Sexiest woman I ever dated

It was around 1985, and into 1986.  From the moment you saw her, she was HOT.  Curvaceous, really big boobs as I have always loved, tight pants...  OK, she was no lightweight, possibly weighed about as much as me, but that's fine, great really.  And we met in a Mensa Car Rally driving her Corvette.  And she took me to more than one Chargers game, where she had season tickets.  And I remember when we walked into a bar, all heads turned to look at her.  Somehow this made me very excited too.

But all the same, I fear I never felt all that comfortable with her.  After dismal experience with L in college, for example, the girl who gave me a stern scolding for touching her hand on the first date, I was rather fearful of touching women.  And asking might be worse.  A real man would know when and how, take the chance, and accept rejection gracefully.  But I was struggling with when and how.

So I can't remember how much we touched, and so so so bad (I wouldn't have made this mistake again) I didn't propose more dates...before she ultimately (and very nicely) told me she was marrying another guy, and introducing him to me...

But before that, and I hadn't been seeing her much if at all by that point anyway, because of that comfort thing.  And because we never seemed to make any progress toward anything like sex after our dates.  I felt then (this was before I dated the lady who wouldn't kiss me 100 times) that if we weren't progressing toward sex, she wasn't really interested in me, and so I was just wasting her time as well as mine.

At the end of every date, I took her back to her apartment, we certainly hugged (I believe not kissed) and that was it.  Perhaps once she invited me in, and we talked with her kids.  We also talked with her kids at some fast food place.  (Was that some kind of test?)  But we must have had 10 dates, or at least encounters, and it seemed to me we weren't getting far.  Now of course I wouldnt have given it up in a heartbeat.  I would call her every day.

True, many reasons, it would probably not have worked out.  Turned out the guy she married was from her same church, a new age (?) Christian church, or perhaps they had chosen that together.  I was agnostic/UU (now I'm atheist/UU).  So I don't know.  Funny we talked little about politics (I recall she feared Dukakis because of some murders on furlough...and I was and still am a Democrat).  So we didn't really match at all, it seems now.  But until near the end, when I was really feeling like the guy "looking in" to a world I didn't belong, it was cool to be with a hot lady.

Prostitution is Better than Love

At least in principle.  I must say, I've never hired a prostitute, and mostly for safety reasons and low expectations, I've been afraid to do so.

But every uses "prostitute" as a terrible slur.  One friend said recent "Marriage is just like Prostitution."  I could have added, and that's the good part.

Anyway, at least with prostitution, the guy can actually get sex when he wants it.  Or maybe at all as opposed to none.  With love, you're up against the natural tendency of women to want far less sex (perhaps once a month, or once a quarter, if the relationship is going well, zip otherwise, and none with most strangers of course) and men to want more (since I masturbate daily, daily sex would be fine to, but I could get by with every other day, twice a week, hell I haven't had decent sex since I was in college in the 1970's, because only a very few women out of the dozens I've dated since then (expensive dates mostly) has ever wanted to, so just about anything would be better than that, even monthly, but oh well).

By the way, many of these sexless dates were anything but first.  I dated one lady in the mid 80's about 100 times, going to jazz concerts mostly, but also wild animal parks, and a few things like that.  After all this, she would not let me kiss her on the head.  We hugged, and that was as far as she would go.

So it went with dates both singular and highly multiple, mostly.  Out of several hundred dates, only one or two was a stinker where we didn't get along.  In most cases, we were on the best of terms, and getting fairly personal (I wouln't think so by my current standards, but I was in my 20's then after all).  If I didn't continue, it was because I felt I was just being treated nicely out of compassion, the date didn't really care for me that much, or probably wouldn't be compatible in some important way(s).   But nothing like sex, as much as I might have wanted it (yes, still my #1 hope and dream in life, I hope to have really good sex, better than the still crappy sex I had in the 1970's because of greater knowledge and compassion, someday, maybe I might even sex that would be more satisfying than masturbation, I still hope that's possible, though I haven't seen it yet, no sex I've had has been beyond level 2 and some masturbation has been 9 with average about 6).

There's a lot of tension here too, even with guys who really do it.  I once spoke to a pretty lady who said sex once a month was good for her, but her guy (and she usually had one or two serious guys) would have to be very nice, bring flowers, buy an expensive date and dinner, and then, just maybe, she might consent, if she felt like it when they got there.  All those maybes have a tendency to turn into no's.  Getting things just right may not be all that easy.  So all night, the guy may be wondering, is this going to work?  And that leads to tension, performance anxiety, and poor sex, if there is any at all.  So much better to be with someone who you know is in it for the ride to the big orgasm, and won't decide they have to go back and walk their dog instead.

Now it would seem to me, that if Love were Love, it would work both ways.  That women would feel men's pain, rather than just expecting theirs to be continually intuited.  They would feel men's need to have sex.  They would feel the pain of someone like me, perhaps not the most forward, but who kept on stumbling through the dating process, hoping one day it would pay off.

But no, I have never felt that, or heard of it.  Women own the treasure, and the treasure speaks, perhaps once a month.

