1973 3 of 6
DIARY 3813
THURSDAY, MAY 10. Up tired so I don't exercise, and get to work at 8:45 to finish the Ratio unit P3 in only 4 hours (though it comes back on the following MONDAY to be redone), and start on R13, the unit on exponents which I want to rewrite to explain the tesseract. Out at 5:30 and home to a great John meal of cabbage soup with turkey and ham and "Polish" sausage which is just knockwurst (FORGOT that one of these nights, Monday, we have scrambled eggs and the single morel, which didn't add any taste that WE could find, and then a helping of the Hungarian goulash). John's out to something, and I'm feeling NOT like working, though I'm ACHING to get back to the diary, being SO far behind, but I JUST don't feel like working, so I go over for a self-orgy again, smoking, taking in bidis, poppers, going through ALL the pornography to select the best, and just CAN'T come up (yesterday I jerked off because I felt my balls would pop otherwise---that sort of took the edge off tonight). So I take to really pressing, squeezing the base of the cock, and RACKING up the head with Baby Magic, and I come up through sheer FRICTION, and decide to waste one on coming in a new way, and come up, go down, teeter on the brink, and finally come DETERMINED to continue with the hardness of the come, but just CAN'T, and then the string of ideas hits me that I write up while listening to various records after I cleaned up the place so that if John came in I wouldn't be embarrassed. Here are what the notes say: "The idea that the entry to the "super-orgasm" comes AFTER (Indeed, how could ANY super-x come before ANY X?) the regular orgasm, when the cock is "untouchable for pain," but the S-M people would get here FIRST, with the S taking the M BEYOND the orgasm, CONTINUING the pressure, despite the SHRIEKS of the comer, and going into SUPER-orgasm after MINUTES of the most DREADFUL tortures and writhings and faintings and coming back, and opening the possibilities of levels above THAT, and thus years of experimenting would furnish material for a BOOK. And the popcorn is popped, the come is come, and the records are on, ready to by PLAYED!" And I have popcorn and listen
DIARY 3816
FRIDAY, MAY 11. To work at 8:45 and work on the tesseract unit, leaving it finally with Sally, who seems to agree with Ron that it's too complicated for 8th graders. Leave at 12:30 to get to Lutece at 1, having worked only 24 hours this week, mainly because of the index work on Monday and Tuesday and because of Fran and Joy Bowell's visit this weekend. John left for the airport even before I left for work, and wore a jacket and clean trousers only for Lutece. They're outside already, order sherry which I don't have, and then we have appetizers: Joy, the brioche de brochet, which comes without the LARGE brioche, and without truffles in the middle; Fran, the snails, out of their shells, large and LOVELY texture, not at ALL rubbery, and a nice SAUCE taste, but it STILL tastes rather like snail shit; John, the special veal en croute, with the only truffles of the afternoon in tiny pieces, and I have the assorted patés, which also have no truffles, but the taste is still good, though the paté is even LESS in quantity, being larded with ordinary goose liver. John orders a Moulin a Vent for $10, and they spill it in dribblets on the table and don't serve us the last two inches from the second bottle, but only charge us $8 for each! Then for the meal: Joy and Fran have the Poulet Maison, which they say is good, John has the special of the day "Gateau de Foie Nantua" and I guess Nantua just means a mousse, and it's strange to taste the heavy liver-taste in a fluffy baby-shit colored mousse. I have the veal scaloppine, with GREAT cheese and a MARVELOUS crust and cauliflower, overcooked, au gratin, and LOVELY crisp home fries with an outside layer of crunchy goodness. Then for dessert John has the Succes (SUKsey, monsieur, SUKsey!) Maison, the famous "orange" thing that I never get, and it's rather like a creamsicle in the form of an icebox cake; Joy has the bombe au cassis, good, and Fran the Bavarois, which he likes, and I have the tarte au Tatin (apple), with whipped cream which goes well with its warmth, and we're out with a bill of $88 plus tip at 3:30, properly stuffed, and ready for a bus to take us up to Knoedler to see the 41 French impressionists from Pushkin and Hermitage.
DIARY 3819
SATURDAY, MAY 12. Wake at 7:30 and lay until 8, when John looks across and sees them in the kitchen already. Over for coffee and strawberries on buttered muffins (which, as I wouldn't have thought, taste perfectly OK), and we talk about the trip again, and I get over some of the brochures from Japan and India, and show them the pornographic shots from India, and then they want to go out for a walk, so we're into the car and go shopping on Atlantic Avenue (where they buy bread and various things, leaving the bread somewhere, and when John drives them BACK to see if they left the bread there, they GIVE new bread to them), looking at the olives and pipes and shop windows, buying sesame seed cookies, and then it's too late to go to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, so we drive back and John sends them off to look around, while we're inside and I begin to type and then they're back and leave for Martha Graham. I manage to get through nine pages before I just SHRINK from doing anymore, and go through agonies of indecision, finally sitting down and reading a science-fiction short story and starting "Odd John" before trying to get back, but it just doesn't WORK. Over to shower and get ready for the evening, and John's told me to drive in without leaving me the key to the garage, but I'm out at 5 and FORCE it open, hit the white car a bit under the right front fender, and get out to 59th to find traffic horrible and NO place to park. Over 59th, down 58th to 5th, and then across 57th to see all the "parking 1/2 hours to 10 pm," and I'm not about to run down every half hour, so I park at 58th and TENTH and go back in the gently starting rain to get there at 6:10, and Mike's there already making overtly gay remarks, and John's embarrassed, but it passes, and I ask for HOT beef bhoona (double-cooked curry), and Fran changes to hot brains, and the brains come out sort of pureed, which is NOT the way they're very good, and his is VERY hot, while mine is just hot, and there's a LOT of meat, too. Dessert and my lassi cools off my throat, and Mike and I walk over to get the car while I berate him, and we drive up to his place to get some grass, which we smoke in the car, and that leaves me in
DIARY 3821
SUNDAY, MAY 13. Again up at 8 to find them up, and over---I guess THIS is the time we have the breakfast of strawberries and muffins. Talk again about various things, income tax evasion and computers and security, mainly, until 11:30, when John takes them off to see Wall Street on Sunday (and gets a length of rope from the World Trade Center for his playing), and gets them to the airport in time to get back at 2:30 to get off at 3:30 for DTW and the Benesh lecture, to return at 7. I start off writing diary pages with a good will, take 2½ hours off from 1-3:30 to watch a great "Boom Town" with a marvelous square-affair with Hedy Lamarr in love with Clark Gable, who's married to Claudette Colbert, who eventually ends up with Spencer Tracy, who's loved her from the start of the film, and they end up OWNING the world of oil. Back to finish with 21 diary pages, getting from 24 days behind to only 12 days behind, which is far more livable, and after dinner I have enough energy left to type letters to Edgardo, Denis, Svein-Erik, Jean-Jacques and Claudia about the trip, and to Daisy with tickets and four other things for 10 whole letters to be mailed off tomorrow. Then over at 11 to get ready for bed, and watch "Wait until Dark" which is tantalizingly said to be on to 1 only, but it goes until 1:45, and I'm VERY tired, so tired that my eyes seem to be focusing on two different planes at the TV set, caused in part by typing with a VERY light ribbon on so many diary pages, with my head in the way of the direct light from the ceiling fixture in the study. Determine that I have to get my glasses fixed again, and I decide I DO have to call for an appointment at the dentist's before the trip, and there's again so much I have to DO. Too many diary pages and letters to EVER finish in one day, and I'm happy that I got the Broxodent back and for other things, but I have to vacuum, throw out the Times, and watch other things on TV, and Joe Farinas calls and insists that we come to dinner on Saturday, and ALL the days before the trip seem to be filling up. Called Rolf on Thursday before having sex with myself, and again on Monday to invite him to Henry's, but he's probably going to Washington. VERY tired, hoping to get SOME respite over the next week by SLEEPING a bit.
DIARY 3822
MONDAY, MAY 14. Exercise with vehemence since I'm determined to be in shape for Henry's party, not having done anything over the weekend with the Bowells making things busy, and then get my glasses adjusted, my sandals out to be resoled for a staggering $10, and letters mailed. To work at 9:15, to find that Sally doesn't like my tesseract ideas at all, and I'm more hurt than anything at the fact that I couldn't EXPLAIN it clearly enough so that she wasn't confused by it. Took it out and reworked the whole thing by 2:30, and then at 3 Barbara (Syva's out again for a couple of days with a recurrence of tonsillitis) calls me in to say that I have to do the FOUR units I've done so far (she's done only three, as has Ron) OVER because there's not enough room for the translation, and the red pencil isn't coming through for the paste-up people. VERY depressed at this, and add to that the fact that I called Rosey Sheik and she says I should come in TOMORROW at 9 am for my appointment. There's just TOO much against me today, and Barbara can see it, so she tries to cheer me up by saying that she takes criticism very badly, that she agrees it's a pity we have to coddle the inexperienced art people, but it's something we ALL have to do. Feel better for her sympathy, and get home after leaving at 5:30 to hear the GOOD news from John that his article on New Music is LIKED at the Intellectual Digest for $300, and HE sympathizes with me, and then goes out to the Elgin for a Marx Brothers double and sex. I get right down to the typing, doing about 10 pages before getting to the dishes, and then going straight through an EQUAL 21 pages, same as yesterday, on the diary, so that I'm up to FRIDAY, which is only a NORMAL amount to be BEHIND. Then have over 100 pages to put into the volume, type out the table of contents JUST as the clock gets to 11, and find that there's some other program on Channel 13 until 11:30, when John gets home and goes to bed, and "Alexander Nevsky" starts, which is surprisingly 11:35-1:25 long. It really IS only one battle, but the music IS good and the songs affecting. So VERY tired I blearily blink through the final half of the movie, and don't even have to smoke to get to sleep, surprisingly not MUCH worried about the dentist tomorrow. Could it be that I'm finally growing up, and might it be easier for FLYING, too?
DIARY 3824
TUESDAY, MAY 15. Out of bed at 7:15, feeling quite tired, and dash around exercising and washing and shaving extra closely for dear Rosey Sheik, and John even inquires why I'm leaving so early (at 8:20), and I remind him that I TOLD him I was going to the dentist's. Get engrossed in reading and don't even THINK about the dentist until I'm getting off at the station, and then the only feeling is one of elation that this particular trip is going to be so easy. But then I tell myself I might have to have X-rays, and thus won't have the REAL visit until next time, and THEN I can suffer in anticipation. Get to her office leisurely at 8:55, and I'm right into the chair, and she looks in to say that it's all FILLING back there, and grinds away for only a second with the high-speed drill---I don't even wince---and I feel a marvelous smoothness with my tongue. I point out the etching, and she admits that she can feel something, but says it's of no trouble, and looks around and says the rest of the teeth look OK, but that the gums are rather poor, and I tell her that I've been without Broxodent for a few weeks, and she says I might think about getting a Water-Pik. I might, if the teeth don't get better with the regular Broxodent care. Leave feeling good precisely BECAUSE I didn't dread the visit so much. To work at 9:45 but sign in from 9:30, and have a meeting with Lou Eigen from 10 to 2:15, stopping for a high-scoring Scrabble game (736? total score), and then Barbara demands that Ron and I get to work. Check two camera copies, redo P3 (Ratio) and R13 (Exponents) for the last time until 5:30, and get home to dinner and type the LAST SEVEN PAGES to catch me up to date with the diary, wash dishes, then vacuum the rugs and scour the tub, while John's watching TV, and he gets rather annoyed at my dusting in front of him, and for an awful moment I think he's left, but he's only caring for plants. Shower and come out to smoke, lying on his lap listlessly while the Second Generation grass puts me to sleep, and play and play, but he hardly comes up, then we get to bed, I play more, but we're both seemingly tired (and I'm sure he's saving himself for Tsi-Dun tomorrow), and we're to sleep at 11.
