1973 6 of 6
DIARY 4219
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12. Wake at 8 feeling just ghastly after only 4½ hours sleep, but all I have to get through is the Campbell dinner tonight and that will be IT, which is encouraging. Work through until 9 and get to page 51, so THAT will be all: 1466 lines, or $366, which is MUCH too little for 55 hours work, not EVEN $7 per hour, so when I proofread and finish with everything except tearing apart the carbons, figuring to get her to xerox the author's copy, I determine on the subway at 11:30 to ask for $400 at LEAST, and get there at 11:45 to have her insist that I go through the carbons, but I find that there's really not THAT much to redo for the author's copy, and I take everything apart by 12:30, and she says that $400 is OK for a fixed price without ANY rate set, so I put in the bill and leave at 1:10 for work. Get in at 1:30, Ron's out, and the floor is DEAD. Eat and read Proust. Work on Z's, get Reading Readiness Objectives Introduction from Patty Leach via Dick, and RUTH calls at 3:30, the subentries are alphabetized wrong. I'd thought it was the SUBJECT word that was alphabetized, but Chicago makes it clear that it IS the first main noun or verb or adjective, and I panic, thinking that I'll have to retype all 51 pages, but she says I should call her back, and when I look at the SCOPE of the changes, I see that it's not REALLY that much, and I quickly find that I really DON'T have to waste another morning going in there to change it if she'd only work for about 20 minutes for me, so I call her at 4:30 and offer $10 an hour, but she does it for nothing, and I'm again feeling good about the whole thing. Talk with Barry for a long time, and rumor says they're CLOSING the 12th floor, though the OTHER rumor has Charles Walther moving to the 12th, into the composing room. Can't wait to see what happens on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday! Leave at 5:30, saying that I didn't have lunch and charging 4 hours, and get home to wash for the Campbells and they come PROMPTLY at 6:30, and they're both delightful, but HE is one of the most interesting people I've ever met (see next page). He leaves at 11, I do PART of the dishes, and leave rest for tomorrow.
DIARY 4221
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13. Don't get to work until 10:30 what with washing dishes for a couple of hours and bringing everything in to the office. Talk to Madeline Sunshine about her boss taking her to Europe, which disturbs her and her husband greatly, buy a card for Ginny's leaving (that the office likes and appropriates as my donation for the champagne) and some stationery for her (which is the only thing she carries OUT of the office with her!), and talk to Dror and Diane (who gets pissed at Tom and says it feels GREAT to look at him in disgust, so that he says "Sorry I disturbed your conversation with Jerry, Diane," before he leaves Jerry's office) and Ron tries to figure how much the company's LOST in the year, but calculated rent to cents and then threw in $1,000,000 for printing losses with NO basis in fact, and Jerry gives us some figures to work with, like $1 for some of the more elaborate unit books! I finish objectives and work on the Z's (classroom activities) a BIT, and Ginny lends me Bette Midler and has champagne at 3 and listens to GOSPEL READINGS on alienation and faith on "The Alphabet Book" cassette that Tom thinks is a hoax, and we talk and talk and talk, getting almost nothing done. Talk to Arnie and decide that "Three Caballeros" is NOT the film with the dancing paintbrush that I remember so vividly, which I think is "Baia," so I figure, since the subway is late and I get home at 6:10 to find the table set because I told John I wanted to eat at 6:05, but we're finished at 7, and the movie starts at 7:45, so I take off at 7:10 after zipping through the dishes, and it DOES turn out to be a good movie (see next page), and I'm happy that I went to see it, though the lecturer is a bit of a bore and Pat Ast, next to me, walks out before the discussion, and is thankfully not QUITE as loud and obstreperous as she is in Warhol's films, but she and her thumby friend DO talk rudely during his lecture, and I try to read Proust but just leave it slide by, writing notes copiously in the back while the images flicker across my brain, and THIS might be part of the "Acid trip" memory of fantasies and sounds and ideas from the FAR past (1945). Home tired and bed to try to catch up on sleep before pinochle tomorrow night.
DIARY 4223
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14. To work at 9, work on Z's all day; Scrabble; talk with Dror and Gary, Larry Catalano collects $1 from 40 people for the wine! Tell John I feel like I'm seeing the last act of "Gotterdammerung!" Incredible party 3:15-5:30, at which I drink about 6 glasses of white wine and talk for a long time with Anne Herrick about her plans for the future, and she doesn't seem daunted by the fact, as Bernie tells me on Friday, that she's 51 years old and trying something entirely new. Bernie's smiling to herself as she pours her drinks, Hedda's sitting morose until someone talks to her, than pours wine over her hand when she says she's independently wealthy and I pour wine over MY hand when I repeat it. Figure that everyone wants to get stoned so that they can react as Tom reacted to Hedda's leaving: "Oh, I'll see you around again, I'm sure," to PROTECT everyone from the feeling of "I like you, I might want to see you again, I might miss you, but I'll never TELL you that." Fraya's going too, and Bernie says Nick hates things like this because it makes him feel so SAD, and in fact HE wouldn't be drinking to cover up his feelings. I get very drunk and look with longing at the beauty from 7 who's leaving too, it seems, and even Bob Kelly's back to say goodbye. Things thinning out at 5:30, but I later hear Bernie put Madeline's head under water at 7 to stop her from being sick, and people left at 7, too. I float home on the subway, watching the people through new eyes, seeing their sadness and loneliness, and their frantic graspings at love: particularly the UGLY girl mooning over a SEXY ugly guy with a thick neck, and sensuous adam's apple, and I sail through dinner with no pain, pouring my wine back into the bottle, and get caught in the middle of dishes at 7 by on-time Dick. Alan arrives at 7:10 and we're right into play on the card table, and things are fairly even all the way through, we stop about 9 for an intermission during which John pops some corn and we talk about Don Goodwin being fired from the Christopher Street Committee and some New York Committee, which will make him want to hang onto the Mattachine presidency all the more strongly. THEY eventually win (Dick and John) with lots of good cards, and they leave at 11, pleased.
DIARY 4224
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15. Cuddle and have SEX this morning, I whacking myself sore. On the subway to work I have a strange THOUGHT, which I write down when I get to work at 9:15: It's inevitable that I would adapt the style of Marcel Proust in his "Remembrance of Things Past" if I say that, much to my surprise, I find myself having some very strange thoughts on the subway (which was the Lexington since I had gone to have my glass frames adjusted this morning, no longer willing to subject myself to their inordinate pressures on my right ear) about my coming flight to Moscow. Far from the idea of avoiding all thought about it for fear that my apprehension about flying would grip me anew, I found myself sensing the experience of rising above the earth as an elation, a feeling of escape, of joy, which startled me as much as it pleased me. A change, then, may become effective not by not thinking about it, but by leaping immediately to its opposite, fear and panic about flying to a positive anticipation of the elated feeling, that I had once, long ago, felt at the exhilarating moment of takeoff. (My wrist is sore ALREADY). Seventh floor is LOCKED, woman who pushed 15 and I say "almost deserted" and tsk tsk back and forth, and Jerry Steinhart is talking to his harem, and someone's typing, Dick Schmitt's secretary still smiles as I sign in, phones ring, and it's not TOO different. Elevator dings on the floor, Tom's not in yet, but I suspect a LOWERING of the level of the number of people going to the JOHN through the day. Get haircut, too! Out at 5:15 out of sheer boredom, thinking to get John to go to a restaurant, but I'd forgotten it was his CLASS day today, so I'm home, mope about, than out to get ice cream for dessert to "think" of him, and he's in at 7:45, we eat, and I don't feel like doing anything, debating getting some of the stuff off the Do list, but I type 2 and don't feel like typing anything more, so I finally settle down with the packet of stuff that Arnie's left during the day, his Times file on Russia, and I get through lots of stuff about Brezhnev and various writers and only a LITTLE for tourists, and finish about 11, over to shower and get into bed next to John at 11:15, feeling tired enough to fall asleep immediately without smoking, very well.
DIARY 4255
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16. In at 9:30 after a few afternoons of early lunch have driven me back to breakfast, which I attack literally drooling with saliva, and have LONG talks with Chela (when I go down to survey the devastation on the fifth floor, only one person in audio, one person monitoring, and she, with three International Department people on the other side of the zigzag partitions) and Bernie (who's been moved into the art department to keep Bill Mutter and Dick Sime company, and who talks about her six-siblinged Iowa childhood sitting on the coal stove and keeping out of Pop's way while he makes like he has no family at all, and a mother who rocks the family by calling a sister in San Francisco, having taken too many Dexedrines, and then drops the phone), until 1, and then Scrabble and I have TWO bingos (CODIFIES and OBLIGED) and talk with Dick Sime, arguing about literally nothing (the complexity of Russian versus French), and I type my Russian notes, work on the Greenburg outline while Ron and Madeline play a second game in preparation for the tournament on Sunday, and I do four Z's in about two hours, feeling a bit cussed for stretching out the time so much. Work until 6:30, out to find the temperature plunged into the 30's, up to the ASI meeting (see next page) and then zip back at 9:20 to hit the first intermission and a SUMMARY of the plot (in "Beneath the Planet of the Apes" the planet was exploded, but Zyra and Cornelius take off in the ship and come back to the PRESENT, where they're shot, but their BABY lives, talking), and it's not BAD, of "Escape from the Planet of the Apes," then eating pork chops during, then over to wash dishes, shower, and watch "The Creeping Flesh," truly creepy from the painting, but the wet-look monster-face isn't the most effective, though the idea it was HIMSELF is rather neat, with HIS finger shown hacked off at the end. Good old-English street scenes and madhouse scenes, neat color and suspense. THEN David Bowie comes on at 1:20, when THAT'S over, and he's in wet-red tights, black heels and two breast-feathers; blue crotch-flames off-the-shoulder; net dance-belt under spider's webs; striped glitter-suit, and an 8 Spiderman chorus, ultimate camp, and the CAMERA goes through color changes for the awful Troggs, and I smoke at 2:15 and then try to come, can't, into bed, out, come ECSTATICALLY, bed at 3!
DIARY 4227
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17. Wake when John gets up, but I JUST don't feel like getting out of bed, so I lie there until about 10, and then over to struggle through lots of pages until lunchtime, then finish 13 pages to get up to date, and then take out after the mail, getting off resumes for jobs, bills, and other things, including another letter to Peter Schaeffer to catch up to date, and then I have the marvelous feeling of being caught up with the dairy AND work AND correspondence, and I can actually get started on something else! Try to get John Kim to come over in the evening with Eddie, but he's got some lover who'd gone to Korea and fallen in love with a Korean gal who spoke no English, so he wants John to call her FOR him and talk with her, and so he wants to stay home, and though he "has nothing AGAINST Puerto Ricans," he prefers older people and seems ALWAYS to think that I'm inviting him over for sex. Out about 4 to buy squash for Eddie's vegetarian dinner (and stop by at Arnie's for two pieces of GREAT cheesecake and to return the clippings that he gave me on Russia), and cook it at 8:30, but he doesn't get here until 9:15, when I'm playing through some of the tapes to find one to send to Bill and to record Ginny's "Bette Midler" record onto, and I have squash with him, he eats the soup John made though it's made with a meat stock, and even likes the bacon flavoring in the squash, and gets the recipe for the lentil and cheddar cheese loaf, and then he's brought some "Columbian" grass which we smoke in the pipe, and I put on the TV to the "hidden channel" and we try bidis, which prevent him from getting off the sofa, and he seems to want to have sex with me, but his balding spot and thick waist don't lead me to want to go to bed with HIM, and when John gets home at 11:30, we decide to leave for the party, though John holds onto the car keys and says that we should take the subway, which would be convenient anyway. Eddie thinks John's mad at him, but I say he's just tired and appears that way. Get out in the cold evening to a black section, then a factory section, and there's this sloping shingled house-front along in the block, and THAT'S where the party is (see next page) ending VERY stoned on the subway at 3 am AGAIN.