By the way, most primates have lots of sex.  Bonobos are sexual champions, doing it all the time (as I sort of think humans should be doing).  Only a few are celibate, and when they are, they are really celibate (not like us at all).  Beyond that, primates do the most wonderful thing.  They comb through each other's hair constantly, removing fleas.  That's just the thing that primates do for friends, even friendly strangers.

It's easy to see from this where and how humans have fallen from grace.  We separated, compartmentalized ourselves, cutting ourselves off from physical contact others (except in structure groups, which we are the master of, but these groups almost never involve touching and sex).

And US Americans are the worst.  And among Americans, there are New Yorkers.

The Leaf Mulcher

For assorted yard work, and reorganizing the kitchen, I offered to pay my then only half employed friend O at generous rates, $20-$40 an hour.  For one hour of actual weeding, I credited her $40.  After the first week of 3 days work, one hour or two per day, no more than 5 hours, I obtained $120 cash.  I tried to give it to my friend, but she refused to take it.  She said I didn't owe her anything.  Finally I grabbed her purse and stuffed it in.  She ended up taking it.

But shortly thereafter she called and insisted that I never ever do that again.  It made her feel too badly.  We argued about this.  It was a very heated, relationship threatening argument.  I said she was totally entitled to the money.  Finally she agreed I could keep an account of her work, not to pay me now, but possibly later.  I then devised a virtual "account" I would credit her work to, which she could draw on at any time.

Over the next couple months, she did more work, and I credited all of it to her account.  I made a point of crediting all the work, though some of it was arranging things to her preferences, and not necessarily mine.  And the way she did things was sometimes completely counter to the way I wanted them done.  But I figured, that's the way it goes, that's the way it would go in the relationship I hope for (more like dream of) and so it was fine.

I kept offering her the money but she refused, though once taking $40 cash.  Her account ultimately built up to $425.  Many times I asked her to take the money, I didn't really want to keep it.

Then one day she asked me if I would get her a leaf mulcher from her account.  I quickly agreed.  No problem, I'll go right to the store.  But then she asked me if I would use a leaf mulcher.  I said, no, I mulch leaves using my mulching mower.  I don't myself need a leaf mulcher.  But I said I'd be glad to get one for her anyway.  She then said no, if you don't need a leaf mulcher, don't get one.  I said several times I could get one for her anyway, but she ultimately insisted I not get it if I wasn't going to use it myself.  After having been through the previous argument after I stuffed money into her purse, I wasn't game to try disobedience.

So now, several months later, she brings up this episode to prove to me how false I am.  I promised money, but never delivered.  I'm "just like other men, making promises and not delivering."  I then promised to get her the money right now.  She again refused, saying "You weren't there when I needed you."  Apparently she had done her leaf mulching by other means, fuming all the time about how cheap I was, and somehow not remembering that it was she who insisted I not get the leaf mulcher.

Since this has just occurred, it's memorable, and I'm sure I've got the details right.  This is to my mind clearly a case of passive aggression.  I believe this has happened before, but I can't remember the details right now.  But when I mentioned some similar case to a psychologist friend, he said that yes, that happens a lot.

I feel like I'm a very generous person.  I've donated tens of thousands of dollars to various charitable and political organizations.  Every year I give undirected money to United Way, even though it does nothing special for me and I wouldn't agree with many of the groups funded.  Just this year I donated a new garage door to my next door neighbor, and not the cheapest one, and just today I gave him an extra $60 loan for gas.

As far as my friend O, I bought her a cell phone and paid for it for a year (and resisted having her pay, but she ultimately insisted on taking it over, then somewhat coincidentally, I started getting fewer calls and our relationship started getting rocky as it has continued this year).  I got her two seasons worth of tickets to the symphony.  And perhaps not entirely related, but at least partly, I've spent $50,000 on improving my house in preparation for her to move over.

But I'm only mentioning these things as context.  It's not that I feel owed anything.  I took her to the symphony because I liked having her with me.  And I gave her a cell phone because I loved getting those calls.  However, whenever I try to mention context like this to her, she gets very angry.  She did in fact refuse to have me buy her symphony tickets for the first two seasons.  She got her own cheap seat up in the balcony.  She insisted she liked that better.  I had to argue for two years until she would accept my stage front seats.

What I want is not to have someone feel they owe me something.  What I want is just a little respect.  I freely spend money for other people.  I try to help.  Those are the kind of things I'd just like to get a little respect for.

But you don't want sex, I was told

Now this was incredible.  Friend saying that I don't want sex, that I'm good with just masturbation.

I had to say, there's nothing in the world I don't want more than good sex.  But I've been at my wits end just to establish a sexual relationship (which did not happen with the vast majority of women I dated, though I would have wanted sex on day one it would be a progression through hugging, touching, and kissing that might take months if it occurred at all), and keep it from falling apart, and tilt it toward good sex.  Recently, I haven't had something that even might have led to that outcome (see The Pause) for six months maybe.  And this is The Love of My Life.