DIARY 3825
WEDNESDAY, MAY 16. Up and exercise for the last time before Tsi-Dun (and John gets a complaint from the woman downstairs, whom he thinks is a waitress, who gets home at 2 am and is awakened by my running in place above her bed in the "living room," and John says I should run someplace else, even in HIS living room), and work from 9:30 to 5:30, getting to P6 (angles and triangles) for a bit before RECHECKING units for retyping and FINAL re-editing against specifications, and feel that I'm AT LAST through with those first THREE units, which have taken about 12 hours each. Back to pick up my sandals at the repair shop, and though I'd been ready to chew him out [oh, I forgot, this morning I took down the address of Job Lots Trading Corp and went down to buy a new pair of binoculars, getting the "To Do" list down to 6, the lowest in ages] for charging me $10, he heads me off at the pass by saying that these are two fine pieces of leather, and then says that he re-cemented the straps, so I won't need nails, but if I ever need ANYTHING, just bring them back and he'll take care of it. So I can't afford to vent my feelings on him and be forced to take my repair jobs (which I need the next day, indeed!) somewhere else. Home and dinner and dishes, and then I mistake John saying 5 OF 8 for Arnie's being downstairs for 5 AFTER 8, and I get angry when he leaves at 8:03 without Arnie's having rung, and get down to the car to find him talking, I THOUGHT, amicably to Arnie in the car, and he asks where the pipe is, and I said I thought he didn't want it, and ran back up to get it, swimming vaguely because I'd smoked before coming down. I ask simple questions about how much MORE he's getting for the Swedish articles (I thought he'd said he was originally promised $300, he said only $150), and he SNAPS back at me, but I contain my temper, and he starts getting to the point of snapping at Arnie, who's trying to help him with his ideas of unemployment, and we get to Henry's about 8:30, having found a lovely place to park on 7th, after Arnie was perturbed that John went all the way up to 13th. In and out at 10:30 (see next page) for one of the best and shortest Tsi-Duns on record. Bed, again, tired at 11.
DIARY 3828
THURSDAY, MAY 17. Too tired to exercise, so I concentrate on getting to work, and get in about 8:55, but still sign in at 8:45. Get the unworking typist to type all the word problems for the angles unit, and get them all sorted and coordinated, and that lasts until 3, when I start on P11, a NEW unit, on addition review, and it seems, at LAST, that I'm rolling along, and the average unit is taking just over a day. I'm also talking a lot with Denise Rorhet about Bob Wilson and his Byrd Hoffman School of Byrds, and Joan calls and talks for a long time, and I'm phoning Pam Goett, and Marty phones, and both of them offer suggestions for the trip, and there's lots of non-work activity. Syva's back at last, feeling weak, and every time I seem to be goofing off Tom Aloisi comes past. And then the fellow who's in charge of marketing training has been talking to me, particularly about his connections with Creedmore and the tales he could tell from there, when he finds out that I've taken LSD in a hospital, and he seems to assume it was a mental place. Out at 6, thinking to stretch the week into a 40-hour one, getting to Mattachine at 6:15, and it might well be one of my last nights there (see next page). Home at 9:30 to see a note from John saying that he might be back at 9:45, and he gets in just a few minutes after me, saying he enjoyed "Ludwig" and is looking forward to Neuschwanstein. I pile the kitty with money, since I went to the bank this morning to get some money for the weekend and for spending, and then have dinner and do the dishes while he's over watching a cheap science-fiction film. I shower and smoke, and he has some, having gone to bed to read, and at 11 the lights go out and I lay on top of him, feeling close and comfortable, but hardly sexy. He caresses lightly, and some his light breathing shows that he's fallen asleep. I get over to my side to feel very comfortable before falling asleep, then wake at 4:30 in the morning with leg cramps again, feeling vaguely baked under the electric blanket, and have a drink and go to the john and fall back to sleep, figuring that I must be fairly well caught up with sleep if I can afford the luxury of waking up in the night.
DIARY 3830
FRIDAY, MAY 18. [So desperate for something to type, that I'll even start working on TODAY before it's finished, but also so that I can throw away the tiny slip of times for the week at ACC.] Out of bed after cuddling vaguely from 7:15, and out in time to get to work at 8:45, leaving off my sandals because one of the straps pulled out when I stooped to a bottom file drawer at Mattachine last night. End the unit on Addition Review, talk a long time to Denise again, talk to Alice inviting her to a mushroom hunt tomorrow, and start on P19, Exponents, which we'd made a DCPB unit, but which really isn't all that hard, so I MAKE it harder (though not impossible, as it was BEFORE, with literal EQUATIONS to make to find the missing exponents). Work through to 5:45, simply to MAKE it a 40-hour week, and get home at 6:15 with the sandals to find that John had started dinner and stopped it when I didn't seem to be coming. Talk about Bob Wilson, and then he's off to see Frances Alenikoff, whom I know I won't like, and I start doing things, but it's 8 pm already, and I get over to my place and get out the bidis and poppers and pornography and put on some Moody Blues, but find that the music is actually ANTI-sex, and finally come with some effort, fairly feelingly, but there's a certain edge which is gone off the whole process, and I feel that I'm REALLY getting old when, even after three days of not coming, I find it hard to get hard! Then put everything away at 9:15, after I've come, and it literally takes until 9:30. Then do the dishes and debate reading to pass the time, but decide I HAVE to get to the diary and to other letters, but NOW it's 10:40, and I obviously won't have MUCH time to devote to letters. Don't really feel like doing ANYTHING, and won't even type a FINAL page tonight as I'd felt I wanted to: this is IT. Feel that my "infinite list" will help me in finishing off my "to do" list, but it doesn't really, and I just don't FEEL like doing much, and the thought of just going to bed, saying that I feel slightly sick (which I do, and my FACE has been very warm the past two days at work, which is very overheated, anyway), but I get to THIS, and whatever else the evening will bring. Write Peter Schaeffer to 11, bed while John reads to 11:30.
DIARY 3831
SATURDAY, MAY 19. Wake at 7:15 and start cuddling lightly, and end up having sex almost like we used to, with lots of Baby Magic and me coming first and John having to finish off himself. Exercise in the living room, wash my hair, and have breakfast with strawberries and cereal before Alice arrives at 10 am and we're upstate to High Tor State Park to look for mushrooms, after stopping a few times along South Mountain Road to search in a weedy orchard and in a perfectly fungus-clean roadside forest. Meet a ranger in his car who assures that we're not blocking the gate, and we're up the hill to find a few small red and brown and white and rosy mushrooms under various dead trees. Go east at the crossing and stop at another few places, but it's getting close to 1 and John's hungry, so we climb to the top of the middle tor and I climb to the VERY top to get them around to look over the quiet south view, rather than the noisy, built-up, though rivered, north view. Alice's ricotta or Romano cheese is very good with our tuna fish, and then the brownies are a nice topper, and Alice's fresh-picked garlic greens are tasty. Down to the trail and Alice brings out her first joint, and the day becomes quite bright, and I'm content to just loaf along the path looking at whatever comes along: butterflies, rocks, flowers with a LOVELY scent that John digs up and brings back to plant in dry soil, and we're talking about travels and getting stoned and dance concerts and the trip to Europe, and I'm looking at the trees and the sun and feeling very expansive, dwelling on some of the possibilities of the stoned head: like sounds in the underbrush suddenly getting louder and louder to reveal some huge MONSTER coming closer to us, liking walking to some apotheosis just out of sight around the next corner, like bopping along the path and coming across the most marvelous stand of morels. But I start feeling listless, and begin walking automatically, thinking of my various postures and feels of the body, feeling quite sexy, too, thinking that Alice is making all sorts of advances, that John and I will brush against each other and start having sex (difficult, since John wasn't smoking
DIARY 3833
SUNDAY, MAY 20. Up AGAIN for sex in the morning, and then I exercise, feeling weak, and have lunch at noon after reading the Times and typing two diary pages to keep up to date, and then take off at 12:45 for the LaRue's in the rain, getting in about 2, and they're talking about the mushrooms we found yesterday, and I sit around for as long as I feel I must, then go out onto the porch and read "War and Peace" while looking out over the bay and the swans and the rain falling NICELY on wherever the ground has been left according to nature, but where the house and the eaves and the downspouts and the fences and walls intrude, the rain makes an unseemly rustle and rattle and erodes the ground around all the interloping objects. Inside about 5 as Paul and his wife arrive, and we have a VERY pretentious wine-tasting with two Beaujolais from 1971 and 1972, a Gamay, and a Cote du Rhone, and his vaunted tasting comes to naught as he freely admits that they all roll into one taste after only a VERY little bit of sipping from each. He's stiff and stuttery, she's sharp and harsh, and we chat before dinner when Helen shows me pictures of the places she's seen and liked from THEIR trips to Germany and Austria, and then finally we're in to eat, and John's been given something OTHER than couscous in his shopping this morning, so the grain is bulky and sticky and not as fragrant as the couscous would be, so they have no idea how the meal COULD have tasted. We sit around talking about dance and my TV appearance and politics and the university milieu (Jan suggests that (on the basis of reading the somewhat coded note from Helm) someone else is being backed for the Chairmanship of the Department of Dance at the University of Maryland, and that the seat could even be LEFT VACANT for the next year (which would save them money, too, a compelling reason), so the news is not good). We sit and talk more, rain still pouring outside, and finally we leave about 11, and I have an unnatural fear of the road, since I read that road traffic was only 10 times worse than air travel, so that SPEED FOR SPEED they're equal, though a plane carries far more PEOPLE going a fixed people-mileage than a CAR does. Home JUST before midnight, putting everything away, and immediately to bed.
DIARY 3834
MONDAY, MAY 21. In to work at 9:30 after exercising, thinking that I'll NEVER feel easy enough about level 3 to EVER go on to level 4, and work on the P19 on exponents until 11, and then start on P22 on Prime Numbers for the rest of the day until 5:30, and hear that Marge is coming back to work tomorrow, a nice bit of news. Ron was out, too, so I was alone in the office, feeling like doing NOTHING, and talk to Arnie and Marty on the phone, and REALLY want to goof off and go to the movies, but decide to go tomorrow, then there's the lunch on Wednesday, and Thursday's the last day before we go to the island, so the week is just BARELY bearable. Home to dinner and take off to the Met gala, which, since there's nothing to write about for the rest of the day, I'll start with now. Wanted to get there early to watch the crew coming in, but get to the subway only at 7:30, so zip right up to the seat to read the program, which doesn't start until 8:15. The first words from Sir Robert Helpmann were "Miss Agnes De Mille," and the first words from Miss Agnes De Mille were "Sir Robert Helpmann," so the evening was rather pretentious. Ned Rorem's "Solemn Prelude" (Just NOW got the pun, as it was in the key of SOL, too, for Hurok!) was three minutes of three trumpets, three trombones, four French horns, and one tuba, with a bit of laughter afterwards. Then Antonio Gades did "Mirabras," and for a moment, when the curtain rose on two guitarists in the corner, I though he was a guitarist who would appear in the center of the stage, but he was the flamenco dancer that Jeff said "I could recognize his profile anywhere," and he was TRULY stupendous. From 8:19 to 8:26 he held the audience in his will. Looking like Joe Namath, but cute, he was icy but sensual, stern but sensitive, feminine but entirely male, and a MARVELOUS snap of his fingers brought the house down from his sheer insouciance! Incredible volume control of the taps and the RATE of taps, he had a COMPELLING charisma. Then Jerome Hines sang "La calumnia" from Barber in front of the curtain from 8:28 to 8:32, and he was barky, too gruff, and too gloomy in tone to be good. Mary Costa then ravished me with her "Song to the Moon"
DIARY 3837
TUESDAY, MAY 22. Get in to work at 8:30 and work through till 11:30, not really doing much, since I'm talking with Marge about her trip to France and getting ready to go to the films, really eating lunch between 11:15 and 11:45, and walking down in the sunny day to the Gramercy for "McCabe and Mrs. Miller," and Arnie's hints about what to look for are well taken, and it's a GREAT flick, even to the end with him frozen in the snow and her spaced-out in the opium den and what I GUESS was a close-up of someone's eye, looking like a cloudy planet escaped from "2001." But the complete cruelty of the guy trying to be a killer by gratuitously shooting the neat fellow who treated everyone at the whore house was MOST effective: there are just so MANY in the world like him. Then "Deliverance" was a grim re-pictorialization of the novel, VERY well done, though it wasn't entirely clear that the "thing" on the side of Burt Reynolds's leg wasn't a tingler but a BONE. His acting was universally awful, but Voight did a great job, and the rape scene was most effective, and the parade of grotesques stomach-turningly effective. But these aren't good movies to see during a week when I feel somewhat depressed by America and Americanisms, and wish I could move away somewhere. Work on primes when I get back from 4 to 5:30, and get back to see Hurok after having dinner at home (see next page). Back about 11:30 and John's in bed, so I take the time to go into the next apartment and finish the last few pages of "War and Peace" II, just to FINISH it, and then I have to transcribe the notes I'd taken in the BACK of it, somewhat fewer than in volume I: "(1) Does this thought help? There are kind people (who are really ME) who will live ON after I die. No THOUGHT can battle the FACT of DEATH. (2) Don't forget "The Eye" of the pretty boy on the Lexington Avenue subway (see following page). (3) What is tedious, now, as my writing, is portentous and valuable 100 YEARS from now, to readers! (4) 5/15/73: Met Barry Gordon, NEWLY remarried after 23 years! Which goes with Arnie Mandelbaum and HIS lover breaking up after 25 years! And I finish the book at 1 am and stagger into bed, DYING for the weekend of vacation.