DIARY 4229
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 18. John's gone out for the paper, and I'm again up late, in to watch Camera Three at 11, and then have an early lunch and out for the Scrabble tournament (see next page) at 12:40, and get home just after 4 to read through the rest of the Times, watch the last part of "Phantom India" at 5, "Bombay, the Future of India," where April 7th was the end of their journey, they went to a temple festival in the nearby city of Rajistani, and it closes with the INCREDIBLE statistic that India has more people than Africa and South America put together! In fact, in 1950, the population of India EXCEEDED the entire Western Hemisphere!! Get ready for the frozen daiquiris, and Ruth Currier arrives at 6:30, and we start in drinking, and then Mal and Kei arrive, and I make a new batch, filling me and John up again, and Art Bauman arrives about 7:15, and I make a third batch, using up the last of the crushed ice, and thankfully the glue on the mixer holds through the three. We eat about 8:30, and the couscous is rather dry because John neglected to put enough of the savory sauce over the bulgur, and the dessert of the Syrian cakes slathered in whipped cream is rather interesting. Then into the living room for more drinks, and Kei is recovering a bit from her red-facedness from the daiquiri which Mal finished for her. Ruth was very soft-spoken, discouraging John from going into the university field because of all the paperwork and hassling involved, and Kei was more open than usual, talking about her dancing and adventures, and Mal, as usual, bless him, seemed always ready to step into any conversational slowdowns and talk about anything that popped into his head. They were shown the paintings from India, we talked about various dance cultures for awhile, Ruth talked about some of the old days in the field of dance, and I had the vision of myself looking back on gatherings such as these, when Ruth Currier would be a legend and Kei would be a world-famous figure, and they were all here, sitting and talking, and I record not so much the conversation as the FEEL of the evening, and they all get tired and have to get home about 11, and they gather their wraps and leave, and I'm exhausted enough to just leave dirty dishes SIT, and get to bed even without showering.
DIARY 4231
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 19. Up at 7:45 to get through two batches of dishes from last night, taking time between to tape the Bette Midler record so that I can take it back to Ginny, beginning to count the days I have before the trip as compared to the number of things to do on my want-to-do list, and I'm usually keeping about ONE day late. Get into work at 11:45 and call Elizabeth to accept her invitation to a party on December 15, have Jo Satloff tell me that she's waiting for me to get back from Russia before sending me Len's country-stamp list, and talk to Susan McMahon. DON'T feel like working, only goofing off, and I read Proust during lunch because they thought I wouldn't be in, so Madeline and Ron play Scrabble in her office so that she can answer Tom's phone. Home and type 4 to catch up on the diary, talk to John about his NEW idea of writing a book for the New York Public Library on collected articles on dance, and take the check down to Mrs. Johnson, showing her the letter about the interest on the deposit and telling her that my ceiling is STILL leaking. Lots of things off the list here. Then I begin listening to various tapes to find what I have on the small reels and play back the tape from Don O'Shea in response to my LSD treatment, and he sounds so young and hesitant it's wonderful to keep, and then find that the microphone Arnie gave me for the Uher doesn't work, and I have to get out the Wollensack again for the recording to Bill. It goes quite slowly and I feel very self-conscious, and won't have anything to add to my letter-file from it, so it almost feels that I haven't corresponded with him at all. John WENT out to a dance performance, but when it was $4 he decided to go to the Elgin, so he didn't get back until midnight, and by that time I was ready to shower and get into bed, and had no trouble getting to sleep since I was quite tired, still feeling vaguely sick about something, fantasizing that I might BECOME sick to prevent myself from taking the flight that I fear (but not really THAT much, anymore, so I should really stop TALKING about it!), and I feel that that WON'T do, so I bustle around as if I felt normally energetic. Started EXERCISING, also, feeling that I HAVE to get back into that before the trip and the WALKING.
DIARY 4232
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 20. Up and fuss about the apartment, finishing the tape to Bill after telling John to please refrain from coming through the apartment with his final pot-harvest until I've finished with the tape. Then watch "Christopher Strong" on TV, and it's not QUITE the film I remember with Katherine Hepburn flying upward into the sun, getting hotter all the time, although they might have cut it drastically to get it into the 90 minutes with all the commercials. Leave at 11:30, stopping at the bank to take out money for the weekend and to buy stamps for the rest of the 8¢ season, and get to work at 12:30, but since they've moved the refrigerator into the art department I don't have to go by the sign-out sheet every morning, so I blithely sign IN at 9:30 when I sign out at 5:30. Madeline and Danie are xeroxing and Tom wants to go to lunch, so he asks ME to move into Madeline's (or his, he says) desk to work and answer the phone, so I have the ultimate promotion: to secretary. Scrabble with Ron, who whomps me, having been discouraged from the tournament, and the place is JUST DEAD; 30 people LEFT in the company, and others leaving all the time. Chela moves up from the fifth floor, leaving only Pete Gibson down there. Home at 5:58 to "my" theme music, and have dinner and wash dishes in order to get out to the subway again for the New School and "Ichabod and Mr. Toad" (see next page). Class lasts until 10:15 and I get back to have a slice of pizza to fill my stomach, John's getting into bed and I think there might be sex, but we just roll over to sleep, but I can't. Debate smoking, and decide that I won't have much chance in the FUTURE since it's going to be busy, and then I'll be with my mother in Russia, so I get up to smoke and have one of the STRANGEST comes EVER (see following page). Then get the idea of food into my head, so I'm over to put a muffin into the toaster and pass the time waiting for it to toast by eating a piece of the cake, and then slather the muffin with butter and jam, and then STILL don't have enough, so I get down the cereal and jam dry cereal into my gaping mouth, feeling very stupid but marvelously gratified, and get back into bed to SLEEP.
DIARY 4235
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 21. Up feeling tired and spaced-out, but John comes on strong and I do him, knowing that I'm smelly and tacky from coming last night, but feeling VERY guilty about doing him and not sharing myself with him, but feeling that it IS his fault since we so seldom have sex. He comes nicely, and I ask him if I inopportuned him, and he says no, but doesn't QUITE give me his cute smile, so maybe part of my apprehension brushed off onto him. Brood about it on the subway going to work, feeling awful about having to USE his body in this way, prohibiting MY body to be used by HIM. In at 10:30 after eating breakfast, but sign in at 9:30. Work on a lot of Z's this week, but today I start retyping "Whaddya KNOW?" for Ron Greenburg, and then call Ginny (since Susan didn't call for lunch today I assume she's sick) to bring back the record, and I get out at 11:45 to see her, getting there at 12:15, elegant building across the Penn Central tracks, and we go to the Twin Pub to eat, not bad liver for $1.60, and buy her a Bloody Mary for $1.10 for lending me the record, and we talk about people and she says she'll probably have freelance work for me when I get back from Russia. Back at 1:30 to sign out for a half-hour lunch, and then Dick (who's going to the doctor for the intestinal flu touches that EVERYONE, from the smell of the john, seems to have) gives me some stuff to proofread, and I again put aside the Z's, not being committed until at LEAST Christmas! Proofread with some interest, since it's something different, and out at 5:20 to get home early to wait for Fran, but he calls at 6:50 to say his bus was delayed, so he had to eat in town and meets us in front of Carnegie Hall for Kathakali, waiting with Edward Gorey, who I FINALLY identify, and he's ALWAYS been there! Read the dance book to get into it, and in to an AWFUL audience that I read the riot act to afterward: couples jabbering in FRONT, Indian father and American mother lecturing their child in BACK, and line of drinkers of wine and booze on my LEFT, even if they ARE from Kerala they're rude. Home at 11 for orange daiquiris (having not felt the grass-butter cookies that John made for the evening) and talk until just after 12, and then I'm determined to get to bed, so shower and bed at 12:30, tired, smoking.
DIARY 4237
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22. Up quickly at 8 and John works on a quiche for breakfast while I chat with Fran about pollution, the energy crisis, and Hemlock Hall and other pleasant things. Then have the quiche, and I take to reading the guidebooks for Russia while they go out for a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and beyond in the unseasonably warm morning. I get through them all, starting to generate a list of things I want to see based on guidebook descriptions, and it quickly gets big enough so that I'll have more than enough to agitate to see OUTSIDE the guided tours, I'm sure. They're back and Fran reads John's paper while I go through EB for the city of Leningrad, and then it's about 3 and the Harmses come in with their friend, and we drink their Mosel as aperitif and then get in to the Greek-rice stuffed turkey with cranberry-pineapple-pine nut-pecan sauce, and good frozen peas, the mushroom bread that Mal brought on Sunday, and TWO pies that the gals made: good pecan by friend, and VERY sweet and raisiny sour cream pie straight from Minnesota by Lucy Pillsbury Bardo Harms. Entirely full by 5:30, and we lay around and sit around while I do the dishes, and then it's about time to leave at 7:15 after smoking a puff, for "Education of the Girl Child" (oh, and I caught up with the diary while they were out walking with six pages, so that the ONLY things I can do to catch up on the list is prepare for the trip [though I'll be taking most of the guidebooks WITH me] and sort out the writing volumes), which we stand outside for with a frank-eyed mother and what look like EITHER her two lovely children or her lovely child and his lovely lover. In at 8 and it's already started, and it's all I can do to remain objective about it, asking myself CONTINUALLY why it is that it turns me off so, and then John says that it has all to do with death (see next page), and so maybe THAT'S why I'm so turned off to it. It's obvious that Meredith Monk has quite a voice, whether trained or untrained it doesn't matter, but he says she wasn't quite in voice, giving out with no perfect quarter-tones, so it may be an ACCIDENT before, or she, too, had too much turkey. Home at 11:15 and I can't sleep, so I smoke and come AGAIN, FORTY-SIX spasms for NEW WORLD RECORD!!!
DIARY 4240
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 23. Up and find that Fran's awake already, and I clean up and exercise and have some coffee and some omelet with Fran while John cooks and has nothing, and then Fran INSISTS on starting the dishes until John stands around with his sweater on, ready to get onto the bicycles for their ride out to the Brooklyn Museum, and so I finish them, type two pages, and clear up some other stuff before leaving at 11:30 to meet them at noon at the JAMMED museum, and some of the pieces are pleasant, but the crowd makes the whole thing only barely worthwhile, and I buy a paperback of the exhibit, which, if I read at my leisure, will probably give me more than the skimpy placards and crushed view-plates of the exhibit itself. But SOME of the pieces incised into plaster are BEAUTIFUL, with marvelously graceful feet, and one greenish piece of alabaster with original color sticking is impressive, and there are some marvelous pieces in private collections in New York City! The other-worldly skull of Meritaten probably takes the cake---the robed figure was too fragmented for me to enjoy it. Then look at the West Indian parade costumes---mark it down for next Labor Day!---and then out to look for a restaurant, but the Dahomey and the Chinese have all changed into greasy spoons, so John buys cheese and lunch meat and beer and sardines and rolls and we eat in the balmy but chilly park, then get over to give it all another look, John buys a mask that I carry home with me on the subway, and they're back almost at once, taking naps while I go through Volume II of the Diary, separating into piles, and then have a drink and get out to meet Joy at the airport at 8, laughing about her tinned cake which had to be unwrapped to search for a bomb, I manage to get through the airport without TOO much of a twinge of apprehension about MY upcoming flight, and we're south to Lundy's, where the blacks rush OUT to get you to their table, and the $5 fish dinner is GREAT with sole for Joy and me, scallops which I liked the TEXTURE of (though the taste was still waxy and dead), and Fran had a cold lobster for $6, and the Cold Duck was $6, so it was about $8 apiece, not bad at all. Home VERY tired and I simply leave them and crawl toward bed, John joining me soon, too.
DIARY 4241
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24. Up at 8 and over to find them again all ready, and we again have omelets, John being nutty enough to cook eggs in a pot, and they tasted like potted eggs. Then we were out about 10 to the Frick, which I bought a great book from, and I keep forgetting they have THREE Vermeers, probably more than anyone except the Met and the Mauritshius. Then uptown in the cloudy weather on the West Side Highway to the Audubon Terrace, and the Hispanic Society is painted that SAME bricky red-purple color I remember so sadly from before. Get the Acoustiguide which spends a lot of time on the sunny Sorollas that Hamp missed, and then out to look at jet, lusterware, the awful Goya, Maja standing, another Paraja, modestly acknowledged in the guidebook to be the poorer of the two: the other the Met just paid $5 million for, and desks and tombs and tiles and mosaics and Roman remains. Then out to look for ANOTHER restaurant, and there's nothing, so we're into a deli where I try hamstrami (for the last time---it's just a peppery form of singularly tasteless ham) and Champale (I thought it had tasted good before, out of the can it was hideous) and then we're down to the Heye Indian exhibit, and it's still mind-boggling, as I remembered it to be: MUCH too much stuff packed much too tightly, and most of the GOOD things, sadly, had been packed off to the Met for "The Best of the Indian Museum" showing. Doesn't say much for what's left. Bought a GOOD Peru stone-book, for $3, and another guidebook, and hated the kids running around and the FATHER who had to touch everything. Out at 3 in terminal fatigue, and this time I'M tired enough to throw off my clothes and fall into bed from 4 to 6, when John wakes me, and I'd smoked before sleeping and was vaguely stoned through the meal, feeling more and more that there was nothing to SAY to the Bowells, and we had the turkey Florentine and Joy's cake and wine, and it was all good and I got stuffed again (though not NEARLY as much as Thanksgiving, which was GROANING full), and then we went off to the Chinese opera (see next page) better than I'd dreamed, picking up the Times on the way back to the thankfully-ticketless car, home, and FLOP into bed.