So meanwhile, what's a guy gonna do?  Torture his libido?  Save it up?  Saving doesn't work.  Lack of any kind of stimulation first leads to intense male-anoia, and then to increasing dysfunction.  I credit regular masturbation (for lack of better alternative) to keeping my sexual function alive to 57, better than most guys at 30 (except, perhaps, quantity of semen).

So actually, to keep myself ready for my friend, should we ever actually get to the point of having good long sex, I must masturbate.

The Pause that Ends it All

To me, it seems unfair and ridiculous.  All the recent sex I've had, has ended far short of my getting anything like an orgasm.  In many cases, I've barely just gotten partially erect, not fully hard on, which might take further time and stimulation.

But then I pause for a few seconds, which is only natural for a number of reasons, my partner has taken it as an "that my thing for now signal" and rolls off me and starts getting ready to leave.

Sometimes, she has had some kind of orgasm herself first.  (Something I though was difficult for most women to achieve.  I thought the problem with most heterosex was men getting off quick, and women barely getting started, and often not even getting orgasms because men got off to quickly.  But it seems two women I've known of Catholic upbringing have gotten orgasms very quickly, then they want to leave.  I had further come to believe that women were fine with multiple orgasms, but that doesn't seem to have been the case with these women.  In other words, I fear the church has programmed them not to enjoy long leisurely sex.  Sex is job for procreation, building up the congregation, not for people to enjoy much or use as a means of getting to know one another better through long lasting sessions--which I believe is the natural way.  Of course, these women would disagree that this was their intent.  They might say they love sex.  They just have a particular expectation about how it should be.  In particular, that men's pushing should continue until it's over, then it's over, and it's over quickly.)

My approach to masturbation, anyway, since I haven't been able to get sex good enough for me to orgasm for decades, is lengthy.  I spend at least an hour to get to the point of orgasm.  Sometimes it takes two hours.  Once it took 6 hours, but more often I give up after an hour or two.

And needless to say, it isn't all high intensity (though sometimes, it nearly all is).  Sometimes there are fumbles, where I think of something fearful for a second then I lose it.  It then may take just a few seconds, or as long as fifteen minutes, to get started again (or it might derail the whole thing...but that's rare).

Fearful thoughts are probably the most common cause of gaps.  But also there can be limits of physical endurance, and other minor physical pains, which almost always are quickly recoverable.

But it seems many women want to impose a no-gaps standard.  In order to satisfy such a requirement, some of Ron Hubbard's treatments might be necessary.  Perhaps this is why they were so popular in Hollywood, to enable a vision of sex without gaps.

More commentary about this incredible series of articles about how the 60's folk rock was manufactured..

I always liked For What It's Worth for the weird sounds in the opening and the memories they bring back of my childhood.  Ever since I've heard the song from my own collection...which has only been a decade or so, it's struck me as a weird protest song.  I had the feeling that it was abhoring the protesting, saying essentially don't be a crackpot conspiratorialist, don't be paranoid, trust the man.

In fact as the author deconstructs, it's not about the war, it's about a bar closing, and Stills isn't necessarily, or even at all, siding with the protestors.  Stills himself is an authoritarian person, strong law-and-order tendencies, and he didn't like anti-war protestors or hippies.

Despite his intention to make For What It's Worth into a anti-protest song, it got widely misinterpreted (perhaps deliberately) as a real protest song, something that Stills himself didn't like, so he insisted "no more protest songs" from the Buffalo Springfield.  So that was about the only memorable song they made.

The same is basically about all the rock, mostly folk rock and country rock, that came from Laurel Canyon in the 1960's.  I'm impressed by the catalog, just about every 60's group I can think of, save a few.  I had always thought Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young to be from New York State (because of Woodstock) and Buffalo Springfield and most of the others to be from the Bay Area.

And there they were, less than 10 miles from where I was growing up.  Though, actually, I didn't know a thing about rock until my friend F introduced me to the Beatles, which had to have been in mid 1968. And then, that was about all I knew.  Neither my mother nor sister had any interest in rock music, or any popular music except for theater and movie music.

It was only sometime in 1971 that I learned of another great musician through a new high school friend.  And that was Elton John.

OK, sometime perhaps as early as 1970 or so, my friend T prominently displayed his fanship of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.  And then Carole King.  I somewhat liked Carole King.  But the soft rock sound (as I referred to that genre) generally didn't appeal to me much.  I only learned to like T's Cat Stevens when it became an audiophile recording in the late 1970's.  My my favorite was The Beatles then, and shortly thereafter Emerson, Lake, and Palmer and then Jethro Tull.  Yes, I did prefer British rock all the way through the 1970's and probably today, when my favorite is still 1970's Pink Floyd.   I got an Eno album early in the day, only now filling in my collection.

I knew LA had a lot of musicians.  I thought they mostly lived in Studio City.  I never thought that music and movie stars lived in Laurel Canyon.  It had a kind of folksy quality, back woods, as if one had gone to Temecula.  I figured music and movie stars to live in Beverly Hills and Bel Air.  By the early 1970's I thought that some far out musicians lived in Topanga Canyon, but I just never figured that Laurel Canyon had some special affinity for musicians (like almost all the west coast stars of the 60's and 70's).

