check in. sort of SBD

writing: why yes, I am writing books, thank you. I got my characters out of the soup conversation, into the actual soup and now they're cleaning up the mess. I'm not sure about my soupy orgies though.

Hey, guess what. Bet you can't guess.

Give up?

I actually witnessed an orgy, long ago.

I sat and read a magazine in the room with the orgy-participants. It had started as a small party and ended up something more. I didn't want to join in but I didn't want to be thought a rude prude and leave the small apartment. So I really did sit, drinking rum with a magazine on my nearly naked lap (I'd gotten to the point of nearly undressing) and tried to pretend that magazine (I have no idea what it was but I suspect it was some Art Monthly thing) was the most fascinating bit of literature, ever.

I wonder how I managed to survive those years when I didn't want to have anyone think badly of me. What a lot of work and what nice people I met back then because if I'd met anyone horrible? I'd have been sheeple enough to go along. Baaaa.

Reading: Just listened to Topper which had some great moments of snark, but was more outdated than any book I've read in .... forever. It was set during prohibition and is almost all about drink and hussies (must be pronounced "huzziez" to get it right.) It's generally silly and I found it difficult to sort out the moments when the silliness was intentional and when it was Thorne Smith trying to be profound. Was it supposed to be racy or make fun of something that pretended to be racy? I don't know. The ghosts were inconsistent and that was annoying, too. Thorne was like a not particularly successful imitation of Booth Tarkington who's also outdated but still fun.

Oh and, say,** the dialogue, which was advertised as witty, is often mind-numbingly Dumb. The battling Kerbys were dull.

I forgave it enough to listen to the whole thing because of little gems--like the character whom no one particularly thinks about because he plays a clarinet not badly enough to be mocked and not well enough to be interesting. And I liked Topper's obsession with his cat, Scallops.

I must say that the movie with Cary Grant as George Kerby was way better, like a thousand gazillion trillion times better. Anything with Cary Grant would be.

I have to listen to books these days because if I sit down for more than a few minutes, I get hit with the damned panic. Hoo boy am I sick of the damned panic. Even knowing all the Great Secrets of Dealing With Panic (basic big secret: don't worry, be happy--rejoice in the panic cuz panic's not going anywhere, babee.) I can't seem to get cozy with it. It's even more tiresome than the bickering Kerbys and that's saying something.

** the characters are always throwing in the word "say." It's the "like" of the 1920s


  1. Oh. My god.

    I'm just imagining you sitting primly reading a magazine while an orgy goes on.

    Oh. My. God. On so many levels. It's like a scene out of a book. A funny book. I would love to know more about this. And not (just) for the sake of prurience - it's a fascinating anecdote for all kinds of reasons.

  2. I tried reading Topper one time after greatly enjoying the Cary Grant movie. Didn't like it.

    For a long time was sure that Jeeves and Wooster were going to be like Topper. Not a bit, thank God.

  3. That's kind of a way cool 60ish story that I really enjoyed, particularly the magazine part.

    I hate the panic. What is the cure for that? Right now, I'm going to walk up the hill to the Mormon Temple and see the big white marble Jesus. See what he has to say. Mormons. Such un.

  4. I haven't got a clue what you're going through, Kate, but I feel for you.

    Stiff Upper Lip, what?**

    [** probably comes across as unhelpfully flippant but is my attempt at demonstrating sincere good wishes]

  5. I love that movie. I agree, anything with Cary Grant was brilliant. We watched His girl Friday and Husband was deeply impressed with the fast dialog, timing and length on one take scenes. You'd never find that chemistry today. Moonlighting maybe.

    Say, The only way I can cope with panic is to make it funny. Blow the worries up into ridiculous extremes, I say, until it makes me laugh. Laughter is amazing medicine. So is running. Say, Laugh hysterically while running, Kate!! That'll fix you up.

  6. Hee! to the magazine story. I went to a sex party many years ago, got all dressed up but it was for naught as everyone checked most of their clothes at the door. The door-check person just bundled each person's clothes in numbered plastic bags and handed out towels. I forget how we kept track of our numbers.

    I spent the evening awkwardly wandering around, which was what I ended up doing at most regular parties, too. I am just not that good at parties, unclothed or otherwise.

  7. dean, it really was funny. Even at the time I sensed the absurdity.

    No way Jeeves and Wooster could be outdated. It's too perfect.

    CD, it might have been a 60s moment but it was in the 80s.

    Tumperkin, meh, everyone's got something. I've had panic for 20 something years. It comes and goes.

    At least I no longer wait to be hauled off to the loony bin. I was sure I was heading there until someone pointed out that panic has a finite end point and you can't get past some number, say ten--or eleven. No toppling into complete gibbering craziness of 25, at least not more than a few times.

    Lyvvie, that's why I'm running. Run off those chemicals! yay!

    Else. Blog it. I'll read it a bunch of times.

  8. no seriously, Elsewhere.... I'll be watching for it.

  9. Seriously, I'd love to blog it but I have to think about whether my parents can handle it. Or rather, whether I can handle knowing they're reading it.

    I wrote it all down at the time and it went on for pages and pages. I figured (rightly, so far) that I was never going to another sex party again so I'd better record the experience for posterity. Of course I have no idea where this document is. Could be in the plastic file cabinets under the desk. Hmm... *off to look*

  10. You know what would make your magazine story perfect?

    If it were Mad.

    "Look at this picture. If I fold it just so -- damn! I can't make it out! C'mon, you guys, help me out here, what's this supposed to be? And Spy vs. Spy, can someone please explain this to me . . . guys? Guys?"


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