer. He’s fine in the role, thank you. Loy is sterner and more serious than usual and it’s no surprise that Powell’s character pulls her out of her shell.  The plot takes twists and turns yet manages to be predictable and yet oads of fun. 

A Place in the Sun (1951) Stevens. Meh. I suppose in 1951 when it was released and for a decade or so after A Place in the Sun was seen as an important message picture (there were a lot of those in the Fifties and most didn’t age well). Montgomery Clift, the delicious Elizabeth Taylor and Shelly Winters are the stars and all turn in admirable performances. Raymond Burr — pre Perry Mason — is over the top as the prosecutor. I’d imagine most people know this story of an ambitious young man who gets his break and starts to climb the social ladder. He climbs away from the nice girl he was with (Winters) and finds a beautiful young  socialite (Taylor) that any man would salivate over. Problem is girl number one is pregnant. Is murder afoot? There’s a bit of drama to the story but the ending is a massive letdown in too many ways to recount especially as it doing so would contain major spoilers. Some people still extoll the film but I can’t imagine why. It's point --- whatever it was -- is lost on me.

Sexual Lessons From the Revolutions, The Sarah Levin Affair

The following story is set during the Third World Liberation Front Strike at U.C. Berkeley in early 1969. It was in the original draft of my as yet unpublished novel, The Blood of Love.

We were taking a five-minute break during a meeting of the White Allies of the Third World Liberation Front at Sarah’s house. It was in the early days of the strike. I barely knew Sarah. She’d always seemed overly-serious to me, rarely smiling, impatient with side chatter or quips. Sarah had long dark frizzy hair that was evidently immune to brushes. She wore glasses with huge rims, no make up, frumpy dresses or baggy jeans. But she was not unattractive. There was an earthiness to her, she had big brown eyes and a pleasant welcoming face — on those rare occasions when she smiled. I’d always considered her the ideal activist: well-informed, zealously dedicated and intelligent. Beyond that I’d given her little thought, so was surprised when she strode over to me and whispered in my ear, “after the meeting breaks up would you care to stick around and talk?”

Why the hell would she want to have a one-on-one conversation with me? Though I was active in the strike, I didn’t have a significant role and rarely spoke in meetings. “I’ll miss my ride home,” I told her. Sarah lived in central Berkeley a healthy walk from my house. 

“Don’t worry about it, I have a car.” 

She wanted to talk to me enough to give me a ride home after? Okay, I said, still baffled.

Sixty minutes later everyone was leaving and Sarah’s housemates were preparing for bed. My friend, Cyrus Hart, who had been my ride over, asked if I was ready to go. “I’m sticking around for a bit,” I said. Cyrus looked as confused as I felt.

Once everyone was gone, Sarah sat down next to me on her lumpy sofa. 

“So what did you want to talk to me about, Sarah?”

“Nothing serious,” she said and for the first time since I’d known her, she smiled broadly.

“Oh?” My confusion doubled.

“Look, let me be straight with you, I thought you could spend the night.”

“Me?” A dumb question. But I was in an advanced state of befuddlement.

“Do you have a lover, David?”

“Not exactly, no. I have a girl who’s back in Minnesota —”

“I don’t either. Too busy.”

“So…you want me, you want us to —”

“I thought we could try it. No commitments. Just give each other pleasure.”

I hadn’t been with anyone since Jada, who was different from Sarah in too many ways to count. Since that bastard Ian had dumped Cordelia — thank God — I no longer felt compelled to have compensatory sex. But it had been awhile — one month and eleven days — since my last fuck.

“Well? Did I freak you out? Are you thinking about it or what?”

I looked at Sarah. She took off her glasses. Goodness, without them on on she was pretty. One part of my anatomy was ready to take Sarah up on her offer.

“I’m on the pill, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I was silent.

“Okay, well, if you’re not into it, that’s cool I — ”

“No, no, that’s not it. You took me by surprise. Can I ask you, first, why me?”

“Ahh, good question. Well, David, you’re attractive and frankly I haven't done it with a goy in a long time. Hey, maybe you’ve never done it with with a Jewess. A lot of the other men around the committee have someone or don’t turn me on.”

“I turn you on?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised. So what do you say? You’re not queer are you, which is cool if you are but — ”

“No, no, I’m —”

“Is it that you’re a virgin? Because that — ”

“No. I’m experienced.”

“Well?”

I’d warmed up to the idea and now that I was looking closely at Sarah, saw that she was attractive in an unconventional way that I wasn’t used to. So by way of answer I started kissing her. After a few seconds Sarah broke away, “I take it that’s a yes.”

The next morning while driving me home Sarah asked, “so are we cool to do this again?”