I was so out of it, I figured Mama Cass was a black jazz singer, fat and on in years, and I believed the story about choking on a sandwich (so much I feared it happening to me...which is not a bad thing to avoid actually).  The truth being she was the amazing vocalist behind Monday, Monday (yes I did have that song filed in my brain, having heard it a million times) and a few other top hits.  It was downhill for the Mamas and the Papas after their first album, but with 100,000,000 albums sold, geez.  Cass, anyway, had some special talent, but the real win that big was through the marketing, etc., with radio stations and all media pumping the new product, specially designed to appeal to the establishment by focusing on the personal and avoiding the political...in the midst of the most politicized generation ever since.  Perhaps Cass wasn't going to be sticking to that line as closely.

To think of it, I could have been hanging at her house, only 10 miles away, when I got my first car in 1972.  She would still have two years to go, and maybe I could help prevent her heart attack (which btw is very suspicious, one can easily believe she knew too much about too many things...and had now all of a sudden become independent).

I always figured Lennon's murder to have a political motivation.  Lennon had not been that political in the actual music of The Beatles--which has universal generational appeal.  Much like the manufactured rock from LA the focus is almost entirely on the personal, and decidedly not the political.

Above all Lennon a rock enterpreneur, and then a musical genius.  Such people have less interest in politics generally, and it would hurt sales, if for no other reason than radio play would be avoided, distribution would be limited, etc.  If it's not what the corporate system wants, introduce yourself to the street corner.  But Lennon himself had been through a lot, and did have some have some political edge, if more in the public imagination than the man himself.* Now the right wing was taking over, and maybe some people therein were scared what a comment from Lennon could do.

(*Lennons solo work became more and more oriented to what could actually be understood as family values, even though not the same as the political issues right wingers mean by that.  Even there, it was all about the personal.  Almost all.)

And then we have Charlie Manson, the guy who seemingly was everywhere.  He had been to the big party houses, knew Cass Elliot as did just about everyone.  He was recorded by Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys who fell in love with him, and the Manson Family lived in his mansion for months.  Neil Young went to a top Hollywood producer personally insisting that he sign Manson up.  But Manson got no contract.  (There could even be a conspiracy angle here.  They wanted him angry.)

Had Tate ever met Manson before he came by the house months before the murder to see Melcher (who had recently moved out)?  If not (and I'd have to finish the whole series to know, or perhaps read it over, or perhaps he doesn't even know) then almost certainly she knew of Manson, the family, his lousy outcome with the record companies.

Now she had herself been through the star making machinery (or in her case, merely polishing, as she was already beautiful since birth and incredibly talented), with agent Ransohoff who got her started in guest slots on The Beverly Hillbillies (she's the hottest one on the show, btw, truly incredible performance in the few seconds she has on Jethro's First Love, for example, I fell in love when I saw that the first time in the 1960's and ever since), but also worked on her with training for diction and body building--that's what it says in her Playboy pictorial of 1967 (and I'm sure I've seen this issue before, it might have been the very first one I ever saw, and I had deja vous when I saw the phrase Tete a Tate in the beginning to describe the pictorial...I think I may have seen this very issue in the bathroom at F's house in 1967.  And it has a picture of Polanski who I'm sure F began consciously or unconsciously to style himself after (until he got more into motorcycle chic after the Tate-LaBianca murders).

A typical week

N told me in phone call on Sunday night she would come by after work today (Tuesday) after 7am.  Nothing happened.  I texted at 10am Tuesday morning asking if she was still coming, and she replied around 11:30 saying she had gone home and slept and just woke up.  I asked by text if she forgot.  She texted she probably had, because of pain and being tired.  I said OK, hope she feels better, and she could still come over for massage (which had been part of the rationale for this after-work morning visit).

So in the week since she got very angry at me for not showing up to take her to store (and I did wrong on that, I was in panic over cleaning up for my party and meanwhile couldn't find my phone to tell her I wasn't able to go to store, and should have realized I could use land line instead, if nothing else I should have texted when I found phone at 2am instead of next morning...she might have still been up), she missed one 'promised' call on Saturday night, and one 'promised' visit on Tuesday morning.

These are light promises, the word 'promise' was not used, but she texted (wrt the call) or told (wrt the visit) she was going to do these things, and at the time gave no conditions (if I feel up to it, if I have time, etc...).  I was disappointed both times.  Especially wrt the call on Saturday night since I was waiting all day for it, relying on it to help break the loneliness.  And today, this morning, I usually sleep until 10am or so, so I had been thinking about it all day yesterday, arranged things so I got to bed relatively early, and was somewhat awake in bed since about 9am if not 8:30, expecting her to come by or text at any minute.