DIARY 3840
WEDNESDAY, MAY 23. Into work at 9:30 and work till 1, when we take off to the Shalimar because it's been raining very hard all morning and we don't feel (SALLY doesn't feel) like walking to the New Korea at 40th Street. I get a $4.85 dinner, and they all settle for the $1.85 special lunch, and then they look at my mulligatawny soup with fritters (which are AWFUL, sort of red dough with TINY bits of onion in it, hardly what I'd call vegetable fritters at ALL). And the Keema or Shami Kebab, bits of tasty meat that they all obviously want a taste of, but I ordered, so THEY can suffer. But they get vegetables with their plates of rice and food, where I just get a LARGE platter of rice and about the same quantity of shrimp that they all get. The shrimp isn't that good, but the sauces are good enough so that I spill the dahl all over and the sauce all over and at least EAT enough. Get the gulab jamam, and impress them when I say it's NOT the roshgolla, which has the rose water sauce. Talk about Marge's trip and my adventures in Nepal, and the others hardly say three words. Not the best group in the world. Back to work 2-5:30, finishing Primes at 11:45, and start P23, Interest. Home after delays on the subway, same as before, to eat and get out to "The Tooth of Crime" at 7:10, deciding not to smoke because there'd be too much time before the performance starts at 8:10. The lobby is interesting with the nude pictures of the heroes, but that's not the way they appear in the show, sadly, though Spaulding Gray DOES come through with his chrome-plated jockstrap, with pink danglies sticking down that John just can't take his eyes off, and when he walks there are views of the spaces between his balls and cock, and some of the women sitting below him roll their eyes and smile stiffly and steadfastly look in another direction when he comes close to them. This is one of the most successful "audience can move around" shows that I've seen, with the beginning somewhat stilted with the "Come around, move around here," which interrupts the play of the play, but people fall into it, and I seem to have SEEN it before, since I stand right NEXT to the spot where Crow appears for the first time,
DIARY 3842
THURSDAY, MAY 24. To work 9:45-5:30, go through a bit of absolute value until I figure I have to wait for a preceding unit, and then FINISH P33, divisibility tests, in 3 hours, even with Syva talking to me for a long time, since probably Barbara reported to her that I was uncomfortable with her not talking with me. We agree that I DO have the right idea, but she IS on my side, and WILL write a memo to Walthur to say that we're going to turn out a poorer product because we have to rush, but I've already gotten the insight that TOM ALOISI IS THE PERFECT GUY FOR HIS POSITION: he won't listen to reason, if anyone's against him, it's obvious that they're lazy, not willing to put themselves out for the company, and only trying to hold back progress, whereas he's right, willing to meet the company's commitments, and on the side of the rich and right. HOW AWFUL. Then start on Q8, polygons, until 5:30, and take OFF for the rest of the week. Counting the days left of work only BRIEFLY, but I know NOW that I have just eight days left, and that's GOOD. Then home to eat and out to "View" by Jeff Duncan, reading while waiting to get into the theater, and John's talking with everyone and his brother and I'm just feeling VERY left out. Kevin O'Meara and Paul Wilson (the chesty one from Jan Wodynski's group) start by manhandling "latecomers" like Cyndy Read and others to their seats, and then there are some clever bits, usually with John Wilson as either the leather queen, racing in not to touch Kevin's lovely body as they rip away his leather garments, but to clutch the garments themselves to his contorted face. There are cute touches of sex, but the first part is red and mean, with people going around in high heels and aprons to be women (and John AGAIN getting the awful part, liking children, and ending up with the apron and shoes and everyone laughing at him, and finally almost stoning him). And then "Games" with him starting after Paul Wilson as a leather guy, then WILSON ending up as the leather guy while John Wilson minces all too convincingly on the high heels. The movie isn't very good (and the music is NEVER any good, sadly, and John says it's too bad Jeff likes him so much), and then
DIARY 3844
FRIDAY, MAY 25. Up at 7:30 and exercise and get over for breakfast before showering, and then type two pages before I have to get out and pack, and we leave the house at 10 to get to Henry's before 10:30, and sit around while Carl fixes us tuna sandwiches since they've decided we won't have time to stop on the way. Leave at 11 with the cat and the luggage, and get to Suffolk about 12:35, and talk with the brass while the NEWEST class works with phony knives and the class we're to address is having lunch. Get into what is undoubtedly the MOST hostile class we've talked to (see next page), and even the president of the class feels the need to apologize to us for the class's being so rude. Then Sergeant Dmuchowski leads us through the residential side streets to our entrance to the highway and get to the ferry just before it leaves at 3:30, hassling the luggage into the right place, and we'll be 8 for the weekend: John Hobstetter, the Vice-Provost of the University of Pennsylvania who was there before, whom John wants to talk with because of HIS coming job possibilities, and his current lover from Maryland, a police sergeant named Perry, a black, who's coming in tomorrow; and Bruce Solomon, a lawyer, and his lover, who's driven in with Carl, Eriberto Perez from 30 Clinton Street, who's just 21, from Cuba, and who met Bruce in April, when he was 18, when he'd just come out in January. I debate sitting on top of the ferry, but the seats are all wet, and some of the waves break OVER the windows in the lower level. There aren't very many attractive people going out, but two or three made me wonder where they could POSSIBLY hide in the city in the winter. Over to load up the wagon, and I don't watch well, so one of the ivy trays is scattered all over the boardwalk. John H's cooked a marvelous pineapple upside down cake to go with the meal (which I CAN'T for the life of me remember!), and I tried to keep up with my predetermined schedule by reading "Stone Sculpture of India" from 5-6 pm, and "Mythology" pages 1-44 from 6-7 before dinner, then started talking with Eriberto, and then we smoked around the fire, I lay down next to John on the sofa, we went to bed at 11, I played with his soft cock, and we turned over to sleep at 11:30.
DIARY 3846
SATURDAY, MAY 26. Wake about 7:30 to find the room flooded with light, feeling very lazy, and John's gone, of course. House is quiet, and I lay until about 8, when it appears to be SOMEWHAT sunny, so I want to go out for a walk. Walk from 8 to 10 (see next pages) and then come back to write up my thoughts and sensations from the morning until 11:30, and catch up to yesterday's "schedule" in Mythology by reading into the low hundreds, and then downstairs about 12:30 to see if anything's doing about lunch. As usual Henry's stuck with the shopping, and we go off through the back boardwalks again, where they're still building new places, though the number of LOTS is now stabilized, to the market, to the liquor store, where I have some dried peanuts for the first food of the day, and then back along the main drag to see all the junk laid out for "clean-up day." Henry prepares hot dogs for lunch, and I chat with people before going back upstairs to my Peak Room and put in my earplugs to shut out the incessant racket of the radio from downstairs, and read "Gods, Thrones, and Peacocks" completely, and finish up to 175 in Mythology until the point that my eyes totally refuse to carry me further, and it's 6:30 anyway, and John's calling me down to make popcorn. Actually, HENRY'S calling me down, and I get VERY internally agitated about the feeling I have then: last night, someone said we should have popcorn, and I agreed. Marked it on the shopping list, and then Henry, at the store, decided POPCORN would be the hors d'oeuvres for dinner. It sounded funny to me, but he's the host. Back downstairs, John expressed GREAT dismay, saying it has NOTHING to lend to beef burgundy that he's made for dinner. But Henry insists, because there's nothing more, and I'm delegated to make it in a pot on an ELECTRIC stove whose heat I'm not familiar with, and it goes VERY slowly and pops up VERY small, and I put it out and VERY few people eat it, though it DOES vanish. Don Goodwin and Michael Miller and Lou DeVita (shockingly gay with his friend Steve) are invited to dinner, so we're 12, the beef and noodles are good, and the strawberry shortcake for dessert is GREAT. I'm out to see the cruising area (see following page), but nothing's doing, back to an EMPTY house, and to bed at 12.
DIARY 3858
SUNDAY, MAY 27. Up at 7:30 again, John gone again, but downstairs writing. I'm reading the Times and having toast and jam for breakfast---no, lunch, with peanut butter and the puzzles, after finishing ONE India book from 9 to 9:15, getting up to page 270 of Mythology between 9:15 and 12:45, and back up to read "Ancient Indonesian Art" from 4-5:30, and finish Mythology almost up to date, to page 307, to 6:45, and by then down to watch Henry cooking the chickens, John H making the salad, and Barry, John H's black friend, has left already, Eri is being quite attentive to me, Bruce is getting uptight: he asked ME to go to bed with HIM, and I countered with the idea of a FOURSOME, sure it wouldn't be OK with Eri, but it WAS, it just wasn't OK with JOHN. No wine with dinner, many drinks, and everyone's out of the room and I go into the fireplace, having brought up the last of the wood, and light up the pipe. Eri takes some, Bruce takes some, and so does John, but John seems to be content with the sofa---no, he's going out again, he says, and Bruce is quiet on the floor. LAST night I tried knees against Eri's, but he didn't move, and Bruce seemed very much in the way. Tonight, Eri was sitting back to the fire, facing me, and Bruce seemed MUCH out of it. So in passing the pipe back and forth, we touched, he put his hand on my calf, enjoying my leg, and I reached out for him, and we looking solemnly at each other and slowly, surely, got entangled with great kisses, as I knew his Spanish blood would lend his shapely lips to, and from the souses Brucd I heard "Take him upstairs to bed." When it was repeated, I was feeling quite high from THREE huge Angel's Kisses, and then I guess there WAS wine at dinner, and Cointreau afterwards, so I lurched to my feet and went up the stairs. Mumbled conversation from below, and then Eri followed me up the stairs in time to see me mounting the stairs to the peak room. He stumbled up after me (having stayed up there the last time they were here), and we fell into each other's arms. And onto the bed, but the rapid motion disturbed his stomach, and he said he didn't feel well. Paused, necked, burped, not feeling well, I'm undressed and try
DIARY 3860
MONDAY, MAY 28. Up about 8 and have sex with John and then with Eri (see preceding page). The day gets VERY gray and windy, though in the later afternoon there seem to be ALMOST shadows from the ALMOST sun, and John decides he doesn't want to stay another day. OK by me, since it will give me more time doing the things I have to do before the trip, so I have some toast for breakfast, and we pack our stuff, and watch the wind whip around the bay and tear the flagpole cord down and spring leaks in some of the windows, but we're assured the ferries will still be running when we want to leave at 2:30. I suggest multinational monopoly, and John is interested for a bit until he finds it'll only be Bruce and Eri and me playing, and then he bows out, so the THREE of us play, and Bruce gets Boardwalk and Park Place and gradually wins the whole game, knocking out me first, then getting very highhanded with Eri and making himself MOST unpleasant. Out at 2:10 to walk along the boardwalk that seems more crowded with people coming than going, but the ferry has just left, another is there to take the overload, and IT fills up, with some fantastic people, too: the gray-haired young fellow with fawn-eyes in the corner, with the beauty with the mustache next to him, whose knee was fondled by the gorgeous number with a straight neck and glasses and a steel-gray crewcut sitting next to a sexy Ned, who had a lovely-assed lover by HIS side. Where were all these people on the ISLAND? Over in smooth waters, into the car to SUNLIGHT, and we get lost trying to get out, and then Bruce's a terror on the road, John getting VERY uptight, and they bicker about radio stations and directions to go for the whole way. They let us out at the corner at 4:30, some kind of RECORD for the 2:30 ferry getting in at 3, and we lug everything home and unpack, and I get down to type 10 pages, getting caught up to Friday, but I know I have all the pages of the notes still to do. Watched TV this morning to get a quiz program address, and John's out to the Elgin and I'm watching Rosselini's "Rise of Louis XIV," very colorful but so boring I can hardly keep my eyes open. Exhausted to bed at 11:45.