“For sure.”

“Great. I’ll let you know when.”

I had a lover again, this time one who would set the terms for our assignations as she had set the terms while we were in bed. As when she ran a meeting, Sarah was totally in charge and specific about what she wanted done. This was new to me — I enjoyed it.

Sarah was also loud during sex, while I took this as a great compliment. I worried about waking her housemates, especially if walls were thin.

A few days later Sarah was next to me on the strike line, “you want to get together tonight?”

“Sure, why not come to my place?”

That she did. Benny and Rupert were home. I invited them to join us while we smoked pot. As the four of us talked it soon became obvious that Sarah liked Benny as they were fellow Jews born into activist families.

After we repaired to my bedroom, Sarah gave me an unsolicited rundown on my housemates. “Rupert has a lot of affect to him. He’s pretentious, but also bright. Benny could be a cousin or brother to me. It sounds like we've got identical parents.”

“Maybe you want to be with Benny instead of me,” I said half-joking.

“No way. It would feel incestuous.”

“Okay, so what’s your capsule review of me?” I asked.

“Extremely intelligent and extremely cute.”

That was prompting enough for me to start kissing Sarah but she put a hand firmly on chest pushing me away.

“Not yet, young man. I’ve got a few ideas for how we’re going to approach this.”

I was intrigued.

“We’re going to strip naked then lay facing each other about an inch apart without touching while talking dirty. The first one who touches the other loses.”

“So what happens after someone ‘loses’?”

“We fuck. But you’ve got to legitimately try to restrain yourself.”

“I’m game.”

Naturally I lost, though I managed to hold out longer than I would have expected.

Sarah woke me up in the middle of the night and not only told me that we were going to make love, but exactly how. Sometimes she proposed a conventional coupling, other times she came up with something out of the back pages of the Kama Sutra (a book she had a careworn copy of by her bed). I was perfectly happy for Sarah to dictate the what’s and how’s of our love-making being constantly amazed at her innovations. Sex with Sarah was not not only enjoyable but, given its permutations, I was getting a great education that I could share with Cordelia.

I knew our relationship wouldn’t last, but I also knew I was going to thoroughly enjoy however much of it there was.

Between fucks we talked. More accurately, Sarah launched into political monologues with me asking an occasional question or offering a comment. Sarah spoke of the strike, the war, women’s liberation, the oppression of gays and anti-semitism. Usually she spoke in long breathless paragraphs. There was something calming about listening to Sarah despite her nasally voice. I was frankly not used to being in bed with such a verbose, articulate, intelligent woman. It was like I was having lectures mixed in with my love-making. I was not falling in love with Sarah but I had tremendous admiration — as well as lust — for her. I realized that we were using each other but as there were no illusions on that count it was fine. I liked have a sexual and political mentor. Sarah liked having a pupil willing and able in both departments.

During the TWLF strike I saw Sarah almost every day, either on campus or at a meeting. We never spoke, other than to arrange our next assignation, of which there were usually two to four a week.

We eventually settled on using my house as the walls were thicker and thus housemates were not disturbed by Sarah’s prodigious vocal accompaniments to our love-making.

With one exception we never did anything socially other than fornicate. The lone exception was a party at Steven’s. Sarah had asked if we could have one of our trysts. I started to say my usual, “love to” when I realized it was the night of Steven’s birthday party for Jason.

“There’s a birthday party tonight for a friend that I can’t miss it. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll have a few drinks, leave early then go back to my place.”

“This is NOT something we do as part of our arrangement,” Sarah replied as if I were violating the terms of a contract.

“The exception that makes it the rule,” I offered lightly.

Sarah looked grim as if pondering a serious issue. I thought she might be angry. Seconds went by as she remained in studied concentration.

“Surely there’s no harm in — ”

“All right. This one time. We’ll go for a couple of hours — tops.”

“Good deal,” I smiled.

Steven, Jason and several others were wearing party hats. Guests blew on noisemakers of the variety usually seen on New Year’s Eve. Along with the usual booze in the kitchen there was the biggest birthday cake I’d ever seen. In addition to saying “Happy Birthday Jason,” a large fully erect penis was drawn on it with icing. It was Jason who pointed that feature out to me, saying, “this part is for me,” as he squealed with delight.

Sarah and I walked onto the back deck where Izzy greeted us, the two knew one another. “We lived in the same dorm freshman year and had a couple of classes together,” Izzy told me. The pair started chatting in the way of old friends catching up, so I circulated the party wondering if they were comparing notes on me. The idea initially made me paranoid but then I convinced myself that they’d certainly both award me high marks.