I'm not angry, I'm disappointed.  If I were to be angry, it would be mainly about the asymmetry here.  But I'm not angry.  Actually, in a way, I'm relieved that it has only taken a week after my broken promise for her to break two.  I had been saying her average is about 50%, now here are some examples.  Not to say that I was not very disappointed each time.  I was also very disappointed by every single such example going back to 2009.  Way back a long time ago, I might have gotten angry a few times, just a bit.  I may have raised my voice when I asked her about something about those.  She gets angry when I raise my voice, and it doesn't matter if I'm asking a question.  She kind of told me that I would have to live with the fact she has other people in her life, and perhaps we shouldn't see each other at all.  I insisted that we'll keep it going, and I'd accept her limitations.

I'm worried, perhaps, about the way things are going, and whether she will ultimately move in as expected and hoped, someday.  That's the nagging doubt, and doubt doesn't do my ego any good either.  But it is still good to have a friend, and we have been texting pretty well since Sunday.  She has even been responing to my texts during her working hours, which she hadn't done in many months.  So despite two new disappointments, we seem to be moving forward.

Hollywood self censorship ?

"Before the call, when they wrote it on the wall, when there wasn't even any Hollywood..."

(from Steely Dan)

Is this about the call to bring musicians in to Hollywood to begin the pop music age of the 1960's?  The call that seems to have gone out particularly to those with families highly connected to the military intelligence establishment?

Well one might only expect, that, given that the music industry in the 1960's worked like this:

1) You get selected by major producer with industry connections.
2) You make hit-ready album, with lots of technical (and musical) assistance
3) Album gets played endlessly on commercial radio stations*
4) Album gets sold at vertically integrated stores (themselves on the take)
5) You do "live" concert, with newsworthy gags to keep interest live
6) Repeat 2-5 until mysterious heart attack after contract expires

(and btw, Cass Elliot died alone of heart attack.  All other stories are diversion.  The heart attack was not highly improbable, but still cause for interest, and concern about conspiracy.)

*Commercial radio stations were a key part of the system.  There was incentive to buy them up to promote your brand.  So we had CBS and NBC and their respective recording enterprises Columbia and RCA.  Commercial radio stations depended on licensing from USA and support from corporations.  So they did not much want to bite the hands that were feeding them with anti-war, pro-labor, or that kind of political message.  Instead, the political message should be to "be oneself" and express that with premium brands.

THIS is true even without assuming some conspiracy.  AND there might have been some very active conspiracies too!  It is well known that the US military, CIA, and FBI followed the production of motion pictures carefully, and would put in a word (or more) if something was said wrong or revealed too much.  I''ve never heard this sort of thing alleged for hit music, but it seems like an easy stretch, especially when you have radio stations and such.

But it is true, given the nature of the music business, that the tendency toward self-censorship would have been very high as well, automatically.  It could have been so high that if your life history included a family with military intelligence background, they would know you had the right sort of stuff.  Then take one step further, and wonder if some of the producers didn't have some additional incentive, it wouldn't take much, or even themselves be fronts for government.

Look back at the catalog of 1960's hits, and how many deep anti-war songs are there?  There are lots of songs which play around the edges of the identity of being different, mostly.  One could interpret that different identity in various ways.  And this is especially true of what came from LA, and especially Laurel Canyon.

Updates

The offered visit on Saturday by N didn't happen.  Consistent with the pattern I've stated of about 50% of such visits not happening.  I've learned to just let these disappointments--which happen 50% of the time--just pass.  Complaints don't go well--she only suggests no more dates.  Last week I disappointed her by not calling or taking her to the store at midnight on Saturday--and she seemed to be breaking off our 4 1/2 year relationship because of it.  I admit, that might have been worse than her typical missed date, though she said later she wasn't inconvenienced, and I sent her an offer to go to the next morning when I myself finally went. And I had two pretty good excuses: lost phone and panic over getting ready for party (the latter should have been obvious when she was here suggesting I pick her up).  Anyway, a week later normalcy seems to have been re-established.

  I was texting all day, got a thank you at 5pm, but got nothing later until I texted at 12:45am asking if she had fallen asleep and got reply at 1:15 "Home, not well."

Went better on Sunday, N was replying to texts once and awhile, and I did finally get a text at 12:21am asking if I was taking calls.  (Why didn't she just call as I've asked many times?) I tried calling back but got busy signal.  So I texted at 12:23 "Sure" and got a call right away.  I described how I plan to move into Queen's Room in September, but to only remodel King's room, possibly leaving bath remodeling until later, depending on how things go.  Then I could have Queen's Room available after that.  I decidedly did not ask or say anything about her moving in...which could be interpreted as "pressure."  She has said she doesn't want to be pressured."  On the other hand, she seems to want to know about my remodeling progress...and I'm thinking that's now what I should give when she starts talking about major home remodeling projects at her house--as she was on Friday night.  She was having problem with someone at door (and I wonder if not just wind, I noticed similar thing later) and was talking about extending out entry way and adding second door.  I told her I thought that would be very expensive, but didn't say more than that.  I talked about the doorbell camera I plan to get offered to show her when I get it--and she was interested in that.  But I was also thinking--why is she thinking about a project that might cost $10,000 when, at least not long ago and for the previous 4 years, her plan was to move over here this year or next or thereabouts?  But I've decided not to ask such things directly, but instead take them as cue to talk about remodeling progress.  Of course she hasn't got the needed $10,000, or even $2000, so I don't expect to see her investing that or any significant change on her current home, and she gets to keep it when she moves over here anyway, so anything she does spend isn't lost.