DIARY 4243
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 25. Wake at 7:30 and get over at the stroke of 8, at which same stroke they open the door wide for our entrance. John cooks breakfast again for the two of us, sausage mildly spiced, and we struggle through the last conversation and then it's time for them to catch the subway to the bus, and I very awkwardly half-embrace Fran on the bicep and around the waist, and he doesn't know how to respond (and I wouldn't either) and Joy's kiss is strained too, but they're gone and I get back to sorting through the diary volumes. Gently inquire during lunch if John thought they were a bit of a strain, but he didn't. I work through the diary volumes III, IV, and V all day, listening to rock music when WNCN is tied up on church on Sunday morning, and John goes out to Kei's to pick up the wall hanging which she's finished since he requested it LAST Sunday, and then Cyndy calls to say she has her stamp collection in town, and she arrives and HER kiss is awkward, and she tells me about Arica and her broken marriage and her possessions scattered all over the place and the tiny apartment that's supposed to sleep 9 people and her not knowing WHAT she's going to be doing after her three-week session. I can't resist a peek at her collection, and HER collection is fairly typical, but HIS might be something else, in an album from 1915, but the CONDITION is poor: heavily cancelled, badly damaged, HEAVILY hinged, maybe to the point where EVERYTHING would have to be soaked. Look up some and the average price for the 1400 stamps seems to be about 10¢, some up to 25¢, some few 80¢, but it SEEMS I should catalog the whole thing before offering her a price that's either too low or too high. Clean off after volume IV to have dinner, and then get back to it, after watching "Calcutta" from 5 to 6:30, and John's off again for the evening, and I continue sorting, do the dishes, he's in, to bed, and I stay up, smoke, take a popper, and get VERY close to a GOOD orgasm, but then it goes away and I have to STRUGGLE toward a mediocre one, which is a great disappointment, but I'm tired and frustrated after their visit, anticipating the trip, and so I fall into bed and get thoughtlessly to sleep.
DIARY 4244
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 26. Get to work about 10 after exercising, but sign in again at 9. Ron's out all day. Chat with Dick Sime. Dror talks and talks. Xerox stuff for Mom and send it to her. Type last page of "Whaddya KNOW?" Talk to Madeline. Kids' books made lots of money. Talk to Donnell Library short-dark-haired librarian about kids' travel books, she says "They're just JUNK now, but they could be great." Finish proofreading at 1. Music indexing during lunch. At 4:40, Tom Aloisi comes in: "You can work through till Friday, then we don't have enough money to pay you." "But I'm going to Russia on Thursday." "So I guess your last day will be Wednesday." So I guess! Even though I suspected it, it STILL comes as rather a shock when it actually happens. And it rather takes the steam out of doing any more on the Classroom Activities. Chat with a few about my last day, the day after tomorrow, and leave at 5:30. Took a note during the day about an idea that occurred to me on the subway (see next page) (no, I've got to start an EASIER method: why look UP, then to INDEX---see Diary 4245). Home and tell John about my leaving work, and sort of sigh through dinner of re-warmed turkey. Dishes, and then read the Voice, which I've managed to miss so far this week, and then John wanted me to re-read his paper, and I got through it in about two hours, taking down lots of notes which I went over with him in the morning, since he was too exhausted tonight to look at them. Then went through the New York Times from yesterday, finding the ad he circled for me and one right below it, which I ALSO sent out the next morning. Then smoke about 11:30 and get to bed fairly early, not even having the energy to masturbate, thinking that I'll have to catch up on sleep NOW because I might not sleep too well Wednesday night before the flight, will certainly not sleep ANY on Thursday night, even though it'll be 7 or 8 (depending on who's counting) hours shorter than normal, with the time zones), and I'll be going strongly through the following week. Lay there thinking about the sores in various places (see Diary 4246), and thankfully have no trouble falling asleep with the earplugs jammed in.
DIARY 4247
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27. In at 10:30, since I'm going over John's notes and sending out two job ads, but sign in at 9:30. Talk to Madeline, who has a GOOD idea on "Acid House," magazine excerpts! Call Alice, Ginny Croft, Marge Dumond, David Delete, Sarah Parker, Syva Meyers, and Dror to say that tomorrow is my last day. Get my purple pen back from Arlene Atkinson on the 8th floor. Try to xerox some things, and the personnel department has moved OFF the 8th floor and other people are in the office, and it's VERY strange to plug in the xerox machine and then get a "Call Key Operator" button on a machine that's in someone else's office. Manage to get 8-10 resumes through before it fails, too. Work till 4:30 because Henry Messer called, so I go down, stopping at Mattachine to find that Don's changed the TOP lock, making my keys totally useless, and down to Henry's at 5, but he's not there yet. Talk to Carl until a friend of his comes in, glance through the horridly overpriced "The Grand Tour," and Henry's in at 5:45, and he says he has NO interest in Mattachine anymore, starts drinking, talks highly of Dr. Howard Brown, whose dinner I'm missing by going away on Thursday, and at 6:30 he's VERY down and maudlin, and, just to test my OWN reactions, ask if he'll miss it if it goes, and he says VERY quietly and solemnly, almost tearfully, "Very much, VERY much." I can't think of anything to say, but he's certainly made ME depressed, too, so I get out and come home to warm up my dinner that John left for me, and get to five diary pages after dishes, and then it's fairly late, so I'm over again to smoke, again not feeling like coming, and John's out later so I get to bed first for the first time in ages, but I put in the earplugs after having smoked and only barely hear him coming in, and I'm very conscious that this is the next to the last night's sleep before the trip, but it really hasn't gotten THROUGH to me yet, even though I've been talking about it and studying for it for a week. The fear seems effectively to banish ANY sort of constructive anticipation of the trip, except for the NEGATIVE one of "I'd really rather stay around HERE than go to Russia," that obvious feeling, disgusting even to WRITE about, that will VANISH when I get there.
DIARY 4248
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 28. In at 9:30 fairly legitimately, and I seem to be waking up earlier and earlier, about 6:30 now, lying there waiting for John to wake at 7:15, wondering if we'll have sex, cuddling, being disappointed, and we're up at 7:30, and I exercise and shave as usual. Madeline's out, so Minda's typing, but she's slow and doesn't know quite what to do. Ron wins last Scrabble game (having brought in HIS set for future playing) 425-376, an 800 game, mainly because MY first word was TOPHATS (turning out illegal) and HIS was MESQUITE, for which he needed my T, so he wasn't inclined to challenge. Write status report, call Syva again and we chat, exchange addresses, clean out desk, continuing from yesterday, when I took down the posters and took OTHER things home in my handy briefcase, and talk to Arnie, who gives me lots MORE information at the last minute, neatly contradicting Milly Troop at almost every turn, and about THEN I get some excitement about the trip: I guess I feel that I'm ACTUALLY leaving, ACTUALLY finishing my last day at work! Talk to Bernie and Dick and Minda, and I end up xeroxing some of the final classroom activities myself, and she doesn't even FINISH, so I leave the rest of the stuff for Ron to put away tomorrow. Leave at 5:30, saying goodbye to Tom, who says I should call when I get back from the trip, just to see what's going on. I sure will! Work 22 hours my LAST week, going above $150 for unemployment purposes, though it surely isn't necessary. Bernie's the ONLY temp LEFT! Home to a leftover dinner, fairly maudlin, and John's had a fever during the day and isn't feeling well, either. The double promised for the Heights Cinema hasn't panned out, so I have the time to get to Volume VI of the Diary, getting it all apart by 10, which is the last MAJOR thing I had to do before I left, and feel good about it, showering and cleaning my teeth, hoping to get John to smoke with me, but he doesn't, and I smoke at 11:15 and sit staring at the wall, deciding I should come just to relieve the pressures, and get into one of the STRANGER orgasms, again trying for a touchless one, but hitting only 40, though even THAT'S quite a spasm! (see Diary 4249)
DIARY 4251
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 29. Typed most of the beginning of today on Diary 4250, and never got a chance to finish the last page that I wanted to, since when I finished vacuuming and dusting and shaving and showering, it was only 20 minutes to my scheduled leaving time of 3:45, and as I threw more and more things into my suitcase, it became later and later, until finally I went over to say final goodbyes to John at 4, warm in the cashmere overcoat with bulging pockets and even more bulging shoulder bag and 28 pound suitcase (having thought of ties at the last minute, NOT having put them on my list, which was just about complete otherwise), and at 4:05 I leave, "only" 20 minutes late, as I note in the back of "Cities of the Plain," which I take most of these notes from. On platform of the A-train at 4:10, reading, and an E comes, than an A to Rockaway, then another E, and I get on the A to Lefferts Boulevard at 4:23! The subway DOES take, despite long waits at various stations, 30 minutes exactly, so I get to the crowded stairway at 4:53, down signed stairs (NICE) to Q10 stop, and on the bus, getting the last seat, at 5:03, with NO sign for the 35¢ fare (NOT nice). Ride through quiet streets that are dark and narrow, with the LAST bit of the sunset leaving about 5:10, which will be even worse in Moscow and Leningrad, and get to the airport at 5:23. NO sign of anything around, and I wait in the check-in desk and Mom runs up, screaming, that I'm late, and I check in and go back to get Mom something to eat at 5:45, and at 6:05 we're back to lounge at gate 11, and visas FINALLY arrive at 6:45, when we were supposed to LEAVE. Onto CROWDED plane, smoking section sadly, BUT right front window, as I'd ASKED! On at 7, waiting, announcement of 6 hours, 40 minutes to OSLO, and we're off at 7:20, over a CLEAR, BRIGHT, BEAUTIFUL city. But Mom is just IMPOSSIBLE (see DIARY 4252) and the engine drops off AGAIN (see DIARY 4253) and we're BACK in New York at 3 am! Wait until 3 to find that the plane's not taking off until 11:30, and that's the FINAL cap on my cancellation, so I get a cab to the subway with two OTHER cancellers, get to the subway about 3:30, and get HOME at 4:10, waking John to say hello, and fall EXHAUSTED into bed, having to smoke to keep my mind from WHIRLING.
DIARY 4254
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 30. Finish watching "Jeremy" about 12:30 am, have an AWFUL scene with Mom (see DIARY 4255) during which I say EVERYTHING wrong, and get home to leave everything out and go to bed about 4:30, emotionally and physically exhausted. Hear John get up at 8, and I lay till about 11:30, when he's about to go out and MOM calls, thankfully, to say that only about three people have actually cancelled out, I would make 4, and WHY did I do it? So I tell her that John and I are lovers and might both have hepatitis. Call Arnie just for something to do, and HE says differently (see DIARY 4256). Feeling strangely aborted because my whole system was geared for going to Russia, and I'm sort of asking myself what I'm going to DO here now that I AM here. Get into my suitcase ONLY to get out the brownies that John cooked on Wednesday for my trip, and have about three of them while sitting in my bedroom finishing reading "Cities of the Plain," hoping to get THROUGH with it with all my spare time now, so that it will STOP affecting my writing style. It's so cold that I have to get out the heater and put in on my legs, after putting a sweater on. John comes back about 4 and we talk about my reasons for leaving, and we get into a LONG discussion about myself and my mother, which I have to put on yet ANOTHER page (see DIARY 4257). I'm still quite tired from staying up so late, stomach churning because I haven't had anything to eat, but I simply don't feel like doing anything in the world, so I continue reading until it's time for dinner, and then I read the entire Village Voice to see what there is to DO now that I'm back, and I start reading "The Captive," and John's out to some sort of performance, and I'm so tired I decide I have to go to bed early to keep catching up on sleep, so I smoke and crawl into bed at about 10:30, even before John gets in, and I don't hear him come in, and I have no dreams about ANYTHING, thank goodness, but I have to use his toothbrush because I haven't unpacked my suitcase yet, and there's beginning to be a pile of things that I feel I have to do, and it will eventually drive me into SOME kind of activity to pull me out of my vitiating, enervating lethargy.