DIARY 3861
TUESDAY, MAY 29. [Seems funny to have Memorial Day so far BEFORE the end of the month of May.] Up late but no one seems interested in sex, and I have breakfast and do the dishes and John leaves about 9:30, and I watch "The $10,000 Pyramid" again and GET their address, and experience AWFUL feeling of non-commitment about doing ANYTHING. Feel SLIGHTLY like jerking off, but don't do it. Read the OLD Village Voice to catch up on the ads, and then start looking through the diary pages to select the 16 to send to the agents. John's been asking what I'm doing with the diaries, and I WILL say that I'm selecting the best pages, but WON'T say what I intend to do with them until I'm actually DOING it. And at this point, leaving for the trip in ONE WEEK, there's a chance I might NOT do it without taking some time off WORK, but that's definitely to BE DONE! Mope around reading some of "Sirius," but get disgusted with THAT. Look at some lists of things and waste a lot of time, which makes me feel even more disgusted, and I can't even bring myself to read the Mythology that I want to about SCANDINAVIA. FEEL DREADFUL: is THAT how I felt when I was out of work for 5 years? HARDLY, since I've been "over-lazy" during the weekend already, and now I sort of feel I should be working, though I fear that when I GET to work I won't feel like doing THAT. UGH! Force myself to do some things, getting through MANY pages of the diary, somewhat more than half, which is good, and for a "vacation" read through the ENTIRE 1970 BC, enjoying it almost as if I hadn't read them before---some TOTALLY new to me, Still aching about the trip, about all the things to do, about the flight---THAT'S the main problem, though then John says that some bug is going around causing headaches (which I don't have, though I almost wish I DID, since it would LOCALIZE my feeling of malaise) and diarrhea, which I sort of have. Then at 4 I get a call from Charles Choset, who HAS to have the Mattachine Times stuff typed TONIGHT. I grumble, having wanted to go the Baths, but say yes, and he comes in at 5:30 to give me the stuff, we eat, and I get to typing, running THROUGH my carbon ribbon by 10:30, and have to finish it at WORK tomorrow. Over to shower wearily, and John's glued to the tube, and into bed at 11:15, so tired that I don't even have to smoke to get to sleep without fearing the flight.
DIARY 3862
WEDNESDAY, MAY 30. Wake about 6:30 and lay dazedly until 7:30, and then get everything quickly together and get to work by 8:45, finding Naomi already at the typewriter, but she leaves it at 9:30, and I get to typing and retyping some of the Mattachine stuff, and both Barbara and Syva are there WATCHING me do it until about noon. Before that, Marge said, "Does Bob know it yet?" and "Syva's going to Macmillan starting a week from Friday." BONG! Talk about it a bit, but HAVE to get the Mattachine Times stuff done, and I INSIST on writing a Historically Speaking (Part Four), so I get into the filing situation, and Chuck comes in at 12:30, staying for about a half hour, saying that he probably WON'T be on the ballot, and taking the stuff back, saying that he WILL do the Historically Speaking column, and I finish the unit on polygons and start Q23 on Base 8, but I can't concentrate on work, keeping coming back to Syva's leaving and the situation at work, and the fact that I don't FEEL like working, because of the trip and Syva's leaving and the number of things I'd RATHER do than sit in the office. Try to get Marge to come walking and shopping with me, but she says she has to work, then I feel guilty, having already decided to CHARGE ACC for the time I spent on Mattachine, since everyone AGREES no one cares how much ACC is charged, or for the quality of work it GETS, so I work for the rest of the afternoon to bill 8¼ hours for about 2 hours work. Home at 6:15 after searching for "Nightland" in bookstores, and have dinner of a MOST awful chili that John put a whole MIXING BOWL of spices into yesterday while cooking it, and he serves champagne to make it more palatable, which only puts down gas which then bubbles up through the meal, REINFORCING in the other direction the spicy taste of the food. I say I'd MUCH rather have meat flavored with chili instead of chili peppers flavored with meat. Thankfully, he says he'll take it to the DTW party on Friday night and get rid of it there, so I won't be subjected to it again. Thank God John is reasonable about food SOME TIME. Out at 7:30 to Hurok (see next page), with Arnie and Norma and Lydia and Avalon and Avi, and home to bed at 12:45 after showering the sweatiness and frustration of the day off me. And washing my hair, taking AGES to dry, but not having to smoke, feeling good about it.
DIARY 3864
THURSDAY, MAY 31. To work again at 8:45, again having awakened at 6:30 in the bright light. Work on Base 8 when I'm not talking about the situation in the impossible office. Forgot that we'd planned on lunch at the New Korea today, and the bitch Sally actually tries to get us to choose some other place, but finally Sally and Syva stay and Ron and Barbara and I leave at 12:30, talking about how she should be TOLD she's taking over Syva's job, if she is, rather than just DOING it. Tom must be made to LEARN. Then talk about other things, and the restaurant delights with the goodness of the Mandu soup, the chicken isn't so great but the vegetables are nice, and Ron likes his abalone and steak. Then I go north on Fifth to pick up brochures from the Scandinavia tourist office, going up one more flight to the Bergen Line to find there are no cruises open to Spitzbergen when I'm there. Find a discount drug store to buy Sensodyne, after stopping in Brentano's and French bookshop looking for "Night Land" and feeling frustrated about not finding it. To the Kodak place on 6th for the India exhibit, exhibiting more cameras than things, though the slides and story of the Taj Mahal (pronounced Mehel by the Indian), meaning "Crown of the Palace," as Mumtaz Mahal" means "Jewel of the Palace." Then to another shop to buy Hudson vitamins E for the cheapest price, another item off the list, and price envelopes to find them STILL expensive, and then to Broadway to try THOSE bookshops for "Night Land," increasingly frustrated. Back to buy stuff at Apollo, considerably cheaper than any other, I should REMEMBER that, and back to work at 4:30, talking with Alice to SUCH an extent that I really have a grassy-high feeling of being OVERLOADED (see next page) after talking with her. Charge only an hour for lunch, STEALING all the rest of the time for my pay, and get to the subway feeling VERY open and odd. Talk to John about maybe going mad, but I can't communicate the "INTENSITIES of the feelings -- on next page." Dinner and settle in for letters, to Ballantine ordering "Night Land," and write two pages EACH to Mom, Rita, and Paul (equivalent to 12 typed diary pages), and write a short new thing to Svein-Erik, finishing at 11, over to shower and bed AGAIN without smoking and IMMEDIATELY to sleep after earplugs for screen-sounds.
DIARY 3866
FRIDAY, JUNE 1. [What an incredible feeling to encounter another new month!] Again to work at 8:45, finishing Base 8 at 12, taking 12½ hours, most of them talking about the work situation (see next page) or working on Mattachine stuff. I've forgotten to get fruit, Ruth's forgotten the brownies, and no one told Susan to bring refreshments, so Marge was the only one who brought food for the picnic lunch in the park today. Pleasant drinking May wine (too warm) and eating Marg's peanut butter and raisin and cheese sandwiches and my tuna fish and cake and Ruth's ice cream, after having gotten coffee (which I spilled all over) and Drakes cake and cherry pie for breakfast since I was so hungry this morning. Back to work at 2 after crotch-watching in the park, fun with Susan and Marge and Ruth and Gary, and work on P4, Fractions as Decimals, and then talk MORE about the office situation, about to leave at 5:30 and get sucked into talking with everyone, calling Marty to say wait at Hunan Taste for me to 6:30, when it POURS rain and Syva uses me to take her plants home and I get to restaurant at 6:55 to tell Marty Syva doesn't like the place (Szechuan Taste) but suggests Hunan Taste. Good hot appetizers, good beef and cashews, good hot shrimp and pork, and then to Marty's to listen to most of his suggested repertory for a Pavarotti Donizetti recital, a non-Donizetti recital, a Domingo Meyerbeer recital, and a Sutherland-Pavarotti duets album. Then we talk about Norway and Sweden and Denmark and Germany, he lends me a phrase book, I look at some of his xeroxing job for which he's copied the key to the xerox room at the company, we talk about Chris and his adventures with women in Scandinavia, and at 11:30 I'm exhausted, so we walk to the subway and I get home about 12, thinking John's still at the party on Staten Island, so I turn the lights on full and he's in BED! Shower the tackiness off and smoke leisurely, writing stoned notes again (see following page) as I did on the 30th, and get into bed with earplugs against the sounds of the women downstairs and the coughers outside, counting the fact that I only have to go to sleep 8 more times before the first flight will be OVER!
DIARY 3869
SATURDAY, JUNE 2. Want quite a bit to have sex this morning, but it doesn't seem to work out that way. Read a few things and put them away, and then get back to the diary at 9, and end up typing 24 pages to get up to date by 1:30, after stopping for a half hour for lunch. Quite light-headed with the successful completion of THAT task, and then go through and split the "to do" list in "Do AFTER the trip" and add the rest of the items to the "Do BEFORE the trip" list, which is now about down to the bottom of the page. Forage through the desk drawer to get everything organized into what I have to handle and what I can save, and then start transcribing tiny bits of data onto cards in the card-stack, and then tackle the shelves in the bookcase, getting everything separated into sex and stamps and souvenirs and books and Mattachine stuff, and then actually tackle the Mattachine stack, putting more things in order, sorting clippings and correspondence and articles into different piles and ordering THEM by date, and put things away and away and away, even getting the telephone book sorted out, calendar sheet off, and the new list of letters to write is far larger than I would have thought: Bill, Michael Zolnierzak, Laird, Elaine, and Claudia. But that's all finished about 6, and it's time to have dinner and wash dishes (a lot, since I didn't do them yesterday), and then shave and brush my teeth and we leave to see the fetchingly paired double at the Elgin: "Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex and Bananas." Get in at 8 to see the "giant tit" scene, which was more embarrassing than funny, and the semen-scene was grossly over-rated, and he SURE has a lot of gay jokes and scenes and questions in his films. Both films whimsical, somewhat cruel) the lancing of Lynn Redgrave's chastity belt, getting "creamed" by the tit, the beheading of his jester's dummy's head, the STRAIGHT transvestite), and totally forgettable, except that they ARE funny, and he's surely the ONLY person around who will end up with an oeuvre vaguely comparable to Chaplin or Keaton. Lousy flick crowded with couples and kids, though the fatty-armed muscle builder looked at the sexy guy in the back as much as I did, and John had one in the john and one against the back wall. Feel vaguely sick, the stair-climb a drag, hoping there's SOMETHING wrong: headachy.
DIARY 3870
SUNDAY, JUNE 3. Up again without sex, too much of a habit for my taste. Type 1 page to keep up to date, and read the Times, start on letters, but leave at 12:15 because I want to be sure to get to the start of "Divorcee" at 1 pm at St. Marks, that lovely theater which presents me with the FIFTH LAST Academy Award film, leaving only FOUR left: Jannings, "In Old Arizona," Hayes, and Pickford to see. She DOES go through quite a bit, hardly being only a flip comedienne, rather advanced even for TODAY, though the ending, when she insists he take her back, is a bit too pat. Out at 2:25 and grab an ice cream cone for only 25¢ and walk over to the Quad IV cinemas for a double that started at 2:30, not really missing much of "Sounder," which is good but a bit simplistic and melodramatic, but a GREAT job by Cecily Tyson; and "Hot Rock" which is just a funny BALL with a HILARIOUS Ron Leibman and a competent George Segal and Robert Redford, and one of the most vertiginous helicopter flights captured on film. Out at 6:15 and get home to find John just ready with supper at 6:45, and then get down to writing ALL the letters I have left to write: Bill, Michael Zolnierzak, Laird, Claudia, and Elaine. Take time off from 7:30 to 8:30 to watch the Disney 50 years of films, good bit of good films, and through the day I've been through ALL the rest of the diary books to narrow the number of pages that I can send out to 33. Decide to leave the losers still marked, so that I can "select at random" some more good stuff if someone wants it. I smoke again and decide to come, since it seems John and I will NEVER have sex, seeing as he's always tired and in bed by about 10:30, so I sit in the chair and smoke and don't even have to refer to the pornography to get VERY erect, and I play and play, actually FEELING the balls getting more and more tense, and there's obviously a great semen-pressure building up, building up, and I can't really take it any more, so I grab the cock, tensing the abdomen, and a SHOT of semen SQUIRTS way up my chest, to be repeated with an equally great shot, and then a number of smaller spasms which actually reaches 37, and if I can keep up with my age, I'm doing pretty well. Earplugs in and to sleep.