For her part, on Sunday she offered to come over Tuesday or Wednesday, right after work, which would be about 7am.  I usually sleep mornings and mid-afternoon until 3pm, getting up unpredictably for breakfast and other things, and she knows that, and asked if it was OK.  I said sure, I could go back to sleep later.

It was great to get a phone call, and we did have calls on Friday night and Sunday this weekend, making for a better week ending than last week.  She texted on Monday morning and quickly replied to my reply.  Yes, things are getting better again.  Now what will happen on Tuesday morning?

Laurel Canyon 60's Music Scene

I might have grown up in Laurel Canyon in the 1960's if my sister had gotten her way in the house selection process.  Instead we bought a home in boring Woodland Hills, plain old suburbia, though with a number of newscasters and movie technicians, where I lived from 1961-1973.

The story here is incredible.  I had never realized so many famous rock musicians and bands lived and made music in Laurel Canyon, just a few miles from where I was growing up.  And the other part of the story is how very many of them had connections to the military industrial complex, most often through their parents, but also sometimes through their own activities.

Jim Morrison's father was the admiral of the fleet of ships where the phony Gulf of Tonkin incident was manufactured out of whole cloth to justify the Vietnam War.  Frank Zappa supported the war, and forbid all drugs except strong coffee (which does indeed help in listening through some of his more obscure works), and his father was a chemical warfare specialist who worked at the Edgewood Arsenal where Frank spent the first 7 years of his life.  Stephen Stills probably did actually serve in Vietnam as he has always claimed, as a CIA advisor prior to 1963.  And on and on.

Short list of bands/musicians from the canyon with military connections:

Jim Morrison (Doors)
Frank Zappa
Gail Zappa
Herb Cohen (Zappa's manager)
Papa John Phillips (Mamas and the Papas)
Stephen Stills (Buffalo Springfield; Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young)
David Crosby
Mike Nesmith (Monkees)
Cory Wells (3 Dog Night)

That's a very short list of the hundreds of musicians and bands from the canyon.  But it includes some of the most influential (Zappa) and well known (Morrison, Stills, Crosby).  Zappa was a major producer who recorded many other well known musicians also.

Actually, the article linked above which discusses these musicians is just the first of a 20 part series given here.  (Scrool down to the Laurel Canyon section.)

Promises, promises

I messed up.  I promised to take N to the store on Saturday night, and I didn't.  I didn't even call to say I couldn't (because I had lost my phone).  She called once at 11:30PM, and texted once at 11:35 (the store is open until 1am and I usually push the limit), and never sent a return text until Sunday morning.  When I found my phone at 1:40 AM I didn't want to call and wake her, so I texted when I woke up at 11:00 AM instead, and wrote that I would be going to the store at 2PM.

The promise to take N to the store had been made during a brief Saturday meeting when she brought her daughter's dog over to the back yard just before dusk.  (N walks her daughter's dog because her daughter doesn't take the time to sometimes.)  The dog was constantly jumping at my crotch and I was wearing PJ's, so I finally had to push the dog down myself.

N asked "If you go to the store tonight, could you take me with you."  That's how she put the question and I merely answered "OK, I'll call you when I am going to the store [tonight]."  (I can't remember if I said tonight, but I suppose it was implied by the question, and I understood it that way.)

That was innocent enough, but she should have known I usually don't go to the store on Saturday nights.  I usually go at the very last minute, 2:30 PM or so on Sunday, just before my Sunday party.  So I found the question a bit irritating.  Sure it was put with a nice friendly "if" but the suggestion was that if I didn't go to the store tonight, she  probably wouldn't be able to make the soup she planned to make, and then might not even want to come to the party either.  I didn't want to take that chance which was why I agreed.  Even though the living room was still in a very messy state that would require many more hours to clean up, and I usually like to do that on Saturday night so I can sleep well.  I felt pressured.  But I figured I could wing it.  If indeed I felt OK I would go.  If not, I could always call.  We could sort it out.  No need to say NO now.  And often, she cancels plans anyway, come 11PM she might even decide not to go.  This was, of course, an error on my part.  I should have either committed fully or rejected or been honest about my misgivings.  As this conversation was already a bit strained, a full "honest" explanation of my feeling--of being pressured--did not seem like the best thing to do, but either of the other two options should have been selected.  If I had to do it over again, I would strongly commit to going to the store, after all, everyone loves to have N at the party and everyone loves what she brings, when she actually comes (which is getting to be about half of the time recently) and brings something (also about half of the time).  But also, I did feel that cleaning up the living room was more important.  That's "the party" itself, "the soup" would be a nice but optional addition, which we must be able to get on without because in 10 years we've never had it before.  I considered cleaning more important than the soup.  But I didn't want to say that either.