DIARY 4258
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1. Wake and exercise and no longer feel like reading today, so I get out Cyndy's various albums and my old catalog and go through to get an idea how much I should pay for the collection. Some very few stamps in her father's album are worth, so the catalog says, over $20, but so many of them are on VERY heavy hinges that will have to be soaked off, possibly leaving holes, and so many are missing perforations or are too heavily cancelled that I figure I just can't figure on ANYTHING being worth very much. So I catalog her father's entire album, than take 1/6 of that price, coming up with about $27, and then others, which have inferior selections of stamps, I take 1/8 off, which I'm sure is better than a dealer would do (Bill even quoted me 10% of catalog, and since many STAMP OFFERS are even down to 8% of catalog, a DEALER'S offer would have to be lower, so I feel that 1/8 is more than fair. Estimate roughest on the number of stamps in the Brooks Brothers box, after saying that the Coronation issue should be counted at face value, and come up with a suspiciously round figure of $50, which, on the whole, seems too low. So I decide that "the difference" from my catalog to a new one would be 30%, and come up with a price of $65, which I will then pro-rate to Cyndy so SHE can see where my price came from. Finish in time for dinner, not taking as long as I'd feared, and there ARE some nice things in the collection that I'd like to have. I hope the price is OK with her. Dinner and get ready for the orgy, but John and I have had words continuing the conversation through the day, and we're not feeling like talking too much to each other. Pick up Arnie and his friend at his place, and he chatters all the way there, and we smoke in the car, two pipefuls and then I spill the rest putting it back into the glove compartment, so the front of the car is now "hot." In and it's a fairly awful crew (see Diary 4259), John Pascarella seems out of it, too, and I start with Charlie Ciatto, who invites me home to grass and poppers and a fireplace just three blocks away, and it's really around the block, so I tell John I'm leaving about 9:45, go there till about 1:30, then make the cuddly fellow VERY unhappy that I'm not staying the night, and leave.
DIARY 4260
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 2. Up only reluctantly when John gets up at 8, and when I got back home last night I didn't have any money, so I got home, got a dollar, went BACK out, quite stoned, to get the Times and a candy bar, and came back to gorge myself on a brownie and milk and cereal, and then went to bed---so the Times is here this morning. Read the Times, then over to watch Camera Three on Hans Richter, and then start looking through to see what stamps I want to order from Chassy from the ad in the stamp section. Finally decide that there's not enough EMPTY spaces filled, that I'm just replacing old ones with mint when I really want to FILL the spaces, so I get out his new price lists and proceed to fill the spaces, even to the point of making up a NEW want-list to dispose of the old one which has been hanging around since at LEAST 1970. So now I'll wait to see how many come in from my order (which I mailed on Tuesday, Dec. 4) and then ask for Bill to try to fill the last couple dozen spaces of recent commemoratives and air-mails from HIS supply. Then I feel I have to FORCE myself to see what is in town to SEE that I can now SEE since I don't have to keep working all the time, and today's the last of the "Extraordinary Realities" at the Whitney, so I HAVE to go off to that, and when I'm dressing lousily for it, I'm reminded that the National Gay Task Force party is this evening, but John wants to see one of Art Bauman's new works for Seven Women, so he's NOT going. I decide they'll both come at one, so I REchange for the gay party, and leave about 2:15, still reading "The Captive" and itching to FINISH the Proust monstrosity, and get down to the Whitney about 3 (see Diary 4261) and leave at 5:15 and get to the 80 Fifth Avenue offices of NGTF (see Diary 4262) which is a crowded stranger-filled blast, and I leave at 8 to get back to warm up food and eat dinner, and John comes in about 9, we chat about our respective evenings, and he's over to watch TV and I'm reading, and we finish out the evening separately, and I don't even have to smoke to get into bed and fall asleep after showering, and it seems that my exercising has been perking up my physical feelings for the past week.
DIARY 4263
MONDAY, DECEMBER 3. Up just a few minutes after John, since it feels so good to be able to laze in bed with no set activities ahead. Exercise for the first time on level three, feeling that it's about time to start getting more BULK above the thorax and less bulk below, and I make the transition without too much difficulty since the second level had become so easy for me. Then work more on figuring which stamps that I want to order, and get into some fairly drastic shifting around in order to actually FINISH off the blank spaces, ordering TWO airmails so I can see the difference in order to HONESTLY cover up C18, which is now priced beyond my range, and I guess the $5 regular issue will NEVER be obtained in mint unless I can get it from Bill for under $10, but THAT will be the LAST of the major mint items before 1929 in the regular issue that I WON'T have---except, ironically, for some of the NEW issues, and that reminds me that I should COPY issue numbers from Sergio's catalog! Then sit for the rest of the day and finish reading "The Captive" and start on the NEXT TO LAST volume of Proust. John goes out to work at 9:30, and I take the opportunity to have breakfast then, and have lunch late, about 1:30, and continue reading through the day. He's back about 5, and we read together and have dinner and I wash dishes and we get out to Suzushi Hanayagi at Carnegie Recital Hall (see Diary 4264) at 8, and I continue reading and we just don't have much to SAY to each other. The program is extremely static, and we're out to get right back into the car and right back home, where I put on the very end of "Nana" and get the hint that it's going to get very much racier for the next evenings. John's getting to bed earlier and earlier, and there just doesn't ever seem to be any chance to have sex anymore, and he seems totally uninterested in it, so I guess the relationship HAS entered a new phase, one which I just have to get used to. They're tearing out the insides of the baths over at the Pierrepont even into the NIGHT, and they stop just about 11:30, when I get out of the shower, thankfully, since the noise is channeled RIGHT UP to the windows in the back and is VERY loud.
DIARY 4265
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4. John's been VERY anxious about the troubles I'll have signing up for unemployment, getting VERY annoyed with me last night when I said I had no IDEA what would happen with TemPositions, and we have a long talk at lunch about "Live and Let Live" (see Diary 4266) which I think is a turning point. At least, he'll NEVER hear the END of that PHRASE. I fill out the order form for Chassy stamps, read a bit, and then get out at 11 to the unemployment office at 105 Lawrence Street, after calling and checking on the map for their location. Arrive at 11:09, reading "The Sweet Cheat Gone," stand on a long line, get the application form at 11:25, hand it in at 11:30, sit and read and look at a lot of NICE crotches, forgot that that was one of the side benefits of unemployment lines, but there's also a lot of crying babies and Spanish chatter, too, and at 12 get to a desk, happy that EVERYONE doesn't leave for lunch at once, and I'm out at 12:10, having been told that EVERYONE on Hicks Street is unemployed, that I MUST bring in my Social Security card next time, and that I mail a card in on Sunday and don't do anything ELSE until December 17. How EASY. Home at 12:20 and John's just eating, and we have the conversation mentioned before, and then he bicycles to the Brooklyn Museum to buy Christmas gifts and I continue to read until I get tired, and then I have to get to the diary to start catching up, now things have cooled down a bit, but I can only get through seven pages before I don't feel like going any further, feeling awkward with the Proust-inspired long-windedness, and I really MUST finish to get out of the WRITING-STYLE influence. Shower and out at 6 to the Pakistan Dances (see Diary 4267), getting a student ticket for $3 AGAIN, and John's free with Debbie, and we're out at 9:15 to walk her to the station and walk across to the India House East for a fairly lousy dinner for $14.70, and then subway slowly home at 11:45, in time to watch the crux of "The Swimmer," actually a rather fetching movie of his entire LIFE recaptured by swimming "the river of pools" to get "back home" which turns out to be deserted, and one assumes he's lost his mind. Tired to bed at 1:30.
DIARY 4268
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 5. Again John's out of bed at 7:45 and I laze until 9:30, giving myself 8 hours in bed. Determined to get further along with the Proust, and I finish "Sweet Cheat Gone" about noon. John's going into work again about 10, and I get into the last volume "The Past Recaptured" right away, finding that the LONGEST paragraph, over 10 pages, occurs in the "Captive." Lunch of tuna and finish with a muffin because I'm still hungry, and then get back to reading in the living room until the pounding of little feet upstairs forces me into the back apartment, which is chilly since the heat hasn't been on all this 60°+ day, and noisy because of the earth-shaking crashes from the Pierrepont Hotel, which continue AGAIN tonight until 11:30 pm! Then about page 129 it starts getting incredible, and it turns out that the incident with the madeleine was a full-fledged Visionary Experience, which I hadn't in the LEAST suspected at the start, and he GETS to the proper point and then sadly veers away from it, and the book would have been a masterpiece---as even HE sort of admits---if he'd just done the TINY bit of marvelous worth from pages 129-155. The most incredible coincidence is that I'm reading about his opinions about the worth of art and egotism and writing at JUST the time that John and I are talking about the VERY same things. Even have to delay and take notes in the back of the book (see Diary 4269), which means I don't finish by dinner, where we talk about his ideas, nor by "Nana" time on TV, where I'm introduced to the old French expression "Piss off!" from 9:30 to 10:15---actually 9:40 to 10:10, and then John says goodnight and I go over to finish the book and then read through the entire Village Voice, finding two ads that look good, and get over at 11:20 to find John asleep. Shower and smoke, and can't resist the impulse to come, and actually succeed in reaching a new level of feeling (see Diary 4270), though the actual number of spasms only got up to 36. Into bed at 12:30, feeling quite exhausted, and feel strung out and tired and weary when I get up the next morning, too, and it's obviously MORE connected with the orgasm than with the pot-smoking. What a HORRIBLE thing to have to ration!
DIARY 4271
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 6. John wakes and gets out of bed, and I'm up about a half-hour later to exercise and start working on the diary. Type and type and finish with 13 pages which brings me up to date, and I can put all the books away that all the notes were written in. Then I telephone Graham Gross for an editor's job, and I might have a writing job, making an appointment for 4 pm, since I've decided to get up to Columbia for the 6:30 showing of "A King in New York." Read and send other pieces of mail out, and then shave and get out at 3:25 for the interview, and he gives me five articles to do, saying that eventually my rate could go up if I leave little work for him and the editor to do, and that I should be able to finish an average of 2 an hour at something between $3 and $3.50 per article, but that I'll have to BILL at an hourly rate HALF what I get for TWICE the time. He seems to like and trust me. I get out at 4:40 with lots of time to kill, and am attracted by a used bookshop next door, so I'm in and pick up a jewelry auction catalog from Parke-Bernet for 50¢ and a copy of the old French book that I'd almost totally forgotten about: Totor and Tristan, which I also bought for 50¢, and then I'm looking at a stack of books and come across "India" with sumptuous color photographs and a mini-essay on the Taj Mahal being totally FOREIGN to India which I think John will go for, and the book was originally to be sold for $30 so he'll sell it to me for $15, and I say I'll pick it up on Monday or Tuesday when I take my finished articles back to Gross. Subway up to Columbia and stand in line from 5:45, about the 60th person in, and the auditorium fills up pretty well, but the movie is on the whole boring (see Diary 4272). Out at 8:30 and subway home to find John WAITING dinner for me at 9:15, and we eat and dash over for an excerpt from "Nana" and then I do dishes, shower, smoke, and get into bed at 11:15 with John, debating coming, trying to get an erection, but it's just not coming, and I'm feeling VERY tired anyway, with the same feeling I have in the chair wanting to get into bed, but I AM in bed, so I just roll over and fall asleep, storing energy for Mom's arrival tomorrow.