DIARY 3871
MONDAY, JUNE 4. Up VERY weary at 6:30, and lay without thinking about much of anything except how stoned I still feel, and out of bed at 7:30 and to work at 8:45 to find the chart not in yet. Work on some stuff, finishing up the last unit, and then phone the Metropolitan Book Shop and they have all seven books of Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past" put aside for me, so I get down and buy that and "Don Quixote" for just over $14 WITH the 20% discount, actually only 13%, since the tax zips the price up another 7%. Back to work, obviously charging the time to the office, and then have a long game of Scrabble and read a bit of "Flatland," and have not too much trouble getting back to the new unit, which is horrible, on Quadrants, and the whole thing has to be rewritten, and Barbara suggests that we DON'T send it back, because it just won't do any good. Surprised to hear that Anne Herrick's been made a COORDINATOR of the compositors, art, translation, and editing, so there'll be SOMEONE to talk to when things get rough. Home to dinner of chicken, and I'm working again on lots of stuff for the 16 pages, retyping pages from the book, redoing pages, trying to decide which of the 33 to make part of the 8, getting back into The River, redoing the list of works completed, adding "Acid House" and The River and India Today and Mattachine Times to make it EXHAUSTIVE, and decide to take rough drafts of everything to work tomorrow to work on it there, since there doesn't seem to be enough time to get everything finished today. Call Joan about glasses (sun) and she's VERY busy, so I should call her tomorrow. I try to get as many items off the "To Do" list as possible, though I suspect I really won't have ENOUGH time to get as much trip planning done as I'd want to. Wash dishes late, get a call from Mrs. Johnson about our going on the trip, and then I miss the first half of the special program on the Arctic, but the last half is poorly done but exciting MATERIAL about the captain possibly poisoned by his ship's doctor, his body being dug up and SHOWN getting into the skull only 500 miles from the North Pole! John's in bed early again, and I smoke and AGAIN come mightily without resort to too much pornography, VERY much enjoying the orgasm, and FALLING asleep dreamlessly.
DIARY 3872
TUESDAY, JUNE 5. Up again feeling DREADFULLY dragged out, but still not got the shakes due to the flight, which is encouraging. So far, I've really suffered less than before a "drill-date" with Rosey Sheik. To work at 9, and work for a couple of hours on the draft of the letter to the Literary Agents and the Table of Contents, finally getting them typed and retyped, showing them to Marge who makes a few comments which are good, and then leave at 11:40 to get to the New York Police Academy at 11:55, and there's a terrible hassle which puts me into a foul mood which does no good for the class's impression of my movement (see next page). Marge meets "a sister" in her class, and then she bicycles back to work while Don drives me and Henry Messer north, and I eat lunch while working on the letters, finishing at 3, and taking only 2 hours for lunch! Do some work for the rest of the afternoon, after sitting in a DREADFUL funk, and Barbara's in a bad mood, too, but there's a BIT of news: she's been offered the position of Syva and REFUSED, saying that she wants to keep on with what she's doing. That's a marvelous bit of news! So they have to hire someone to take Syva's place, since Barbara said that the chance of transferring someone who's already AT ACC into the position is slight. Home at 4:30 because I just can't stand it (actually, this was yesterday), and again get to work retyping everything, and I have all the COVER information typed except the Table of Contents, and now all I have to do is CHOOSE the 8 pages and retype them! Watch "That Certain Summer" rerun on TV, and some of it is good and some of it is bad (see following page). Again John's in bed and again I shower and masturbate, taking somewhat longer this time, turning to the books with effort to get the effect, but I seem to stay longer at the plateau, and THAT might be part of the reason why I'm feeling so logy about the corpus. Also wrote some notes during the first stoned session, and at work (see subsequent page), and everything seems to be possible for the trip ONLY if I stay home from work tomorrow, which I decide to do, hoping MAYBE to have time for sex with John in the morning, TOO long without HIM.
DIARY 3876
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6. Up and HOPE for sex, but we both seem JUST too tired, so we're out of bed at 7:45, and I get over to do many hours of work retyping pages after sifting them down to 8, and do VERY little revising and doctoring of the pages, and at 12:15 I'm ready to take off to xerox all of them (after calling Joan and finding she STILL hasn't found my sunglasses!), and John wants to know what I'm doing, and I finally show him the cover letter and table of contents, and he smiles and says "That's interesting," and I have to be content with that. Take my briefcase in, thinking to maybe get it right then, but the little place is crowded, and I'm surprised to be told that the sign, in fact, says that the 51ST copy up is 2¢, and the others are higher priced, so that mine will be $3.00 per page. I walk down the street in the humid sultriness to price the other place, and it turns out to be $3.62 through some machinations, so I go back to "Copies Unlimited" on 10 West Third Street, price photostatting at $2.95 per page, except that each page HARDLY has the requisite 1/4" margin all around for the "gripper," so I settle for xeroxing, and they say that it will be ready tomorrow at this time for a total cost of $53.07. No wonder not too many people do it this way. Subway back home about 1:15, and let myself into my apartment to the buzzing of the vibrator, and John has his legs on the bed, his cock in the air with the vibrator at the tip, and he's on the floor, he flips up with an embarrassed look on his face, but we kiss good day and speak three words about it, and the subject drops. I'm over to do some envelope pasting with return labels and stamps, and finally at 2:30 get to lunch, going over to read part of "Nightland," which was hardly worth the trouble reading, it's so archaically and poorly written. Read the "mythology" book through pages 400 for Scandinavian and German mythology, Loki the best character yet, and then over to dinner and to type 6 diary pages to get me up to date, then do dishes and get over at 10:30 to shower and smoke, and then kiss MOST ineffectively, and get out the Baby Magic and poppers, he comes quickly, I more slowly, and we DROP to sleep at 11:30, and I've even started counting the HOURS before the trip. How AWFUL!
DIARY 3877
THURSDAY, JUNE 7. Work from 9 to 3, finishing the 13th unit, Q13 by coincidence, about 3 pm, and decide that I don't have time to take another one. Phone the copy center and find my stuff is done, and Joan hasn't found my glasses yet, so I'm down at 3 and pick up the heavy 2000 sheets in three flimsy paper bags, and carry them on my shoulder while I shop for an envelope moistener, assuming that John will have enough paper clips at home. Onto the subway, reading a bit, and get off to walk laboriously to the post office, to find a very nice fellow behind the window who gives me very bad news: each packet is 4 ounces, so it'll take 32¢ for first class. Think a moment about sending it third class, but this is obviously a prestige affair, and if I already spent $53 for the xeroxing and $7 for the envelopes and $10 for the RETURN postage, I might as well spend $40 on the outgoing postage and make the whole expense a symmetric $111, including the 42¢ for the moistener and the quantities (348, to be exact, or over 1/3) of the return address labels I use. Home sweating, exhausted, at 4:30, having been told that a $1 plate block is mine if I have the $4 to spare, and start immediately collating the 15 pages. Find a few things wrong: first I forgot to cross off my telephone number from the resume. Second, I inadvertently put the two "Acid House" pages in the wrong order. Third, I find at the end that somehow the penultimate two pages were reversed, so the agents will have to hunt through the papers to find what they want. Well, anyone who wants to work with me will have to put up with little things like that. Dinner at 6:30, start stuffing envelopes, John's out somewhere, I type one diary page, write to Cyndy telling her she can't stay here, call Mattachine about bars and type the list, type a mailing list, and I'm just about ready for everything, over early to smoke with John, but he's not interested in sex, and I fall into bed, thinking I might jerk off, but just lie there, fairly comatose from all the grass this week, hardly worrying about anything, knowing that I only have two more evening's chances to dream AWFUL catastrophes about the airplane flight.
DIARY 3878
FRIDAY, JUNE 8. Get everything ready around the apartment for the busy day ahead, checking with John just what I should do with the money from which sources, and what saves me is that I won't pay the rent until I get back! (for July, that is.) Mrs. Johnson called me last night to tell me that my rent was going up $50 a month, which made me pissed no end! Lug two shopping bags of envelopes to the post office at 9, find that 32¢ is right even with the paper clip I added, hopefully not catastrophically, and then to the bank to take out my savings, and find that the two payroll checks haven't cleared yet, and after endless hassle decide to have John mail a withdrawal slip from Geneva, have him get the cash for me, and have it for me when I get there. Since it took so long, till 9:45, I go back over to the post office to wait for the great guy in window 3 to start work at 10, and he gives me the $1 plate block and another, saying that he'll save a couple for me. Good guy! Subway up to 51st to wait in back of an INCREDIBLY stupid French-speaking fellow getting traveler's checks, and get 2800 marks in 100-mark notes for $1075.20, or $1085.95 with the 1% premium, and get onto the street for the FIRST inkling that I'm actually GOING TO EUROPE, rather than suffering before a plane flight. Down to work at 11:15, don't do a THING except discuss Quadrilogues, which affects Marge heavily, and play a last game of Scrabble, getting "castling" as my first 7-letter word against Ron, and then Syva gets a digital clock at 3:30, champagne comes out in the office at 4, I get a card and a TINY pica ruler, very nice of them, and then we sit around and talk until 5:30, when I leave, saying goodbye, knapsack full of papers to work with at home. Find that John's got nothing for dinner, so we're off to the Mexican Gardens for a pallid meal, then he's off to Tina Croll and I do some little things, but get over to watch a LOUSY Italo-Turkish "Galileo" from 8:30 to 10, pay Mrs. Johnson the June rent in cash, which she thinks is fine, and watch an incredible "Firebird" with Milenko Banovitch and Clare Motte in a DECADENT performance (see next page). Smoke and bed at 12, John in at 1.
DIARY 3880
SATURDAY, JUNE 9. This is difficult, since I'll be finishing the page at 4:30 pm, but since I'm LOSING 5 hours, I can say that everything AFTER I do this page is really TOMORROW. Anyway, I want to finish off with a flourish, and this is the last page I'll be typing before the trip. Another three tablets to fill, and pages to be typed when I return. OH for a truly portable typewriter! Wake at 6 again, doze to 7, and out of bed at 7:25 with John, and start in on the list of things to do, getting through all the travel folders and throwing out many of them, getting everything organized for the packing, then about 10 over to vacuum the rugs after scouring the sink and the tub and dusting, and THAT'S finished, but though I should only have two items left on the list (pack and plan trip), there are MORE little things to do, like make the crust for the quiche on the plane, wash the dishes, shave and wash myself and my hair, and send a letter to Edgardo about the Geneva address, since he hasn't answered my letter in time. It's such a REMARKABLE feeling to be getting everything off the list of things to be done, cleaning out the closet into the bargain, and the shelves of the bookcase behind the desk have never been cleaner. NOW, I fantasize, Candida Donadio's been working in her office on Saturday, gets my folder, and says that I MUST devote the next six weeks to getting out four or five books. How I'd LOVE that. The TYPICAL, TYPICAL fear of flight extends to "What am I going to DO in Cologne?" "Won't I be lonely?" "I JUST WANT TO STAY HOME!" But I KNOW, equally, that once I GET there, I'll be swept up in everything, and all will be well. That's the way it always goes. John's up to 40 pounds, as I am, and there are little things to do in the half-hour before we leave for the airport, and I guess I'll just put these pages into the book without typing up the index part of them, since there just won't be time to finish packing AND doing that. No matter HOW much time I give myself, there's still the faintest touch of a rush at the end. AND I'm taking Librium, which MUST be helping: I'm only sweating from the HEAT!
DIARY 4014
TUESDAY, JULY 24. Wake at 3:50 am, quite dark out, having slept just 6 hours and 20 minutes, but it's almost 10 am in Europe, so we've both slept quite LATE, actually, and John's up too, so we decide to get out of bed. I read through all the non-manuscript mail that I hadn't read last night, and unpack the suitcase and let it open to air out. Pile all the souvenirs into a box to get into later. Leisurely shower and shave with the SUPER-POWERED razor now that it doesn't have to go through the transformer, and get to work at 10. Chat with Sally and Ron and Alice and Ruth, and shove Ron into talking with Tom TODAY about my starting work, and he says "maybe only through Thursday or Friday," but I say that I'll be looking for another job anyway, and at noon he says I can start reviewing the editing that the outside people did, "Taking 30 minutes to an hour with each one." Orientation to 1, then take 1¼ hours to do the first one, then have lunch, reading the ever-fascinating "Gravity's Rainbow" which I carried in the big shoulder-bag, but with the lunch tomorrow it was too bulky, so I went back to the brown one on Thursday. The next unit took the rest of the time until 5:30, 2-3/4 hours, mainly because I phoned Arnie, leaving word on his service; Pam, with whom I talked LONG about the trip, but she said they would have no copyediting for me until DECEMBER; Janet Mais, who gave me the printed index, saying it was fine, saying she's got my resume for further work; Avi, talking about the trip; and Syva Meyers, now working at Macmillan, and we agree to have lunch, probably Tuesday next week. Lunch at coffee shop, a cheeseburger deluxe, and then dinner at Brownies, VERY good, for $3.26 for salad, bread and cheese, barley and mushroom soup, filet of GREAT sole with GREAT tomato sauce, rose hip tea, and cantaloupe for dessert. This because John wants to go to the Keaton films at the Elgin, and I see great "Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie," and "Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds." I'm feeling VERY tired and don't even feel like reading on the subway home at 11, and get into bed at 11:15, John already there, feeling MUCH like it's too late to be going to bed for me today.