When I re-united with Sarah she told me that Steven was also a past acquaintance. “Where did you know him from?” I asked, assuming it was a class.

“We were lovers.”

I nearly spat out my drink. I’d have been less surprised if Sarah had told me they had worked in the circus together.

“We met at a meeting of gay, lesbian and bisexual students,” she told me as if that summed up the whole affair.

“What were you doing at a meeting of gay, lesbian and bisexual students?”

“David, I fit in the third group.”

“You’re bi?”

“Please, David, bisexual and yes, I’ve enjoyed sex with women as well as men although lately — especially since I started in with you — I’ve had a preference for men.”

“But Steven, he’s —”

“There was a time when he experimented with the ladies, or at least with me.”

“My God.”

“So you learn something new every day my gentile lover.”

“But how was he, I mean did he enjoy —”

“It was clear from my experiences with Steve that his heart wasn’t in it. Oh, he tried and did a passable job, but he himself told me it simply wasn’t for him.”

“My God.”

“Let’s drop the subject.”

I did but I wondered if I should pursue it later with Steven. Maybe he’d be mortified that I knew. Then again given his willingness to discuss anything, he might be glad to talk about it. 

Later Sarah and I were on the sofa when Steven joined us.

“My dear David, please tell me that there has not been a cosmic error, inform me here and now that you have not paired off this malodorous creature.”

“Hi, Steven, nice to see you,” Sarah said.

“Hello darling, it’s been ages. Aren’t you a few centuries too old for comrade David here, not to mention a million times too earnest?”

I might as well have not been there.

“David and I are seeing one another solely for the purposes of  sex. This is our one and only ‘date.’”

“What witches brew did you concoct to lure my young friend?”

“Steven, you have not lost a whit of your charm, understandable given that you hadn’t any to lose.”

Finally I was addressed. “David, did you know Shakespeare based the witches in MacBeth on Sarah. Although he had to tone them down lest anyone believe such a creature possible.”

“Yes David and did you further know that Edvard Munch’s The Scream is a painting of someone seeing Steven naked.”

I was enjoying Sarah and Steven’s verbal jousting but suddenly felt emboldened to bring up their affair. “Sarah tells me you two were lovers.”

Steven’s head lurched backwards for one of his patented cackles. When it finished he said, “my failed experiment with heterosexuality. Suffice to say that Sarah made me even more gay. Merciful heavens, of all things we met at a gays meeting. Maybe that’s why I no longer attend them.”

“How’ve you been, Steven?” Sarah asked.

I left the two to chat for a bit while I tracked down Izzy. As much as I looked forward to whatever sexual games or gymnastics Sarah had in store for me later, I wished I were spending the night with her. But Izzy was talking to a man of about her age, in my imagination it looked a certainty that they were destined to spend the night together. I sulked off. 

When Sarah finished catching up with Steven, we left, walking to my house in silence. I had images of Sarah and Steven fumbling together in bed and other images of Izzy and I attaining incredible crescendoes of love-making. By the time we go to my place I determined to turn my focus on Sarah, I veritably drooled in anticipation of what she would have us do in bed. But much to my surprise once in my room Sarah merely undressed, got under the covers and signaled me to join her. What followed was what I described to Rupert the next morning as: Basic Love Making 101, A Review. Pretty pedestrian stuff but enjoyable nonetheless. In the aftermath I asked Sarah why she’d opted for standard fare. 

“I only wanted to be held, kissed and screwed. It felt good.”

I didn’t pursue the matter any further.

As it turned out we got together only more time, four days later. Sarah had us slow dance naked, then perform what is called a sixty-nine, the first time I’d attempted this tricky maneuver, one that I found vastly overrated. After that we made love in several different positions. I was beginning to feel like it was a bit too much, as if Sarah had us going through all manner of contortions only for the sake of it. There was something desperate and sad about such exertions. I could sense that our relationship was running out of steam.

The next time I saw her was the day the strike ended. Sarah walked up to me in the middle of Sproul Plaza, “Thank you David for the incredible sex. I enjoyed it. You’re a good lover and a real mensch. I’m sure you’ll stay active in the movement. With the strike over we’ll not be seeing each other so often, anyway it’s time.”

Oddly, I was relieved. “Thank you too, Sarah, our time together was  a lot of fun, I’ll always remember you fondly.” I gave myself full marks for a gracious exit.

Sarah looked at me as if in sympathy then kissed me on the cheek, the first public display of affection we’d shared.

As I watched her walk off campus, I had the conflicting feelings that Sarah and I could never have lasted and that she was absolutely fantastic and I wanted to bring her back home with me. But I knew the relationship lasted exactly as long as it should have.