DIARY 4276
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 7. Type two pages to get up to date, then go through the drawer and Do-list and type Diary 4273 about the Gay-Job list, which is now not really current. Then read and clean some things up for Mom's coming this evening, and bat about the apartment doing not much of anything through lunch and dinner, and call Pan Am at 5 to find that the arrival time is delayed until 9:45, so there'll be time for me to have dinner at my leisure, rather than leaving at 6:45 to get to the 7:45 plane arrival. Then after dinner at 7 find that the plane is delayed until 12:35, and then Rolf Houkom calls just as I finished writing the Christmas card to him, having done about half of them this evening. OH, this morning I DID do some other things, referenced from my thrown-away "Do-list": sent a letter to the New York Times about photographers in the audience, and then sorted through my entire workbook, putting things into a notebook for easy redoing, trying to get to the end of the do list before making out a NEW one, larger, of course, than before. Rolf talks for about an hour with such stimulating information that I type Diary 4274-4275 about it. Then over to watch the final chapter of "Nana," and it's not TOO dissimilar from the disease-ridden end of the prostitute in "Cousin Bette," but since Balzac published Bette in 1846, Zola was the copier with "Nana" in 1880. John's out to the bars and I take too much time leaving, leaving the garage at JUST midnight after troubles getting out, get to terminal at 12:40, and find that the plane DID land at 12:35, but they're still in customs, so I breathe a sigh of relief and settle down to write this (in the back of "Chimera") and read at 12:50. She's out at 1, with baggage, she searches for a hat she left on the plane going OVER, and we're out to car at 1:30, when the guy wants to charge me for an hour. I insist the clocks are off, he calls for a supervisor, Mom says she's going to die, so I drive OFF, telling John to give ME the summons when Pan-Am sends it. She talks about the trip (see Diary 4277) and I'm just as glad I DIDN'T go, and we're home to get her into bed about 2:30, exhausted, and I smoke to stop thinking and get to bed.
DIARY 4279
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8. Up at 8 and over to find Mom awake but not out of bed, and John gets to typing away for letters about the two speaking possibilities he's suddenly thought of, sending out 46 letters to various heads of departments, and she's up about 10, ordering me to get toast and eggs and tea for her, and then she's into her suitcases showing me everything (including her dirty underwear) and John looks at the souvenirs and shrugs them off and gets back to work. We have a good lunch of the great borscht that John's made (and that I helped prepare for yesterday), and then she sees the other side, naps for about an hour while I read the Mythology book just to try to get it off the To-read shelf, and then she's up at 3 and packing, and I forget that she leaves from LaGuardia, preparing to take her to Kennedy, and then riling her about that uncertainty, so that she gets nervous, her voice rises, and she starts telling me about her inability to control her anal sphincter, piddling little turds around the office, and she talks about the scabs up her nose, and all her other troubles, and how she HAS to retire in April, 1975, and now she's realizing it's not to be a very interesting time, though she can't STAND her boss. Get to the terminal RIGHT on time at 4:30, and she thanks me for the trip and I'm right back home with relief, getting dressed to go to Sergio's at 7, taking stamps along, and Haynes Owens and William Whitener from the Joffrey meet us outside to get lost AGAIN to Sergio's, but the apartment is large and comfortable, corked recording closet and all, and we have a chicken Marengo with tough shrimp dipped in milk-poached eggs and a good final chocolate cake after Sergio's gotten out HIS stamps and gone through mine to see what he likes, and he says he has a whole BOX of stamps he doesn't want, persuading me to take what I want from it, and I TELL him that it'll be a lot, but he seems to think that's OK, and I load up with MORE stuff than I took to him, promising him the Blair sheet, and we leave just after midnight when Kenneth's yawning about how late it is, and we drop them off in the rain and get up to bed about 1 am, tired and full.
DIARY 4280
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 9. I spend the entire day looking through the stamps that Sergio's going to give me, after calling him about 10 am to ask if I can put his collection into order (so that I can be SURE he has two of something that aren't separated into two different envelopes so I can't TELL he has two of them), and John suggests I take out some of the more common ones for Peter Schaffer, and Sergio's going to be in the Heights, will drop in on the Joffrey boys, and will come HERE about 4 to take everything back. Well, I'm not ready at 4, being in the middle of Venezuela, having left Uruguay, the biggest, to the last, and he looks through, says that I'm taking a lot but that's OK, that I should write to Peter Schaffer, and he takes some stuff of mine and the duplicates from the trip that I took so long ago, and he leaves at 5 when John and I are going out to meet the LaRues at Nirvana. Find a place to park on 57th and get up just at 5:30, as planned, and John has the brain curry AGAIN, I have a flavorful but overcooked shish kebob which I wouldn't have again, and they have the mutton biriani and the tandoori chicken, and we all have drinks and appetizers and desserts and the bill comes to $46, $52 with tip, of which Jan pays $27 and we pay $25 (John pays $10). Then we're out to the car and down the bumpy streets to Ritha Devi, and there's a photographer who takes one shot, then two, and I tell her she's disturbing me, and then JOHN says she's disturbing him, and when she starts to talk to him I grab the camera from her and hold onto it. She hisses at me and almost breaks it in her effort to wrest it away, but I talk to her afterward and CAN'T answer the question: "So your picture-taking is more important than my concentration on the dance, is it?" She comes close to apologizing, but doesn't. John says that I shouldn't bother Ritha with it after the performance, since all she wants to hear then is praise, and I should write her a letter afterward. I figure that's the end of that. They leave at 10:30 to catch a train, we at 11:15, John exhausted, and we're home and I shower in the cold bathroom, smoke, and come with exultation and cock books.
DIARY 4282
MONDAY, DECEMBER 10. Again I can't seem to drag myself out of bed when John gets up, so I just lay there feeling depressed and sorry for myself. Up about 9:30 and exercise and eat breakfast and decide to start calling people to tell them that "I'm back." So I call Daisy and Ginny (whom I get only tomorrow) and Jeff and Dick and Dror (again tomorrow) and Ruth Rozman and Jo Satloff and Pam Goett and Milly Paul and Syva Meyers and David Delete and Sarah Parker, who doesn't have the last pages yet, but she should have them tomorrow, so I plan to go into the city tomorrow with my write-ups and call Graham Gross to tell him that. Then I get back to the stamps, but about all I can do before dinner (since the phone calls lasted until about 1 pm!) is to finish with Venezuela and put away all the odds and ends that I found from the other countries, which leaves ONLY Uruguay to do, and then I get to the five articles, doing four of them almost completely in about 5 hours. I'd wanted to watch some things on TV yesterday, but I totally forgot about them in my eagerness to look at the stamps. Again I'm not feeling very strong; it's a terrible effort to do the exercises, and I again feel that something's wrong with me. I'm biting the insides of my cheeks with nervousness until it feels positively leprous, and I keep farting these terribly redolent farts that only taking the charcoal pellets helps at all. I keep wanting to get to the diary, but I just don't feel like doing anything with it. My desk is a total mess with large amounts of mail coming in now that Christmas cards are coming in, and I haven't finished sending mine out, and I have a longer and longer list of things to do, and I'm not even WRITING, so that things seem to be going BACKWARD again as I take care of the more unimportant things, like stamps, and let the VITAL things, like writing, go by the boards. Finally get the unemployment letter into the mail on TUESDAY, after fretting about it from Sunday, when it SHOULD have been sent out, and only on WEDNESDAY do I wash the socks that I should have done on SUNDAY. But I just seem to want to READ and let the actual WORK go hang. Got to SHAKE this feeling!
DIARY 4283
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11. Up late again (having come last night before eating the last of the roll that John bought for Mom's dessert lunch) and work on the last article and a half, and call Graham at 10:30 to find that his inspector from NASA hadn't gotten there yet, so I should come in immediately. So I shave and dress and get there at 11:30, taking lots of stuff with me and a list of things I want to do, and he likes the things I've done and spends a LOT of time telling me what I COULD be doing for them for lots of money. It sounds good, but he's like Marty in going WAY ahead of himself. My stuff is going to a technical editor for checking, and THEN I'll know how I've done. Out at 1:30 and grab a slice of Sicilian pizza for 50¢, then shop in all the used bookshops I can find: finding "Mindswap" by Sheckley and "Shadows on the Grass" by Dinesen, then get BACK to the bookshop on 5th to find the India book priced at $25! I tell him in NO uncertain terms that the other fellow told me $15, and he gives it to me with a book on LSD by Alpert and Cohen for $17.25. Then over to the Sci-Fi Bookshop for "Citizen in space" by Sheckley, which they sent me the card for, and "The End of the Dream" by Wylie. By this time it's 3:30 and I'm loaded down, stop for another slice of pizza, and decide it's too late to get up to 42nd to buy Saturday's Times and an account of the "Long Flight to Russia," so I'm directly to the 15th floor at 4, talk to Sarah and David, and a long time to Celia, who says the ONLY popular psychology magazine IS "Psychology Today," and then downstairs to find Jerry Steinhart and Bill Mutter on their way out, and leave at 5:20 to get home to the bank and get a shopping bag and calendars, and get EXHAUSTED home at 6. Dinner and dishes and watch the fourth part of the BBC "War and Peace" from 8 to 9:30, and it's pretty good, and get over to do some typing, but just get more and more involved in shuffling papers around, and actually end up doing NOTHING by 11 pm, getting over to shower AGAIN in the cold, and smoke, and don't even feel like coming, so I just lay in bed, commiserating with myself for lack of productivity now that I don't have an OFFICIAL job, and sleep.
DIARY 4284
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12. AGAIN up about twenty minutes after John gets out of bed, and I exercise feeling like I'm using the last ounce of my energy. Then eat breakfast and ready to get to work at 9:30. Make up a new do-list and type eight diary pages and call Mary Lefkarites and Eddie Jimenez and Marge Dumond about speaking at Hunter tomorrow. Then don't feel like doing anything else, so I read "LSD," which is interesting from a historical point of view, and John's out working, so I have lunch myself at 1 and then Arnie calls to talk about my mother's trip, so I decide to go over there about 3 to take his books back over, one of the things on the list, and we sit and talk until about 4:30, eating cheesecake, comparing notes about Russia, looking at clippings and giving the books back. Then have dinner and talk a bit about Proust, and John's again not feeling very good, having gone to get a blood test for syphilis because of peeling skin on the palms of his hands. Then I do the dishes and get back to the Christmas cards, finishing all of them, and then read the Voice, where there's an ad for books that I send out for, and there are 42 Christmas cards and six other things going out in the mail for various reasons, and tomorrow morning I pick up two items of John's, so that makes exactly 50 things to mail that I send out. Still depressed because I'm doing NOTHING on work or NOTHING on writing, but just enjoying my freedom and feeling guilty about it. Shower at 11, John already in bed, and then smoke, debating NOT doing it, but I have to be up at 7:45 in the morning to get to Hunter and this isn't the time to experiment with going to sleep without the soothing effect of the grass. But it seems to be getting stronger, too, since only one inhale is enough to burn my lungs thoroughly, and I fear I might be doing some damage to them by smoking the broad-bowled pipe. And I think that I might be getting PSYCHOLOGICALLY addicted to grass as a sleeping pill, and will have to start finding some excuse so that I WON'T be smoking every night. But it's either noisy, or I'm thinking too much, or I'm not tired enough, or I want sex, and I smoke and smoke. At least we grow our own and it's cheap.
DIARY 4286
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 13. Wake at 7:30 and out of bed at 7:45 and shave and get out at 8:20, getting there in plenty of time and have three classes with Marge and her awful friend Shirley (see Diary 4285). Then stop in Arthur Treacher's for fish and chips for $1.42, not terribly bad, and then pick up an almond fudge jamoca cone from Baskin-Robbins for dessert, yum! Walk down Third poking into places trying to find Golden Fleece, and finally find it in a shop on 62nd Street and Lexington. Keep looking for the free calendars along the way, and keep asking for the Macro-Art calendar. Hallmark is OUT of the freebies, and I continue down to Rizzoli to find they have NO maps of India. Across and Bookmasters is out of Macro-Art. The whole day is becoming DIFFICULT. Back to Fifth to look for map places, and Rand McNally has MOVED, so I have to go back UPTOWN from 48th to 53rd and THEY don't have it. Try Scribners as suggested, no luck. Try Brentano's, and THEY have Macro-Art, and I also pick up "Limbo of the Lost" and picked up three Updyke books before, too. Then find a small stationery shop (before) on 57th that had free calendars from Norcross, so that's to YOU, Hallmark! Check some of the map places, and even Hammond has moved from 43rd down to 41st, and they're set up for a party only 6 weeks after opening. Tired now, across to the Times office to find NO article, and conclude it was in the CITY edition, not the LATE city edition. Subway home about 5:30, John not in yet, and I phone Rita to wish her a happy birthday and postpone the time I have to send her her birthday AND Christmas used books, and then work a bit on the Music Index from 7:45 until 8:15 and John comes in, and he cooks up kidneys almost raw, but so tasty in sherry and sour cream that they taste VERY good. Also type two pages to keep up to date, including something from today (the classes) and then tired enough to just settle down to reading, finishing "Midpoint" by Updyke to finish my "book for the day"---only the second one, and John's watching TV even later than I stay up, so I shower and get into bed, and he quickly joins me, and I'm to sleep without hardly being aware of it.