DIARY 4015
WEDNESDAY, JULY 25. Wake at 5:45, again with John, but feel that we're making admirable progress in getting used to the time change. Over to catch up with the last few pages of the trip diary just to help in typing, and with "catch up with THIS" write the last words in it (now all I have to do is transcribe the REST of it). John leaves for the beach about 7:30, and I feel that I want to come, so light up a bidi and sniff some poppers and get out the pornography and come rather dizzily, and feel like lying down for a bit, getting dizzier and dizzier, and slightly nauseous, so that when I start sweating on the bed, feeling that I have to shit or vomit, I go into the bathroom for a miserable 15 minutes on the pot, in which I can barely do anything, cold sweat running down my limbs. The bibis? The popper? Something from the trip? Something with the prostate? Back to lie down and gradually feel a bit better, and finally get enough energy to shower after struggling through the FIRST level of exercises for the second day. To work at 11:30 feeling still fragile, not having read on the subway at all, and get caught up in R21, by the worst editor, and I practically have to do the whole thing over, taking 4 hours to work on it, though I do have a LONG talk with Henry Messer on the phone (see page T1) about Mattachine and a LONG talk with Marty about the trip. Ron comes back to say that I might have work for "maybe a few more weeks," which makes me feel somewhat better, and I tell Ginny Croft about it and she smiles her enigmatic triumphant smile. Leave at 5 to get to Henry's at 5:30 and bring Dick Smith back at 7:15 for dinner of corn/cuke salad, hamburger patty, and Sara Lee cheesecake, which even John has a bit of, and Dick and I talk long after John's gone to bed at 10, and I get to the typewriter, thankful that Mrs. Johnson's not downstairs, and type to 12 a rough draft of a letter asking Don Goodwin to resign as President of Mattachine, and he says he'll talk to Alan tomorrow and let me know. I'm still feeling weak from this morning, though it's mainly fatigue from the day, and get to bed just after midnight, not even showering, washing my teeth, or doing all the dishes.
DIARY 4016
THURSDAY, JULY 26. Wake in the dimness to find it's 7:45, back on schedule after only three days, and over to take a long time doing the dishes because I also catch up on scouring the stove and refrigerator and sink top and sink and table to get THAT back in order, then over to shave and shower after exercising, still stiff from level ONE, and clean out the toilet, but feel that things are gradually falling into shape, though I haven't even had a chance to start TYPING anything, though there are LOTS of letters to answer already, the trip diary to type as usual, and even a couple of ordinary days to catch up with. Busy, busy. Get into work at 10:15, work, industriously for a bit, but then start on the phone calls. Betsy had called at home this morning, saying I could earn lots of $3.75 hours of proofreading there, but I say I'm making $7, so no thanks, except for copyediting or indexing. Joan's out of town, back September 1 from DC dinner theater. Susan's doing work from Loretta McElwee and Pam Goett, and wants to have lunch. Thalia will mail me the schedule, and Arnie's kept the Times theater and magazine sections for me, but I can't pick them up this evening because Dick calls and says there will be a meeting with Alan and Henry and me and him at Henry's at 5:30. Marge comes in for a few minutes before I leave at 5, and get down to Henry's by subway because I'm tired, and Alan talks us out of most any action (see T2-T3). He'd make a GREAT President when he ever gets through with school and has the time. I finished work about an hour finishing two puzzles of Ron's, so it wasn't SUCH a bad day. John's at an Indian Consulate farewell to the Retis, and then to the baths, so I subway home feeling low (see next page), eat and read and read the Voice and type three pages to start SOMETHING, and do the dishes, then John's not back at 11, so I smoke since I can't sleep, and play idly with myself, getting a ROUSING erection, and turn the light on and bat it back and forth, keeping it at maximum arousal for a LONG period of time, and come with GREAT feeling, and I THINK that it barely dries before John comes in, but he'd fallen asleep at a trick's and didn't get in till 2, so I dozed off after coming. Dangerous!
DIARY 4018
FRIDAY, JULY 27. Wake at the normal time again, but with the details of having the last of cereal for breakfast and putting away the dishes, I don't get into work until 9. Work with lots of units, about two hours each, and get onto a series of three on probability that one guy just brought in, but there seems at LEAST another week's work on the UNITS ALONE. Call Elizabeth Gillett and chat about the old guy from Crebos who's back from his six months in South America, and how she's going to have another party to which she'll invite me; Arno who invites us to dinner tomorrow, insisting that I really DIDN'T twist his arm into doing so; Daisy, who tells me about a FABULOUS charter from the Westchester Sports Club for Russia for 8 days ALL expenses for $365, and Norma who chats about things and we arrange lunch for NEXT Friday. Marge comes in again and we have a long talk about the trip and her relation with Lorraine now that she's moved into the commune in Massachusetts, and DROR, of all people, starts dropping in for long chats, and I've even gotten to the Krishnamurti: Act or stop fretting about it, and my both/and with him already, and he seems to enjoy being talked to. Leave at 5:30, my first 8-hour day, and get home at 6 to John's beef and olive pilaf and a HOT apartment. Dishes and smoke and out to the promenade for a VERY red sun, and the grass gets me VERY stoned in my sexy shorts, and I keep wanting to hear music, and there's no one much to watch, and I fantasize about Rolf or Arthur or Alvise calling me and coming over tonight for incredible sex, so I get home about 9, shower and brush my teeth in case John arrives wanting sex, finish the rest of the cheesecake, smoke some more, listen to music, but turn it down low when it seems counter-sensual, and get tired sitting in the chair and crawl into bed to try to play with myself, but nothing much happens, and then John's in and right into bed at 11, and that's the end of the day. Not much in the line of sex with him, and at dinner we talked about how much he likes to be alone. Seems our relationship is entering into yet ANOTHER phase, and I'm not sure I'm going to LIKE this one very much. But tell, time will.
DIARY 4019
SATURDAY, JULY 28. John's up and out early, and I take care of some of the things to do: scour the bathtub and sink, scrub the cruddy kitchen floor that I guess hasn't been done for a year, scrubbing into the storage room and the hall, and exercise. John's been asking about finances, and I don't remember how much I have in my savings account, so I search for the passbook and Svein's address in going through the souvenirs sorting them out, and by then it's 10 and I'm over looking for something to eat, but there's nothing, and then decide I have to start on the correspondence. Into the crowded drawer and get through six various things like renewing my membership in the American Society of Indexers in order to apply for a freelance job through Mr. Rooney, sending for three Carnegie Hall performances and a phallic calendar, writing again for the Westclox watches, and send two checks to Washington. Fill in the trip on the atlas map, gaze at some of the next trips, and by that time it's lunch, sitting without talking next to John on the sofa, feeling that anything I would say would be inconsequential to him. Don't like that feeling at ALL, particularly after he said last night that our conversation, after being together for long period of time, "is petty." But if I even try to talk about something I think deeply about, he either pooh-poohs it or has no patience to hear it through. The only deep conversations are about DTW or his articles, it seems to me. Things should be coming to a head shortly. Then settle into the increasingly hot room to write letters to Paul, Bill, Laird, and Svein, sending him the 1000 lire we owe him, and I start the trip diary with two pages to be able to put away the old pages, adding them to the table of contents, and type 5 regular pages with T-numbers to come up to date since the trip. Then it's 5:45, shave and shower and get off to Arno's at 6:30 with potted plants for his new apartment from John, and a selection of books from the trip which we never look at. Wait till 7:45 for pleasant Harvey, drink vodka tonics and wine, and chat and talk, even when John dozes after 10:30, and leave pleasantly at 12, stopping at the swimming pool for two nicies in white, and home to buy the Times and bed at 12:30.
DIARY 4020
SUNDAY, JULY 29. John's up and out at 7:30, but I really don't feel like moving until 7:45. Over to start typing, then back to exercise for the first time on level two, quite a pain, not even able to MAKE the 20th sit-up without trying three times at it (but then my toes weren't hooked under anything), and then have some breakfast and get back to typing, typing, typing, stopping for lunch, having a long talk about being alone, having hours to ourselves, and generally talking about SOME of the things that have been troubling me. But in answer to my question "What about sex, between us?" he only vaguely says "Well only now are you looking somewhat attractive again to me." He said that he felt SO lethargic Friday night on the Promenade that probably he would have ACCEPTED my offer of sex, but nothing much would have happened. Type on and on, finally finishing at 5 with 30 pages finished, over 1/4 of the trip diary. OH, for three MORE days quick like that! Then over to read a bit of Whitman after fussing with stamps, but the TV silent movies have been preempted by the tennis matches, so we have the last bit of beef pilaf, I wash the dishes, and settle down to watch "Zoom" and the "French Chef" making a spinach turnover just because I don't feel like DOING anything between 7 and 8. John's napping, I go back over to read, he goes out to the Promenade, not caring to go to the Spike to see "The Illustrated Man" "Because it's too far," he said with his smirk. I watch part II of "Cousin Bette" from 9-10, and quite spectacular it is, and read more while watching snatches of the junk HE watches between 10 and 11, then he showers, and smokes, and we both watch the story of Helen Hayes, where I see a few snippets of "Sin of Madelon Claudet," to lead me to think that it's still around, though heaven knows why it hasn't been shown. Much to my amazement, John stays awake, though supine on the sofa, through the whole program until 12:30, and then the lights and TV go off and we pull down the sheets and get into bed, by this time having gotten cool enough that he doesn't even bother to turn on the fan that he'd positioned on the chair for maximum cooling effect for HIM and nothing blowing on ME. Sleep.
DIARY 4021
MONDAY, JULY 30. Up feeling sorry for myself for having to go to work, and get there just before 9:30, but the tablet isn't out yet, so I say that I came in at 9:15 when it finally gets out. Work on units and talk with Dror and lots of people (Judy Aspinwell, Westchester Sports Club, Azak, and tried Roger Evans (not there any more) and Eddie) on the telephone, but no one has any work for me. The guy with the paychecks comes around with a large smile, and I'm relieved to find that my rate IS $7 an hour still. Ron doesn't seen to be interested in Scrabble anymore, probably because I always beat him, though he does on occasion ask me to help him with the last few words of the Times puzzle, which he's taken to doing with one of the temporary typists. I read "Gravity's Rainbow" through lunch, happy to be getting through the monstrous book, ready to work on the OTHER monstrosities lying in line for me: the rest of the "Collected Whitman," "Don Quixote," and "Remembrance of Things Past." Home and have dinner and do the dishes, and call Rolf, who says he's willing to TALK, only, and I invite him over, type 5 pages, and he says he'll come "unless he gets another invitation," and I half suspect NOT to hear his finger on the bell, which comes about 8:15. John's gone out to the Promenade, and I show Rolf the apartments and he greatly approves, even though we're now paying OVER $400 a month for the whole thing. I talk a bit about the trip, he talks about his delight with his $400-a-day consulting fee, saying that he'd only have to work 40-50 days per year and be independent, and after we talk with John a bit about what makes our relationship last when John comes back at 9 and leaves for the other side at 10, we start on the MAIN topic of conversation (see next page) until 1, and then sublimate the idea by going on about maps and where he's been in the White and Green Mountains, where we've been in the Adirondacks, trips in general, and then he leaves and I put down the front shades (which I forget to put back UP, and get out the pornography I have on the shelf and smoke TWO pipefulls to get highly re-excited and come with great glee, having gotten semi-hard a number of times through the evening, with Rolf aware of it, talking about the ever-delectable subject of masturbation. Bed at 2:15, feeling WORN OUT.