After she left around 8 PM I had dinner then worked on the living room a bit then took a nap.  I made sure to have the cell phone with me so I wouldn't miss her call.  Around 11:15 I woke up and though to myself "I need to find the phone to see if she has called."  I had forgotten that it was still in bed, now somewhat buried under the laptop computer there.

But first, I needed a quick shower, so I did that.  That must have been when she called and texted.  So then I looked in the (still very messy) kitchen where I thought I left the phone.  Not there.  So then I looked in the even more messy living room.  Not there either.  I went back and forth in increasing panic over the next 15 minutes.  (I should have called the cell from my landline to find it.)  I then figured the phone was in either room, and I would hear N call, so I should just start cleaning and it would turn up.

So then I got into full panic cleaning mode.  I was making excellent progress but still not finding the phone.  Finally, sometime around 1:40 I went into the bedroom and moved the laptop.  There it was!  And she had left both a call and a text.

Well I know she always says I can text at any time.  But I didn't want to wake her in the case she had left the text ringer on.  I suspected this would not go well.  So I went to sleep in great trepidation.

The next day I started a series of return texts.  The first, at 11:00 AM simply saying that I planned to go to the store at 2.  I checked constantly for a reply hoping it would be all right, we could just go to the store now.

Then later when the party started I texted that she was being missed.  Then I texted about one of the guests she might like to hear.  When the party was over at 9PM, I texted that.

N has almost always denied being angry at me when she doesn't call or text as predicted the previous day, which happens about 50% of the time.  Case in point, we had a fairly nice conversation Wednesday, when she had somewhat forgiven me, and then she said "I'll call you tomorrow."  But then she did not call on Thursday or even reply to any of the 6 texts I sent.  One time in our relationship she did not call or text in more than an entire week, without explanation until afterwards.  That was in 2010 and I don't believe it has happened since then, though there was one stretch where she didn't call or visit for two weeks (but did occasionally text).  Several times when she hasn't called in a full day she has explained that she lost the phone, forgot to bring it with her, it wasn't charged, or she was being picked up by her husband and couldn't call.

So because she has almost always denied being angry at me, I didn't want to presume that she was angry at me.  It might have just been some sort of change in her schedule, as often happens nowadays, she might have been called in to work on Sunday.  But now, after a whole day of silence, I was getting very worried.  So as well as I could, I attempted to apologize and take full blame for not picking her up.  And I tried to explain that I had lost the phone.  Those were the sixth through eighth texts I sent that day.  No response.

Monday morning...still no response so I texted again.  Then she did finally call and we talked for about a minute.  It was clear she was angry.  I tried to apologize again but didn't have time to explain even what I had explained in the last few texts I sent (I had lost the phone).  We then had more 1 minute calls that night and the next day.  Finally we had a chance for a longer conversation on Wednesday.  It seemed like she had pretty much forgiven me.  I was begging for forgiveness since Sunday night.  It was only about a 15 minute call but she said she would call again on Thursday.

But then she didn't call Thursday.  OK, that's not unusual.  So I don't know where she's at again, and that's the usual situation.

On Monday or Tuesday she replied to an email about water companies using poor quality fluoride.  She replied curtly that it's the fault of scientists and economists and intellectuals who are rich enough to buy bottled water.  She of course knows I work for scientists, sometimes almost consider myself nearly a scientist.  And I read a lot of economics and eventually want to be a serious amateur economist (when I am retired from computer programming).  So this seemed as much a barb as anything, as if she was just trying to make me angry.

I replied that wouldn't it be the politicians and good old boys who run the water companies that make these decisions.  She quickly replied no, it's the scientists and economists, just like I said.  So that obviated the phone call for that night (though she had also called in the afternoon).

Then there was a little angry text exchange.  After the exchange about scientists when I got home I texted:

"Pointy headed intellectual home."

I meant that in a mostly friendly way.  I know I'm sometimes too full of myself, etc.  But she texted back:

"I did not call you that."

So then I doubled down:

"Works for scientists are read economics blogs too"

There was no response for 30 minutes, so I added:

"Don't work hard enough either.  I must be pure evil."

It is true, by intent, that I don't work hard.  I like the saying "I work hardly."  But N has always had a work fetish.  She particularly believes highly paid people, which would include scientists, don't work hard enough.  She has this idea that everyone should have to do manual labor.  I can see some value to that, but I think her strong feelings about this seem more like resentment than love or rationality.  I personally don't believe in "hard work" and instead in "working hardly", but that's another long story.  And I do know people like scientists who work plenty hard, from what I have seen.  If anyone ought to be accused of not working hard enough--it should probably be me.  OTOH, I believe I make up for that by doing many other socially productive things--so much that if I just did those, I would be carrying my weight socially.

Anway, no response until the morning, when she texted back:

"Ours has become a toxic relationship."

Oh, boy, was I up a creek.  Well I probably didn't make the situation better by texting back:

"From what I can see you are poisoning yourself with anger.  I'm just trying to be funny."