DIARY 4287
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 14. Drag myself out of bed at 8 and through the exercises and breakfast in time to get down to underlining the last of the music book at 8:30, and start typing the first 400-odd cards for the first 100 pages, convinced that it's going to be a card-for-card index with VERY little expansion. That's over at 12, and I just DON'T feel like doing anything more, and I figure I have time ANYWAY (again the lack of pressure produces little motivation). Eddie called yesterday and asked if we wanted two free tickets to the Wine and Cheese-Tasting Festival, since he didn't come to class yesterday and can't go to this because he has an infected bladder and can't drink and feels awful. John's going to work and will meet me there at 3:45, so I leave at 2:45 and get to Eddie's just after 3, and his apartment is quite tiny, very narrow, and he's painting it light green to get away from white, but he has a WORKING fireplace. He refuses to take $5 for the tickets, and I thank him, feeling foolish, and subway up to the Coliseum at 3:30, and stand outside reading "The Poorhouse Fair" waiting for John. He arrives just as lots of people are going in, and we're limited to only seven tickets for wine apiece, but we go up and start sharing some of our sips, and the portions are generous enough for a TRIO of tastes. There are lines before all the cheese tables, and John takes entirely the wrong attitude, since he didn't have to pay for the tickets, and so he swoops around to the lineless wine tables and sips up about five different kinds, then gives me the rest of his tickets and leaves in about 15 minutes. I start taking notes about the whole affair (see Diary 4288) and am quite potted by the end of the time at 5:15. Dizzily home, gazing stupidly at the crowd on the subway, and I have to do SOMETHING tonight besides work, debate calling Bob Grossman, but decide I want to see what the redecorated Everard Baths is like. We have a stew-soup of barley and couscous and beef and chicken and kidneys, and John's meeting some friend in the Village and will drive me in, so I finish the book and start on "Limbo of the Lost," and we leave at 8:30 for the Village, I have a LONG night from 8:45 to 3:45 (see Diary 4289) and have a LOOSE shit from the kidneys, then get VERY tired and eye-weary to bed at 4:320 am!
DIARY 4291
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15. Wake when John gets out of bed and sleep until 10, then work on the Music index from 10:15 to 12, have lunch, index from 12:30 to 2, when I'm tired of working and typing, so I settle down with "Limbo of the Lost" to relax, and it's so HORRIBLY written I again get the idea that people who are published have NOTHING TO DO with writing skills, but only who you know and when you make your contacts. Work from 3:45 to 5:30, getting along very well in the process, though I hate every minute of the work and keep constantly chewing away on my cheek insides and my finger edges, and John's preparing dinner before I tell him that we're supposed to be eating at Elizabeth's Shower and wash my hair, cruddy, and type 5 pages of diary to keep up to date, and at 8:15 we leave, and I've finished "Limbo of the Lost" and have gotten started on "Shadows on the Grass," to keep ahead of the "Book a day" schedule for at LEAST a week, to get down the crush of books on my shelf. Come to think about it, that's about ALL I did during my "vacation" week was to finish Proust! John's napped to save his energies to go to Robert Wilson's "Life and Times of Joseph Stalin" which goes on from 7 pm to 7 am, and we drive to the party, parking on Third, and up the fast elevator to meet a Flip San Filipo who's OLD, and Elizabeth looks pretty but with ringed eyes of tiredness from her job, and the place is full of people from her CHURCH group. Helen, a former ballet dancer from Canada, engages us in conversation first about dancing, then about the resources of Canada, and I get some good lasagna to eat (followed by some mediocre and then by some AWFUL lasagna) and some of the cold cuts of salami and sausage, cheeses, olives, crackers, and chips. The place fills up with family-type people: his mother, her grandson, friends of the church who are fat, young girls overdressed, and then Tom and Inga come in and we chat about work, he freelancing, and the Avant-Garde Festival that she was to have danced in for free before the dancers balked, and Fred Hyland and his wife come in, talk about their BONDING troubles with a car on the Pan American Highway, and I'm full so we leave at 10:30, John dropping me for the Times which I read to 12, he going to the Brooklyn Academy, and I sleep before he gets in, not even waking when he enters about 2:45 am.
DIARY 4292
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 16. Both up about 8:30 to find that it's SNOWING out, and it continues through the day, occasionally changing to rain, and by the next morning the trees are coated with ice and there are inch-long pendants of ice from every possible branch. John's out for a walk about three times during the day, going mad with nothing to do, and he won't even talk much about the performance last night, so I have to ask him questions which he answers as briefly and uncommunicatively as possible, though I'm sure that's not his CONSCIOUS intention. Have breakfast and get to the Music index from 9 to 10:30, when I go over to watch a funny Marshall Efron on Hanukkah and Christmas, then the Pakistani dances on Camera Three, where Faubion Bowers explains that almost EVERYTHING about Kathak is storytelling, and then watch "Face the Nation" with William Simon, who talks about the gasoline shortage being PRODUCED so as to allow the refineries to supply fuel to industry to keep people WORKING, but saying that "demand has been on a collision course with supply for about 5 years, and there will ALWAYS be the need for restrictions and care about wastage." That's to 12, I work from 12-12:30 while John's on the phone, and then we have lunch where I feel just OUT of it as far as John's concerned (see Diary 4293). Then back to work from 1-3:30, when I'm tired of rechecking the pages, and I settle in with reading more of "Shadows on the Grass," and then work from 4:40 to 6:40, when we have dinner, and John's been to a Tavel "Making a Crèche," and he says it's VERY beautiful and he doesn't want to talk about it. Later he leans over and says "I'm sorry about being so uncommunicative," and I stupidly, but truthfully, say, "I'm GLAD you're sorry---I mean about being uncommunicative." Finish the rechecking from 7:30 to 8:30, and over to watch Katherine Hepburn's TV dramatic debut (after her non-dramatic debut on the Dick Cavett show a couple months ago) in "The Glass Menagerie," an almost perfectly cast and acted play, which AGAIN (goodness AND badness makes me want to write) makes me feel the urge to write a masterful play. John's in bed immediately, I finish the Dinesen book and start on the Clarke book, and shower and crawl into bed at 12, awakened by the phone ringing at 7, no answer.
DIARY 4294
MONDAY, DECEMBER 17. Still snowing when we wake, though lightly, and I exercise again, wondering about what feels like a sore around my ass, probably from the sit-ups. Work on the music index from 9:10 to 12:40, while John eats lunch and Cyndy calls to say I should come to her apartment and then we'll go out for lunch, and $65 for the stamp collection is fine with her, since she trusts me. Then leave about 1 to take the subway to Fulton and transfer, but it's VERY slow and late, so I don't get there until just before 2, fill out a long form, then fill in what I FORGET to fill in, a bit worried because I've gone way back to the IBM experience and they just MIGHT have a job for me, but after sitting and waiting and reading for ANOTHER long time, in room 511B, they finally call my name, say they haven't a job for me, and I should come back on March 18th if I don't get work by then. Phew. Out about 3, starved, and get downtown, crosstown, and uptown by about 3:40, to find a note from Cyndy saying that she's in the phone booth, where she isn't. See, now I'm typing like BARTH, finally away from Proust. Some antidote he, Barth. Ain't? Anyway, well. She comes running up the street after I ran up the street going after she who wasn't Cyndy going into 207, and we go into 205 and get out to "Teacher's" for an onion-pepper-ham-cheese hero and a piece of rich cheesecake for $4.50 or so apiece, and it's 4:45, I call John to say I won't be home, and when Cyndy says she's going to meditate, I say I'll come with her if it's OK, so I can think about all the THINGS SHE TOLD ME OVER LUNCH (see Diary 4295). Up to meditate for about 20 minutes, then coated again to walk down to the Embassy (stopping at the Continental to see that it's HALF-price for the unemployed: $4 for mini-locker Sun 10 am through Friday 4 pm, $5 Friday 4 pm to Sunday 10 am, up to $7 and $8 for a room for those times. Surely better than Everard, and easier to get to, too. In for the end of "Siddhartha," not bad for scenery, but light on philosophy, yet good on sex, and "The Hireling" a disappointment in story, no fault of Robert Shaw (well, he DID overact) and Sarah Miles. Out at 10, after rubbing some guy's cock for about a half hour in sight of the attendant, home at 10:30 to have John's great soup, shower, smoke, come, watch end of "Footlight Parade" to 2 am.
DIARY 4296
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18. Lay until about 8:30 with John, then out and exercise and finish the last of the Cream of Wheat I started yesterday that Mom brought back from Russia, and work from 9:45 to 12:15 and from 12:45 to 5:45, finally getting all finished except the typing, and John makes the suggestion that HE might do the typing, which would be GREAT for my doing the 13 papers from Gross AND for typing the diacriticals. And he thinks about it and DOES it for the rest of the week, too! We talk during lunch and he says that he hopes he's passed the LOWEST part of his feeling, and that the only direction he can go will be up. I surely hope so. For whatever reasons, whether it be exercising, or working fruitfully on the index, or the results of the call this afternoon in which Gross said that as far as HE was concerned I was taking too MUCH time on the writing, and should do it even FASTER, and that I was almost TOO GOOD for the job---whatever the reason, I'm feeling VERY good lately, embriskened by the weather (maybe it's just going from Proust to someone else), happy about the work and the writing, and eager to get on with all the things I have to do. But I STILL have to go to the bank, since I stole from the kitty to get the $65 for Cyndy yesterday, and sell stamps and subway tokens to John after dinner this evening for $4 for the animation show tonight; AND I'm eager to get the laundry out, since I ran out of underwear last THURSDAY, and have been wearing the same set since SUNDAY, and feeling like it's soon going to be useless to try to wear it anymore. Get out at 7:15, hoping not to be late, and get into the class at 7:40 fearing it's the wrong room, and he doesn't even show up until 8 pm, and the class has only about 1/3 the number that were there for the Disney, and I'm sure it's a tribute to Malkin's incredible BORINGNESS. He talks about the Zagreb plant, then comes up with a commercial about "The Making of 'Shinbone Alley'" which is pretty awful, but the shorts from Zagreb are nice (see Diary 4297), and I get out at 10:20, cold, read, get a candy bar, home at 11 to find John not in yet, smoke and bed at 12, falling instantly asleep while John is talking with the Campbells, getting us invited there tomorrow for talk! And Barth, just reading TODAY, acknowledges his debt to Joseph Campbell!
DIARY 4299
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19. Up and exercise and breakfast, work on the index from 9 to 10:15, and then I have to start putting together laundry and the papers for the bank, and get out at 10:30 to withdraw $250 for the rest of the year and then some, and get to unemployment just at 10:45, when the line is surely the biggest, and stand until 11:20, getting a $75 maximum rate, and I'll be getting my first check in the mail next week. Lovely. Home for lunch, and then work from 12:30 to 1:30 on the music index while John's typing, and I've had to retype lots of the cards just for HIS use, and he's making lots of suggestions on improving the index, but it's just TAKING a lot longer than it would have had I done it myself, which means the hourly rate lowers from something over $10 to something over $8 at the end. Type 4 diary pages, and snack a bit since we're not going to be eating until after "Moon Mysteries" this evening. Leave at 6 and subway in, and it's VERY cold and icy outside, and the theater is almost empty. Chat with Joe Campbell about my finding his name in Barth's "Chimera," which he'd not even KNOWN about, and there's NO acknowledgement for his diagram, either. Then to the play (see Diary 4300), and we get directed to an Irish Pub on 6th and Waverly, on the west side of the street to Joe's directions of "east," and sit in the back drinking daiquiris (me) and beer (John) until Paul Jenkins, a painter, his date Connie Chen, and the Campbells join us. More drinks (with Ivan Allen being cozened by a rich older fag at the next table) and then John has fabulous prawns in a great sauce, I have the glazed ribs which are meaty and delicious, and Joe has chicken and the others duplicate what we're having, after the delicious cockaleekie soup for the start. More beer onto the table, then I have a piece of their pecan pie for dessert, and they ARE paying for everything, and we'd gotten the tickets free, and John said I shouldn't even SUGGEST we help pay the check, since that's the way they entertain. Wonderfully woozy from all the daiquiri, but I can't help thinking of Proust at the Guermantes: here I am in the HIGHEST society and they talk just as oddly and disconnectedly and fuzzily (and they nod as Jean Erdman does) as everyone ELSE does, though we'd be THE table for talent (and talking about getting into the Century Club) in ANY place.