DIARY 4024
TUESDAY, JULY 31. Wake at 7:45 absolutely feeling that I didn't have much sleep, but STILL feel so horny that I go in and lie down on the bathroom floor to masturbate AGAIN. Get to work at 9:45 but sign in at 9:30, phone Janie Herman and John Casarino and Eddie and NO answer at Arthur Mitchell's, and hear in the elevator going down to lunch that there'd been a memo passed around this morning that ACC was going to be sold by Meredith as soon as possible, which gave me something to tell Syva and Barbara when they finally came out of their offices 15 minutes after I got there at 12:35 for lunch. Tried Zapata's, but there was a 20-minute wait after which they said they had to get back, and we went to Goldberg's Pizzeria and had the Large Smog Delux, which got us a pepper/anchovy/ mushroom/cheese/tomato pizza in 8 slices, a large carafe of good red wine for me and all the Coke the two of them could drink, and a small paper plate of lettuce and three cherry tomatoes. Not really much to talk about, except they said that Macmillan was "just as crazy as ACC" and they surely didn't offer me a job there, saying that they'd gone to the opposite extreme of taking TOO much time to decide what to do about a detail. Back at 2:40 and up in the elevator with Tom Aloisi who asked how Mach 7 and 8 were going, and I said "Not without mistakes," and he seemed to agree it wouldn't be as good as what we did before. Don't know if he knew I was stoned on wine, but Alice said that I didn't act it when I went back to talk with her when I didn't feel like working. Few more units, few more talks with Dror, and out at 5:15 to get to deposit the check in the bank and get over to window three and pick up some new singles and a number of plate blocks. Will HAVE to start cultivating him so that he SAVES things for me. Home to dinner and wash the dishes in the stiff-making two left-handed gloves, and then sit around until 8:15, when I smoke and put $4 into my pocket to get down to the new Club Baths where Man's Country used to be. No one in line, but they STILL make me wait 5 minutes (see next page), and it gets best past midnight, which means I don't get home until 2:05, and then quickly jerk off in the dark since I hadn't come all evening and FELT like it. Still horny to bed at 2:25.
DIARY 4027
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1. Up VERY reluctantly at 8:15, and just DON'T exercise for the first time since I've been back. Just DON'T feel that it would help, only hinder, my feeling of physical fatigue. In to work the latest of the week: 9:45, and talked only to John Casarino and Eddie Jimenez at length at work, while trying to get Doug Sharp at home and Arthur Mitchell at his answering service. Work on five units and leave at 5:30, having since stopped the HEAVY rain which made my pants TOTALLY wet getting to work this morning, which was, of course, the day I chose to take out the Chinese laundry. Home and type 11 pages and tear off the July sheet of the calendar, after getting through dinner and the dishes, and over at 10 to find John on the sofa, so I figure this is the perfect time to have sex. Ask him "Do you want the new stuff or old stuff?" and he looks in my direction, at the ceiling, and can't make up his mind, so I say "I'll take the old stuff, so if you want a puff, let me know." But he doesn't let me know, just keeps on reading on the sofa, while I smoke and don't even turn on music. Sit for a bit, then crawl onto the bed (with all the covers removed, it's hardly INTO bed that one crawls), and lie awake waiting for him. I SUPPOSE he thinks I'm asleep when he gets in, but I curl up against him to kiss him goodnight, and he gets into sleeping position, but I'm DETERMINED to have SOMETHING, so I start running my fingers up his legs, playing with his balls, and finally FORCE myself under to stretch out his still-limp cock. With diligent playing, and NOT A MOVE, either positive or negative on his part, I get him 3/4 erect, then maul him over onto his back, and by this time I'm hard and his calf feels that, but after the MOST minimal leg movements, he stops, and I play and play with his head, and he starts flexing in pleasure, and I go down on him VERY slowly, taking a great deal of time, hoping to get him so excited that he'll twist around and start playing with me, get him to the point two or three times and still hold off, until he's made himself into a bodily bridge of desire, flexing upward and straining, and I just let him come along with it, and it seems to be deeply felt, but then he gets out the towel, I wipe my hands, debating masturbating, but I'm just too sleepy, so I roll over to sleep at 11:30.
DIARY 4028
THURSDAY, AUGUST 2. Back to exercising again, and it's as if I'd been away for a week. TRY to get to work earlier, but I can't make it any better than 9:30: exercising and shaving and eating breakfast and putting the dishes away and making lunch just TOO much to do before 8 am, when I should leave to GET there at the optimum 8:30. Call Pam Goett about the message John got, and she's got an INSTRUCTOR'S MANUAL for me to proofread, the messenger getting in about noon. I work on a number of units, feeling fairly good about things, and then Erica connected with Ron Greenburg Productions calls about an audience for "Write Your Own Ticket." By coincidence I'd been talking with Diane Warshaw about that very subject, so she wants to go along, as does Avi, and I talk to a few other people about it in delight. Also talk to Henry Messer, who's heard nothing from Mattachine, and Arno, who's going to be out of town Saturday. Leave at 5:30 feeling VERY good with the world: freelance index coming down from 15, too, says Janet Mais on the elevator, as well as another programming book to proofread. GREAT. It sort of makes the news TOMORROW from Ron that I might have to start working for Ginny next week, since his editing work stack is almost finished, and I'm trying to think of ways in which it won't represent a money-income cut. Home to dinner and write notes to Roger Evans and Arthur Mitchell, and send out two job resumes, and John says that he's going to the Metropolitan orgy-theater. I'd wanted VERY much to have sex tonight, and ALSO wanted to check out the Club Baths on Thursday, so he gave me the perfect excuse to say "I probably won't be here when you get back," and he appropriately "Oh?"s. Finish things that I have to do, smoke, and get out quite late at 9:30, having decided that things didn't start until late. Fairly good time (see next page), and it seems that I've FINALLY taken the edge off my horniness, not so much from the sex, probably, as from the degrees of AFFECTION I got from the guys. John and I barely kiss goodnight and good morning anymore, a peck in the right direction, or nothing at all, only about every four of five times something which is FELT. Things never stay the same.
DIARY 4031
FRIDAY, AUGUST 3. With great effort (and because I'm not taking lunch today) (and don't have breakfast) I exercise AND get to work at 9, working on ONE unit until 12, when I leave to buy Mom a ticket to "Little Night Music" for $8.50 and meet Norma at the Kegon Restaurant at 1, where she looks GREAT with her short casual drier-blown hair, but each cut costs her $12 at Sacks, and with the color at $15 and the tip, she's not out for less than $30 once a month, which is a bit much. We talk about our respective relationships (see next page) through lunch, and I'm out in the slight drizzle and excessive humidity to work at 2:45. Called Westchester AGAIN for the proper brochure, but the main thing is a $100 deposit, Doug's coming Saturday, I give three names to Quiz Erica, and leave word with Robert Walker, Paul's friend at the Summit. Work on another unit and part of a third, but still talking with people, and Ron worries me at the end of the day by asking if Ginny's talked to me, which she hasn't, and I'll probably be doing the same things Barry and Alice are doing next week. I hope I can talk Ginny into the FACT that I can do much more than they do, and so deserve $7 an hour still. Maybe I can check ALL the math, that's an idea! Out at 5:35 and get a "block ticket" from the subway when we're standing on the BMT platform for about 15 minutes in front of a stuck train, and I walk across to the IRT and get home about 6:15. John wants to see a movie I don't want to see tonight, so I get right into trip-diary typing, getting through 20 pages, and making it POSSIBLE to finish over the weekend, about 30 pages per day at the MOST, and wanted to watch "Gertrude Stein" on 13, but it's totally taken up with the Watergate hearings. Do dishes late, then John's STILL not home after I wash out a couple of shirts to 11:30, so I smoke and put on music, taking INCREDIBLE notes (see following pages), and during Intro to Mefisto, the lights get brighter, and John's home. I'm willing to continue listening, but he switches to FM, so he says "I thought you'd want to get to bed," and so I do, at 1, with just the most desultory mustache to upper lip goodnight kiss; even I don't feel sexy.
DIARY 4035
SATURDAY, AUGUST 4. Wake about 8 to find John leaving and exercise for hopefully the last time at level 2 for some time, then clean the lamp bowl in the bathroom ceiling, and get over to type. Get involved in the restaurant list, bringing it up to date from 54 to 69 restaurants, and I have to retype on two sheets, which takes until 1 pm, when I have lunch and chat with John, who decides HE wants to go to the TV tryouts on Monday. I try calling Ed Berger through the day, but there's no answer. Joe Farinas calls a few times about his coming. I continue typing through the afternoon to 5, finishing 25 pages but coming to the conclusion that I have at LEAST 45 more pages to type, so I surely won't finish it tomorrow; but, as I hoped before, tomorrow and ONE MORE DAY?? Then over to shower and out for poppers and ice for the ice cream which John has mixed already, and I get out the Wollensack to record the TV program, and start putting together the ice cream maker, and by that time Joe Farinas has arrived (to taste what's been done with his guinea hen bones) at 6:30, and everyone's here but Doug by 7, and John misses the introduction because he's fussing around the kitchen. I'd forgotten how awful I looked (and of course everyone agreed with me), but there's the showing, and Avi and group watch it until 7:30 while Gerald, who knows how to do it, and I take off our shirts and begin working with the ice cream. Doug's shirt comes off when he arrives at 7:15, with an elaborate story about blown fuses and elevator breakdowns, and we stay shirtless for the rest of the evening. John's chicken is particularly good in a very rich sauce, I don't get to taste any of Azak's gift wine, Avi's flowers don't look good as I put them into a vase, everyone decides, John's salad is very different and interesting, the bones from the chicken go back to form ANOTHER stock, and the party splits up into John talking dance with Rudy Perez and his lover Bill in his apartment with Avi and Arthur listening (until Arthur comes over to hear what WE'RE saying), while Doug and Joe and Dennis and Gerald (one ball showing through the evening until Avi remarks about it, to Arthur's disgust)
DIARY 4037
SUNDAY, AUGUST 5. Wake tired, but push myself out of bed and start typing, hoping to finish today with the trip diary, but I forget about the days in the middle that I have to invent, and obviously I need one MORE day. Clear with John to do the dishes when I want to do them, and before dinner he complains that I haven't washed the dishes he needs for THIS dinner. Tell him he should have TOLD me, trying not to lose my temper. Type 11 pages before lunch at 12:30, and then type 9 more pages before doing the first batch of dishes about 3. Then type 7 more pages and get over to exercise on the first time for level three, not really THAT difficult, though my stomach still feels like it's not quite ready for it, and shower until 5, and get over to do the REST of the dishes, while the dinner for this evening is cooking. Type 3 more pages, for a total of 30 for the day, still about 25 to go, which should be one MORE day, and have dinner at 7. Over to watch TV at 8, while John goes out to the Promenade, and watch Carmen De Lavallade with the Boston Pops till 9, some good things, Third Part of "Cousin Bette" on Masterpiece Theater until 10, John watching too, then over to do the THIRD set of dishes for the day, and back to watch the stupid program on the Adirondack park, and then the Channel 13 Biography of Gertrude Stein until 12:30. John flakes out and goes to sleep, without missing, however, her conviction that she WAS a genius, that she kept on writing even when everyone sent her books back, that she published the first few of them herself, and that it was the "Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas" that really started her popularity. Catty remarks that it was really TOKLAS who was the genius of the two, and Stein must have been RICH if she could buy all these paintings and quite joyfully not have done a day's manual work in her entire life. Much made of her charisma, though of course nothing of that comes across on old films reproduced on TV. Exhausting day, though I haven't finished HALF of what I wanted to do, the floor VERY fluffy from all the scuffling at the party, Diary still not finished, and a VERY busy week coming up with movies and TV tryouts, and more to COME in the week.
DIARY 4038
MONDAY, AUGUST 6. Up about 8, struggle through exercising again, but can't manage to get to work before 10, finishing up the Sunday Times, showering, having breakfast. Call the Thalia for the schedule, call Avi to say I'm coming to visit him, call Erica with 4 MORE names from Avi, call Jennifer Daily who says that Renee Kassan does most of their indexing, but she might have some "rekeying" for me to do, and I call Pam Goett to ask if she wants to come along since Diane's not able to come. Tot up my average and I've made 45 calls in 10 days, and I'm about finished with keeping the list of calls I'm making, since it's sunk to an average of below 3 a day, back to normal after the flurry after returning from the trip. Then write a quick letter to Mom, since I'd had no time to DO that, and work on two units and leave at 2 for the Thalia. "All Though the Night" is very melodramatic with Fifth Columnists "all over the place" probably more the paranoia of Hollywood than the actuality of the situation, blowing up battleships at Brooklyn Navy Yard and mining New York Harbor. "Key Largo" is the same ENDING I've seen a couple of times of the shootout on the boat, with Lauren Bacall as Lionel Barrymore's daughter in a seedy hotel wracked by a tropical storm that bends the licorice model trees all over the place. Walk back down to Avi's for a cold drink and wash my face and hands and comb my hair, and he says we'll make it, and I say we'll be late, and we get there at 7:05 (see next page). Out at 8:10, good, and walk to the Miyakosa Restaurant, which John doesn't care for at ALL, and makes my eating uncomfortable, though the tempura was quite good and he didn't say a WORD about his sashimi platter, which LOOKED quite good. Home rather silent at 9, and he's quickly into bed and I probably smoke and work myself up into a frenzy of excitement, even to going into the poppers and getting VERY hard, so that I'm oozing all over myself, and moisten it, rubbing the entire cock very hard and coming with a great intensity in a new way, but the pressures on the cock don't help the orgasm, and it was a good try, but it's best to do it as LIGHTLY as possible until the orgasm just WON'T WAIT another moment.