So she texted back:

"I am OK with my anger."

Well that left me no choice but to text back

"OK"

Fortunately, it got better after that.  On Wednesday in addition to promising to call she promised to come over on a weekend "as soon as I have time."  So I eagerly await future texts, calls, and visits.

Dumber?

1970 and the Tate-LaBianca Murder Trials ended the feel good era of the 1960's for sure.  At least in LA.  Otherwhere, it might have ended earlier.

1970 was another turning point for me.  Half way through my 14th year, I bid farewell to my old motorcycle driving friend G, who learned to ride alongside me, at the age of 13, in Mexico...but then his dad bought him a progression of bikes starting with a small dirt bike up to mondo street bike by age 14 1/2.  G's dad had accepted a job change from sales to research for his drug company in New York State.  I had met G in the second grade, IIRC, just before I was hospitalized for a month for pneumonia.  (I now wonder if that pneumonia case followed my first viewing of Sharon Tate on Beverly Hillbillies...and made me forget about the show for awhile...until we got color TV in 1967.)  G was one of my few friends who ever came with me down to my mother's beachfront mobile home in Mexico.  And he was the only one who came with me, alone (and not with his parents).  G and I were close.  He was functionally my solder brother, telling me much of what I still know (or mis-know, perhaps still) about sex, drugs, and rock n roll.  He was the first to introduce me to The Beatles (playing a tape while we were in our beds in Mexico).  He was incredibly precocious in those areas (probably not unrelated to having extensive connections to the movie business).  He was not doing well in school, however, ,and his dad was not happy about that.  Nevertheless, his dad provided the bikes and other things as incentives, though it seemed to lead to no improvement in G's school performance.

Now I wonder if G's move away was not unrelated to the murders.

After losing G (who I've barely known since) my new buddy became S, who became my high school and college age buddy, and still friend.  I only knew S because he was G's friend, I think, though it could also have been originally that I introduced S to G, sometime back in elementary school.  But during our junior high era, S and G became tight friends, and it was that way I became a good freind (and not just one time acquaintance) with S.  Both G and I thought S was slightly dull.  It was funny the way he would use an early calculator.  But we all had technical interests in hifi, photography, and similar things.  S had no interest in bikes, and his first car was a GTO muscle car.

Though I felt he never helped (or mis-helped?) me with girls, and never went to Mexico with me, S himself had a banner time with girls, so it seemed, throughout high school and college and after college.  (Now he has a beautiful second wife.)  Or at least he had an endless succession of hot and hotter girl friends.  Perhaps the hottest one was the one who went horse back riding with us at Spahn Ranch on August 9, 1979.  He got married (sort of arranged and insisted by his family) a year after that and moved to the largest home I had ever seen at that time.

But none of that did any good for me with women.  He never shared his women with me...the only one who I had any time with was the aforementioned one who went horse back riding.  She was Australian.  She seemed a lot smarter than S.  Actually, maybe, I coulda hada chance with her?  But the others I never even saw.  Most notably on a brief trip we had to Palm Springs together.  He claimed to have spent a missing couple hours with two ladies, and done them both.  I was in an emptly hotel room all the time.  After that, for some reason, I was so disgusted with my life (and lack of sex life) that it made me slightly insane.  Just after arriving back in LA I checked myself into a mental hospital, where I remained for 4 days.  Well however much stress my lack of success with women was, this was pure hell, and I ran away after 4 days and got myself rescued by S's family.

S and I did some crazy things together anyway.  The most productively crazy one was to fly to NYC for the Bicentennial 4th of July.  We ended up spending a month on the east cost, mainly apart.  I spent most of the time in my dream city, Manhattan, living at the YMCA.  He said he had hitched to the Hamptons...and it all sounded pretty dreamy after that.

I realized after awhile that S was indeed very smart in certain ways.  He could (and usually did) play somewhat dumber than he really was.  And indeed, I don't know anyone who had his skill at picking up women.  Being able to lie flawlessly helped.  I only wished some of his skill, or some of his women, had rubbed off on me.  Instead, what little I had seemed to be drawn to him as well.

G had always told me High School would be my winning game.  I had it all, good looks (actually much better looking than S, said G), top grades, home with swimming pool.  I did get top grades and went to a world class college.  But I never got anywhere with women in High School.  Not anything like sex, or anything close, anyway.  I had exactly one date with a girl, who I toook to a school football game, and the same girl I also took to Disneyland on the bus after graduation.  I should have taken her to the Prom but got exasperated after being turned down by 4 other girls.  In AP English, we had done all sorts of cool groupy things, but I never got a girl one-on-one from that.  And that lack of experience didn't necessarily serve me well in college either.

Filmography

Here is an incredible Sharon Tate filmography.  (corrected on August 2)

TV: 15 episodes of Beverly Hillbillies.  Man from Uncle, Mr. Ed, and Playboy after Dark.

Magazines: Nearly 100, including two issues of Playboy and Playboy after Dark.  Most of those shown are prior to August 1969.  Penthouse runs a feature in 1974.