DIARY 4301
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20. Up and too vaguely hung-over to exercise, so I have breakfast and work from 9 to 10 on rewriting some of the NASA writeups, then over to watch "Private Worlds," so badly butchered that many of the dialogues referred to incidents which didn't occur, and the review of "Timely even today" must have been written about 30 years ago, since the patness of every single situation was almost painfully obvious: the coming romance of Charles Boyer and Claudette Colbert, the idea that EVERYTHING that Colbert touched would come out just FINE, the idea that Boyer would just happen to know Arabic just when "the Arab" happened to be dying and needed someone to pray with, the fact that the meeting between Joel MacRae's incredible wife, played by a blond Joan Bennett, and the crazy girl would turn into a catastrophe. But I was struck with a similarity between actresses that led me to write the note found on Diary 4302. Back at 11:30 to 12, and 12:30 to 5:30 working on the Music index, which John finishes typing today, which makes me feel good, and he's put in 10 hours and I've put in 45, so the rate is only $8.33 per hour. Then I shower and we eat at 5:45, the lamb stew, so that I can leave at 6:15 and get to St. Luke's at Christopher and Hudson at 7, to sit in the chair at Hilda's "evening" saved for me by Cyndy, whose car has not YET been returned by Jan, which annoys her, as does the open window obviously NEEDED to leech off the heat from the 300 enthusiasts in the tiny room. Lots of Christmas Carol singing, which is nice, and then she talks a bit, reads from "Lessons of the Masters," all about fussiness and selfishness, rather too restrictive, and then there's an "explanation" about Hannukah, lighting of candles, and an awful version of "Un Bel Di," by one of her "stars," and an even WORSE "Our Father" after the meditation, where not a SOUL burst into laughter when she said she felt the love "like marshmallow," and for about five minutes she DID succeed in stemming the tide of coughing from the audience. Some LOVELY fellows there, but there was such as ascetic air (even to some stupids who meditated through the WHOLE evening, not singing, only portentiously chanting theim "om") that I didn't care for it. A bit of healing and reports and performance of a "General Om" ended the evening about 10. I bought pictures, smoked, ate, came, and, loath to bed, watched the end of "Stanley and Livingston," ate a muffin and two pieces of toast and TWO Hershey almond bars!!
DIARY 4303
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 21. Finish up the music index from 10-11, calling Sarah Parker to find what her day's schedule is, and work from 11 to 1:30 on NASA while John goes to the Dutton Christmas party, and then I call Graham Gross who's already drinking for the afternoon, so I'm excused from bringing in the papers until as soon after Christmas as I can return them, and he says that his boss likes what I've done, so "I'm in." Good news! So I call Charlotte Rosenburg and she says she'll be leaving at 3, so I gulp down lunch at 1:30 and shave and pack up stuff and get out at 2 to get there at 2:40, picking up the Sociology index, and then subway down to ACC to find that the party's over, though they had good food catered from Belmore's, and I return the index to Sarah and put in a bill for $465 to ACC/Prentice-Hall, and go down to 14 to see that the party IS over, down to 12 to find only Chela there, still saying that Walthur will probably take over the company, and I get to Apollo to buy four boxes of cards for PRECISELY the $14.33 I have in my pocket (except for a spare subway token). It's raining and windy, so I stagger uncomfortably back to the subway, fearing catching a cold, and get home at 4 to put away "Chimera," the book I read the last heavily-notated pages of on the subway on the way home, and start on "The End of the Dream," by Wylie. Sit at my desk putting things away, and have the whole evening before me to do what I want to do. Dinner and dishes go quickly, John's out, and I file various index things, and work for a couple of hours on my "contact file" of people, getting rid of all those old address slips and putting the information into the rolodex I stole from ACC. Prior to that, I'd had the pleasure of going through the last of Sergio's stamps, from Uruguay, and picking out the last amounts for me and for Peter, and during the earlier afternoon I'd talked with Alice Duskey about my not-trip and new job, she's painted her kitchen with aluminum paint and feels like she's cooking inside a battered tin box, and call sick Sergio to find that he's LIKED the singles I've given him for all the South American stamps, and we agree to get together after Christmas. Lovely evening doing what I want, and read most of "Wind from the Sun" in bed between 11:30-1:30, when I turn out the lights to sleep just before John gets in at 1:45 to sleep too.
DIARY 4305
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22. [And it's just TWO WEEKS from that date again, and I've been playing hard (reading and stamps) and working hard (indexes), so the time has been well spent. It's only the diary that's a pain now.] Finish "Wind from the Sun" by Clarke, being fairly, but not overly, impressed by the book, and then type five pages, going to a new ribbon just for the joy of it, and type a sixth page when I finish with the things I have to do around the desk (odd bits of mail, putting things into order), saying how many things I WANT to do, work from 3 to 4 on the Sociology index. Then figure that if John is TYPING for me, I don't have to allocate so much time to the indexes, and so I'll HAVE time for what I want to do---and that was on the top of the list on Diary 4304: STAMPS! Get them out and sort through all of Cyndy's to get out all the ones that need soaking, and I'm tremendously impressed by the quality of the collection that's only in her envelopes: it seems to have been someone ELSE'S collection inside, too, since there are lots of unduplicated stamps with hinges, including some newly soaked US in great condition, including a beautiful copy of the old red and black railroad stamp which is far better than any I've seen yet! And then her father got so many high-value stamps from Greece, Britain, Italy, and even Poland in his office that the envelopes are worth far MORE than her father's collection itself. And then I start pricing some of the Coronation set, and they're more like 40¢ than they are the face value of 3¢, and the sheer QUANTITY of stamps is more than I'd bargained for, and the number of countries is ALMOST as many as the number of countries I have ALREADY. So I call to leave her a message saying that I'll have to pay her more for it, and I clear off a corner of the table for eating, and then John and I see Ritha Devi (see Diary 4307) and find NO gas for the trip, so we're home, he goes out and I wash dishes and settle down on the sofa with an old copy of the Voice and do 15 sheets of it covered with the stamps, lying them all over the floor, telling John that I'll be finished with them tomorrow, and they take quite awhile, and my fingers get their corduroy look from excessive water, but it's a great job done and helps to get her collection into order, meaning integrated with MY collection. Smoke to clear my head and sleep about 2, after reading the Times and even working all the PUZZLES, since I have time now!
DIARY 4306
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23. Up early and start putting the stamps away, feeling great and accomplishmentful, and then watch "The Flying Deuces" with Laurel and Hardy from 11:30 to 12:30, eating lunch in the meantime, and it's the classic one with them in the Foreign Legion, with the HUGE area of clothes to wash, the escape from the jail through the tunnel, and the flight-escape buzzing the clothes and the airfield, with the bit-too-much climax of the bowler-hatted horse. More stamps, and then "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with the New York City Ballet, a perfect TV NON-movie, broken horribly with commercials on Channel 7 from 3:30 to 5, and the color never DID settle down, too bluey-green most of the time, out of focus and diffuse, but the camera-angles were many times quite wrong, missing leaps or footwork, concentrating on overly-fussy settings and miming. Mitchell looked too oily, Villella hardly danced at all, D'Amboise mugged, and the quartet of lovers were totally indistinguishable one from the other. A TV catastrophe. Then have dinner and back to stamps and watch "A Doll's House," with Jane Fonda and David Warner, shown on TV, so Arnie says, because of the closeness of the Claire Bloom production that WAS released, and by the "fact" that no motion picture theater will show films of Jane Fonda because of her anti-war activism! It's not that good, though the outside scenes in Rorus, which I passed through in Norway, are impressive in the snow, particularly with the sun JUST over the horizon at noon for the Christmas scenes. But John notices that she has a SORT of good accent at the start, but then just slips into plain old HER, and it's not a very good play to START with, and she doesn't help me think it's convincing, but David Warner as the husband doesn't either, and only Edward Fox as the blackmailer and Trevor Howard as the doctor are in any way convincing. Then back to stamps, covering the entire dining room table, and it's going to take far longer than I'd dared think about, and I surely won't be able to finish, but I have no idea how I'm going to cut things off. Get out all sorts of big flat things to hold them down while we're away on the trip, and I pack to be ready to leave tomorrow.
DIARY 4308
MONDAY, DECEMBER 24. Wake at 7:30 and shower and shave and John packs and I finish some little things before we leave almost exactly at 8, and since we get there at 12 it takes 4 hours, and it's only 180 miles, too, which means that 3 hours would be some fabulous lower time-limit for the trip, but with the speed restriction of the energy crisis, John enjoys going along at 50 until it seems clear that the limit's 55, and still it's quite slow to me. Stop for gas and it's expensive even in Jersey at 46¢ a gallon, and we go on until a rest stop when John changes with me after he's done about 110 miles, and I drive up in front of the house. Topsy again remembers him, Tom's guarding our view from the suckling pig babylike in the sink, where they killed it but DIDN'T gut it, and John SAYS he saw Tom pulling at the guts and maybe something burst to give it the horrible taste and smell of the meat the next day. The kids are shouting around the house, Kathy is busy with cleaning up, and then we have a lunch of franks and beans and bread, and then we read for a bit, and dinner is snails in mushrooms, not THAT bad, I even have three of them, though I don't prefer them, and I can't remember what he had for the main course, but the girls "can't stand it," and have to have some presents, so we give them ours and a few others, and then they're pushed up to bed before the fire goes out, and we sit around and talk, and I've read some of "The End of the Dream" by Wylie, just to pass the time, and then sit and look into the fire, which is very pleasant, and the tree downstairs is nice, the river is high and flowing freely, there's enough snow and ice around to make it look like a real Christmas, and it's surely better spending it here in this atmosphere than back in the non-countryside feeling of New York. And then Kathy is doing all the work, so we just have to put up with the kids and that's the extent of our obligations. Oh, we went out for a walk, meeting some gal who ran through the snow trying to act like a kid, and ended up at the bookstore browsing through the stacks, enjoying the cold and the briskness of the snow underfoot, going through the car-filled cemetery, looking at the town, enjoying some of the crotches, not many, sadly, on the college guys, and then to bed, when I felt so horny that I came under the sheets without (?) John's knowing it.
DIARY 44309
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 25. Christmas, and the kids were allowed to unpack their stockings, and when we're all gathered about 8 am we're down to the basement where the candles on the tree are lit and the fire's going (to be punctuated by a LOUD crack, probably, as Tom thought, by moisture under the concrete steaming and cracking the base of the place) and Alison's barely down the stairs before she shrieks "A bike and with three gears, too," so everyone figures she must have sneaked down for a look. John gets a great cookbook from France, and there are pictures from the kids, he loves his India book, and my scroll for a bathrobe is appreciated objectively and loved humorously in its form of an index, telling me to throw out the OLD bathrobe. The kids have gift after gift, Becky getting about a half-dozen deer, each of which she religiously kisses, and Tom gives Kathy a dictionary of Shakespeare's characters, which I glance through. She's prepared a breakfast of sausage and bacon and muffins which she's brought downstairs, and it's a very nice Christmas morning. Back upstairs to finish reading "The End of the Dream" and then there's nothing ELSE to do, so I get "Citizen in Space" and read THAT through the afternoon, and by that time it's ready for dinner, and the pig is smelly, but most of it is good, and the beans are tasty with the nuts, and then afterward the couple of which the girl is one come over for sherry and plum pudding with hard sauce, and it's so rich and filling that I can only have two portions and not three. Cathy talks on and on to John about her coming panic at the age of 40, how she wants to get into teaching, how she feels she must change her life, and all the while Tom is sitting grimly on the settee listening to all the things that by rights she should have told HIM. Pity ME the day John talks to someone as he should talk to ME! It goes on and on until finally I'm about to drop with sleep, so I go upstairs, but that finishes THEIR talk, too, and I have another bout with their awful shower with the feather-light cold water dispenser, and there have been run-ins with the cat and the rabbit and the gerbils and the dog, so it's again been a lovely day, thanks to the Warners and their old-fashioned house and hospitality. I even feel easier about being sick tomorrow.