DIARY 4040
TUESDAY, AUGUST 7. Manage to make it to work at 8:45 even with exercising, and call Quad for movie schedules, Cynthia to find that I've been chosen for the FINAL taping on Thursday in BROOKLYN for $10, Avi to tell him that someone from the audience WAS selected, and Arnie to make arrangements to finally pick up the Sunday Times that he has waiting for me from the trip. Work on the last two units to EDIT, and then get over to talk to Ginny, who says that I can help out Barry, until she calls him and finds out that HE has nothing to do, and she says I'm perfectly free to sit around doing nothing. "Dror, who earns ALMOST as much as you do, has been doing nothing for weeks," she says wryly. I ask Ron what to do, and he puts me onto the proofreading, doing the first two after playing Scrabble with him for the first time in ages, and HE wins for a change, which will probably keep him interested in playing for awhile. I leave at 3:45 for the Quad, getting in at the end of "Man Who Loved Cat Dancing" and realize what one of the reviewers said about "Burt Reynolds' resurrection from the dead": he's obviously shot to look like dead, and then he gets up and kisses the heroine and is left with his widow-murdered villain's horse and the widow. "Travels with My Aunt" is sort of fun, remarkable mainly for the beautiful interiors of the St. George and Albion Hotels and the Gare de Lyon in Paris with its turn-of-the-century charms, and the Istanbul Express, which is probably just as luxurious as it ever was. There ARE charms to traveling first class. The "suspense ending" of the coin being frozen in the air is rather a cop-out, but if he's REALLY been liberated from the English self, he'll IGNORE the coin's falling and go larking with her ANYWAY. Home at 8:15 to cook liver (no beef in stores) and get disgusted with Watergate replacing "International Performance" at 9. John comes in from his walk, and we have the first of a series of talks (see next page) about our quickly changing relationship. We both decide that we have to continue the talk the next night, and I smoke just to get to sleep, not feeling any interest in sex, either with him or with myself, because of the gloomy prognostications.
DIARY 4042
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8. Have a dream just before waking that I'm working as a janitor in a posh club, and attending a board meeting to raise my wages from $4 per hour to $5 per hour. Funny how my talk with GINNY yesterday, saying that my salary probably wouldn't be changed if I changed my jobs at ACC turned out to be more important, dream-wise, then my talk with JOHN last night. John leaves me an order of coffee to buy when I go down to meet Peter Rooney this evening after work, so I get to work rather late at 9:45, where I have this dialog with Dror: Me: "Can I s-s-s-SLIP this under here?" Dror: "Just s-s-s-s-SLIP it IN." Me: "I BEG your pardon?" and I jot it down, and write pardon/hardon on the paper. I call Schapira to get prices and hours, borrow $2 from Dror after the $5 from Ron yesterday, since I didn't get my check until yesterday, having gone at 2 to the movies on Monday, and gave it to John to cash today for the kitty, call Rooney to move the time up from 6 to 5:30, and Pam calls to say, in some heat, that I SHOULD have done the proofreading already, rather than waiting for the rest of it, so I have to do it TONIGHT. Pam's call is the last I put on the list of phone calls, 52 in 12 days, quite a lot, but it's settling down to a more normal distribution now, so I can get rid of THAT list, just hoping that I can keep MORE up to date on the diary than the week behind I was YESTERDAY. Proofread three units until 4, win at Scrabble, leave at 4:45 to buy the coffee, see Peter Rooney (see next page), get home about 8 for a pigs-feet and wiener dinner, and John wants to have our talk right after we finish at 8:30, which lasts until 10:30 (see following page), more depressing than EVER, and I do dishes and get a half-hour's work in on the Garrett and Silver Teacher's Guide from 11-11:30, then watch "Fraulein Doktor" about her "murder" of Kitchener and a number of other people, her addiction to morphine, and her enigmatic ending in laughing/crying/madness. Bed at 1:30, but I can't sleep due to the turmoil of the walk and the work, so I'm up at 1:50 and work through to 3:30, finishing over half and wearing myself and my eyes out to the point that, when I lie down to sleep, I DO.
DIARY 4045
THURSDAY, AUGUST 9. Wake at 7:30, almost numb from only 4 hours sleep, but hop out of bed before I can feel weary, or sorry for myself, and get to work on the rest of the MS at 7:35 and finish at 9:35. Call her to tell her that I'd be at work about 11:30, so as not to worry her if she calls and I'm not there, and WARN her about the NUMBER of flags on the MS. Then out to the post office to pick up two coin sendings, and to the Chinese laundry to pick up the blue shirt I have to wear to work today because of the TV taping this evening. Get in at 11:30 and talk to Pam until 12:15, and she calls back on Friday to tell me ground rules for THIS particular book, a freebie for which I should leave it pretty much as is, unless it's a mistake. Then work on one and a half units until Ron STOPS me from the R and S units and tells me to work on the P and Q Practice Problems, and I scout around finding what Marge has been doing and what's been done, and get to 5 or 6 of them, going fairly fast on something new and somewhat more interesting, and then leave for the TV taping at 5:45, after Diane told me it would only take 45 minutes to get there. My desire for 32 hours of work each week isn't quite working out THIS week, with only 22¼ through today, but the extra cash from Pam will be nice. One of the most elaborate subway patterns in years: the Lexington Local from 28th to 14th, the express to Atlantic Avenue, the D to Newkirk Express stop, and then, not the listed QB or QJ, but the no-other-alternative M train, and get to the large brick building at 6:40, to see a CROWD of people outside, about six of us (all the rest women: the two other "pawns," the plump one and the old lady with the cane, Anice) and we're in just about 6:45, so I really wasn't that late after all. Good taping (see next page), and we're out at 9, and I'm home, after catching wrong transfer at Atlantic Avenue and having to change AGAIN at Borough Hall---so it was a SEVEN-TRAIN TRIP, surely a maximum!---at 9:45, to have rewarmed soup and pork chops which I severely undercook, and John arrives and we chat, and I get to bed at 11, very tired from the busy schedule yesterday, hoping to catch up on a lot of sleep tonight.
DIARY 4047
FRIDAY, AUGUST 10. Wake early and feel too tired to exercise, so I'm out without breakfast at 8, and get to work at 8:30, great. Work on about 15 practice problem sets through the morning and afternoon, then at 2 I go out to buy pills and pipe cleaners and candy and Certs, and get back to find Fraya wanting to move ME away from my DESK, but finally I help Ron cart it in, to find the heating pipes boiling hot, since they're "trying to clean out the air-conditioning ducts" and need the BOILERS on. Fraya tells everyone they can go home at 4 pm, but since I'm on an hourly basis, I sit around with the air conditioner directed ONTO my back, and work through until 5:30, for an 8½ hour day that brings me up to a fairly respectable 30-3/4 hours for the week, making the two-week total 68, still 4 hours ahead of my schedule, though next week is shaping up into a busy one, too: Mom called John to say she had a flu bug, so SHE wasn't coming into town, but Robert Walker did NOT phone, so maybe HE won't be too much trouble; then the Lion-Dufours were around on Saturday, and John thought to take them up to Stonehenge (my suggestion) on Tuesday, then there looked like a dinner at the LaRue's with Mary Rasmussen on Wednesday, and we'd leave early for New Hampshire on FRIDAY, which would make the week quite a bit shorter than it need be. Home at 6 to have the rest of the pork chops and Talk #3 (see next page), and then I get in to type 16 pages of the trip diary, STILL not quite finished, but TOMORROW should finish it, and watch TV from 10:30-11 with black and white slides of early TV personalities, and John goes tired to bed at 11:15, and I get out the grass, and the pornography, and REALLY work myself up, then go for the poppers, but I've just gotten to a state that I really can't surpass, rock hard, infinitely prolongable, fantastically felt, and I really feel that I might damage myself if I keep it up any longer, so I come with a great spurt, then lay quietly while it all dries, then put the book and the grass and the poppers away, including the one that I thought to use afresh, but I was so excited I really didn't need it. Crawl into bed and fall asleep the instant my head touches down.
DIARY 4049
SATURDAY, AUGUST 11. Up at 7:45, feeling too tired from coming last night to exercise immediately, so I got over at 8 to FINISH the trip diary with 9 more pages, even proofreading the list of expenses and showing that he wouldn't have benefited by getting a Eurailpass, where I WOULD have, but only by a couple of dollars, for 3 weeks or a month, but NOT for 2 months. Lunch in the middle, without John, who's gone out at 12 to pick up Bernard and Perrine Lion-Dufour at the Algonquin, Gilles' sister and brother-in-law, and then at 2:30, after typing two more diary pages, I went over to fix up the apartment, dust, and vacuum, and then watched the first part of the USA-USSR wrestling championships with many NICE bodies, and during the intermissions and other shows (which they didn't show all of, since we LOST the match), I exercised for the SECOND time of the day in order to hold to AT LEAST 5 sessions per week until I'm satisfied with the shape I'm in (just as John is staying away from wine until he's in the state HE wants to be in, namely, 145 pounds or less), and shower for the SECOND time, and get over at 4:50 to just BEGIN to type again when the bell goes downstairs and they're up. They'd brought three bottles of wine and say they have three MORE coming with friends on Thursday, and we chat in John's place, then in mine while he soaks in a cold tub, then we're out to the Promenade to watch the skyline and people and drink two bottles of the plum wine, then we're into the Mexican restaurant, for beers and guacamole and an assortment of dishes, my chicken mole verde not the best they have, and they were so pleasant to be with John suggested an evening at Coney Island, so we started off at 9:10 and got there at 9:40 and walked on the CRUDDY, watery, glass-covered, garbage-studded, shit-encrusted sidewalks to watch the blacks dancing to the Himalaya music, I ride the Jumbo Jet without anyone, and we ALL ride the Wonder Wheel, she ducking under Bernard's shoulder at the top, suffering from "vertige," and John and I and then BERNARD and I rode the Cyclone, which he summarized by saying "It might be even MORE fun after two or three times and I'd be able to open my eyes." Drive them back to the hotel through the 70¢ Brooklyn Battery Tunnel at midnight, buy the Times, read a bit, and VERY tired, to sleep about 1 am.
DIARY 4052
SUNDAY, AUGUST 12. Exercise first thing in the morning to get THAT over with, then go through the New York Times until about 11, when I'm over to start typing, stop for lunch for a bit, when we have Talk #4 (see preceding two pages), and at 3:30 I finish typing the 13 pages of the day with THOSE pages. Then I decide to get into letters, so I write to Elaine, Mom, Peter, and send out five other things, like a letter to Ballantine Books about "The Nightland," send for two opera tickets from the New York State Theater, the stock report back to Dreyfus, a letter to Peggy Schillinger Jobes telling her about my "Spouse" John A., and a request for a stamp order-form from Washington. Arthur Mitchell calls in the middle of this, saying he's back in town, would like to see me again, and will call later in the week, but if I want to call him, I can get in touch with him at the studios, for which he gives me the number. Then we have dinner of rabbit, tough but tasty in his wine sauce, and I do the dishes and get down to the second part of the Garrett and Silver, working from 8:20 to 8:40 until the lights go out, and then fuss as they go out, come back on, go out again about five times, but at 9 they're on for the beginning of "Cousin Bette," and they go off for about three minutes during five times, while the TV set struggles to keep going. Then back over at 9:45 to work until 11, getting MOST of it finished, and over to find that the program I wanted to watch isn't on because they're showing a feature film that Watergate pushed aside. Even after Watergate's OFF the air, it affects my viewing of Channel 13. So I shower and read a bit of the papers while John watches the movie for a bit, and we lie down, and I want SO much to reach over, touch him, ask him if he even LIKES me anymore, if he really WANTS to continue with the relationship, what would I have to DO to change the sexless situation in which we find ourselves, but he's "tired" again, and I sigh a few times, and then it's OBVIOUS I'm not going to go to sleep, so I'm up to smoke a pipeful of Second Generation, inhaling very deeply from 50 to 30 seconds, and stumble into bed, to breathe deeply a few more times, and finally fall asleep. This week or next week, watch "Tolstoy."