DIARY 4310
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 26. Wake at 3 am with a pressure to go to the john, and just as I'm slipping out of bed it sloops out and I dribble into the bathroom to find my shorts brown for about three-by-one inch of area in the back, and there's a TREMENDOUS flow of diarrhea into the john, and I flush and flush, hoping I'm not bothering anyone, and then when I'm FINALLY done, I wash out my shorts and put them on a hanger to dry and get back into bed. Then at 6 there's another flux, this time getting there safely, and get down to breakfast in the morning feeling pretty lousy, and the food tastes pretty good, but I'm lazing downstairs thumbing through a copy of National Geographic and I just DON'T feel like continuing, so I'm back upstairs to undress and crawl into bed. Shit again about noon, somewhat less than before, and John comes up to console me, and I finally get around to reading a bit, but I really don't FEEL like it, so I stop trying and merely lay there dozing until he comes up about 7 with my dinner (Alison came up about 6, VERY tentatively, John said, to ask for her sweater from a drawer she said got stuck, and she was APPALLED when it didn't stick when I tried it), pigs without the blanket, which I thought was a good idea since I didn't relish the idea of cabbage with MY stomach, and the meat was quite good, the rice less so, and the beans tasty, so I even sent him back down for more meat and beans, to his and Kathy's delight. The kids had gone out to watch "Tom Sawyer" at the movies and had to eat at a different time, and John said that dinner was pleasant, and I enjoyed laying through the day, hoping that my sickness wouldn't make a mess on the trip, hoping that dinner would stay IN. Happily it did, and I didn't have any more soiled underwear to wash as I did the last ones. Read just a bit into "The Hero with 1000 Faces," but too tired to finish more than 50 pages. John and I smoked, and I feared not being able to sleep because of my sleep through the day, but I slept STRAIGHT through until about 7, when I had to go to the john again, but more under control, and I got down to breakfast of eggs and a hash-roll, and felt like eating even more, and we left at 10 am, and why is it that I'm going through to the NEXT day: don't have holes in the side of the paper and I think I'm typing on a continuous FORM, or something!
DIARY 4311
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 27. Got more gas to fill up before we started out, and John drove straight through without stopping once, and even got in at 2, for the SAME amount of time coming back, even though we went a slower way just so he could get another full tank of gas. He didn't want to have lunch, but I was starved, so I gobbled down tuna fish and then started telephoning: David Delete DID have the final pages of the Economics book, so he said he'd send them out by messenger this afternoon, and I decided to TRY the unemployment office to see if they took me a day late, and got down to a blank information line that told me to get on my usual line T, and when I got on THAT fast one, they asked one question, I started saying something about Christmas, and I could have been talking in Ainu for all she cared, just processing my form. By that time it was 3:45 and I called Graham Gross to find he was leaving at 5, so I got there at 4, and he was tied up in his bosses' office, so I sat and read until he came out, then did some xeroxing for him for accounting sheets, putting in a bill for 18 hours for the 18 papers that I did, saying I wouldn't be in before January 4th, since he was going to be VERY busy, as he was today, and I'd be tied up with the indexes, too, and he introduced me to one of his bosses, and looked over the stuff I brought in, saying it looked just great, and it WASN'T skimping too much, so I felt good and he gave me 20 more to bring back whenever I felt like it. Then down to Strand to buy two books for Rita, getting home after 6 pm to find the chicken cooling on the table and John fairly angry, and I'm quite exhausted from the tail-end of WHATEVER it was that I had, so have a good dinner and get BACK to the stamps, going meticulously through the little countries but making NO speed at ALL, so that I'll have a lot to put away Saturday for dinner when Sergio and Kenneth come over for dinner and we "Play with stamps" some more. And then I suddenly remember that LAIRD is suppose to be coming tomorrow, too! Just busy, busy, busy, and the indexes are sort of slopping around in back of my mind: have only TWO weeks to finish TWO indices! Thank GOD John is going to be doing the typing! Stamps till dizzy, then smoke to be able to sleep. THAT old routine again!
DIARY 4312
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 28. Up at 8, too tired to exercise, which has been totally forgotten for about a week now, have breakfast since the trip seems to have enlarged my stomach and my appetite, and settle down to the stamps, going through the catalog and album meticulously, pricing everything and noting everything, and it'll be as grand a process as the 7000 I got from that other stamp company, though this is of even BETTER quality. Finally got through all her albums except the old one, and page through that with disgust, ripping out very good stamps and leaving parts of mint stamps glued to the old pages, not being able to decide whether it would be better to soak them or leave any of the gum on the back. Of course, I take the wrong decision: stamps are SOLD without gum in unused condition, but stamps are NOT sold with perforations torn away or with thin spots, so what I should REALLY do is SOAK the mint stamps from the hinges, but I just don't have the TIME for it. Then Sergio looked through the album when he came over tomorrow and finally decided "I would have given her $20 for the album" and I was happy to see that I didn't cheat her THERE, though HE didn't have the chance to see the FEW odd stamps that COULD be worth about $20 ALONE if they were in good condition. But I just feel that I have to be as expeditious as I can, and it was HER FATHER, and not me, that is really responsible for the awful shape of the majority of the stamps, so I can just do as well as I can and leave it go. Sometime in here I came to a GREAT compromise with myself: was ACTUALLY debating getting one of the six-volume sets, with the years in different albums, which I HATE, but THEN it occurred to me that this album WAS perfect for stamps until 1969, and then I could make my OWN album of pages for stamps BEYOND that, so that I wouldn't have the embarrassment of MANY blank pages in the SCOTT album, and still KEEP the convenience of the Scott numbers in THIS album, and STILL have an alternative in mind for the OVERFLOW. So when I buy Sergio's used catalogs from him I can go through and produce a SECOND album (which will probably ALREADY have more than the first, what with all the postage dues and the new Communist bloc stamps, and have TWO great albums, one INFINITELY expandable. Watch TV 9-11 on the Rockefellers, interesting and informative.
DIARY 4313
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29. I'm engrossed in stamps when the phone rings and it's Laird in town already at 10 am. I put away all the stamps since my time, for now, with them is over, and welcome him at 10:45, and sit around and talk about the house he's bought and the job he's got, and then get out to the Syrian shops so John can get some spices for his rice and lamb stew for tonight and Laird can see what they're like, and we're back to have tuna for lunch (Laird adds a piece of buttered bread), and we debate what museum to go do, and I mention that I'd like to see the double feature at the Guild, which starts at 2:10, and at 1:40 we're out to it, getting there JUST a bit late for the animated "Charlotte's Web" and the girl looks like Mary Poopins (HA!) (like my Nixon and his trikee-down theory) and the story is just the SLIGHTEST bit flat and too long, though the voice of Paul Lynde for the rat is just perfect, and the romanticization of the spider just a bit much, but then "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" is a total delight, perfectly acted by Gene Wilder from limping entrance to real anger and pathos at the end, and some MARVELOUS effects of the "come" wagon, the burping from the super-gas soda, the chocolate river into which the fat kid falls to get "blown up," the raspberry that the utterly despicable rich girl turns into, all are just beautifully done, and Laird LOVES his "So much time, so little to see." Out at 5:40 and get in at 6:10, breathlessly happy that they haven't arrived yet, and I get changed and ready JUST as they enter, and make hefty frozen daiquiris for everyone which oils the evening along just perfectly. Sergio brings me MORE stamps, and we look through Cyndy's stuff and MY stuff, and he ends by thinking that I DO have a great collection, and he might even find some things he likes in my collection of covers---surely from Canada, and I get his OK to send off the stuff to Peter (NO, I DID send it off already, and I had to tell him I didn't get anything BACK yet!). Laird dozes off in his chair, we get to bed at midnight with the dishes not yet washed, having gotten an invitation from Laird's friend to go to the 9 Plus Club tomorrow, which John should like a lot, and Laird's even stopped talking from the level that John said he couldn't STAND through his first day here.
DIARY 4314
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 30. Out at 8 to get the papers since the phone rang at 6 and Don Nolie showed up at 6:30, so they're not ABOUT to be up, and I read the whole thin thing quickly and even finish with the puzzles before they're up and about at 12:30, and Don takes ages in the bathroom and Laird says that the whole day could be spent around Don. We don't eat in order to have the brunch at the 9 Plus Club, and we leave at 2, John dropping us off as he goes to pick up some ginger jam from Kei, and we're upstairs to watch TV for a bit, and we smoke, which makes the afternoon pleasant, though they won't permit us to smoke down in the "dining room." Upstairs is USUALLY for orgies, so they're surprised to see us merely WATCHING the W.C. Fields movie. Down at 3:30 for John and a rather tasty (raw) poached egg on a muffin and sausage, and lots of rolls and coffee available on the side, and I'm having a hunger fit, so that's nice. Introduced to all the butch leather guys, and it occurs to me that they're wearing leather because it holds in all the sags that they've developed over the years, but their TALK is as gentle as a bunch of old aunties, so the mystique is rather off the whole place. But the place IS friendly, which is pleasant, and I get introduced to about half a dozen Bobs and find that they're showing "Poseidon Adventure" on Thursday, so I immediately want to change the schedule for the pinochle game, but it can't be done, so I miss it. But Don assures me that I can give his name and come in anytime as a guest to the 9 Plus Club, and since he's usually on the door, it should be simple. SOME of the guests are dolls, but they're with others and have no eyes for me. We leave for a party which has paté and cheeses and a NICE tree, but it's one of the DULLEST parties since we can't smoke (the landlady and her kids are all over today), and the drinks are mild, and the leather-wearers can't even SIT, for fear of bagging things out. It might might might turn into an orgy, but by 9 it hasn't, and we're all being VERY bored, so finally we leave and get back home to watch the end of "Earth II" on TV, overly enamored of special effects and VERY slow, not very good at all, and John's in bed about 11, we watch the light show for a bit and smoke, and Laird and Don go off across the way and I come rather unsatisfactorily (soft) and get into bed about 1.
DIARY 4315
MONDAY, DECEMBER 31. Get over to the other apartment about 9 to find that Laird has done ALL the dishes while he was waiting for Don to wash [THIS OF COURSE WAS YESTERDAY] and Don leaves fairly early and Laird packs up and takes off about 12. I read "Mindswap" in the evening, but the only bit of work I did during the day was on the Economics index from 4:30 to 7:15, while John delayed and delayed and delayed dinner. "Mindswap" is the greatest book yet, his humor and logical argumentativeness giving it one of the highest 8's ever awarded, and I tell JOHN to read it, too. John seems to have wanted badly to do something this evening, but there's nothing to do, and I'm satisfied to sit home and watch TV, and it ends up that that's what HE does, too, going to bed about 11:30, and I sit and watch for the end of the first of the double features on Channel 13, but having SEEN it, luckily, I can watch the TV showing from Times Square to watch all the people shouting, and then hear the boat whistles and the fireworks and the shouting from OUTSIDE, too, rather impressive, and I try to finish the book but can't, and then watch "West of Zanzibar" with Lon Chaney, and it's one of his MOST bizarre: his wife's lover knocks him down a flight of stairs, crippling him, stealing his wife, and when he finds she's in town with a baby, then dies, he's determined to get his revenge on her lover and "father" and goes to Africa and steals ivory, and brings the girl up as a prostitute, then wants to confront the two with each other, kill the father and burn the daughter as his suttee, but it turns out that it's HIS daughter, and Lon Chaney goes through the MOST dramatic motions on the silent screen. That's over at 1:30, and I just don't feel like going to sleep, so I watch the end of "Carousel" for the ballet scene, forgetting that it's RIGHT at the end, and I try and try to come nicely, but it just doesn't work, and the end of the film is at 3 am, and I've been smoking and eating and generally going to pot, and it's not the BEST way to bring in the new year, but at least I've finished TYPING about it this Saturday evening at 6 pm, with my shoulders ACHING from the drag of my typing fingers, and I see the flip at the bottom that means that I'm now on the LAST line from the year 1973, and WELCOME TO 1974!