Ninon de L’Enclos to The Marquis de Sevigne

Shall I tell you what makes love so dangerous? ‘Tis the too high idea we are apt to form it. But to speak the truth, love, considered as passion, is merely a blind instinct, that we should rate accordingly. It is an appetite, which inclines us to one object, rather than another, without our being able to account for our taste. Considered as a bond of friendship, where reason presides, it is no longer a passion and loses the very name of love. It becomes esteem: which is indeed a very pleasing appetite, but too tranquil; and therefore incapable of rousing you from you present supineness.

If you madly trace the footsteps of our ancient heroes of romance, adopting their extravagant sentiments, you will soon experience, that such false chivalry metamorphoses this charming passion into a melancholy folly; nay, often a tragical one: a perfect frenzy! but divest it of all the borrowed pomp and opinion, and you will then perceive how much it will contribute both to your happiness and pleasure. Be assured that if either reason or knight errantry should be permitted to form the union of our hearts, love would become a state of apathy and madness.

It is One of Those Sad Truths…

I adore Belle de Jour’s blog(the book and TV series, considerably less so-I am cold and analytical, so I direct you towards Debauchettes disappointed yet earnest summation of the Showtime series). Belle brings up a great point in a recent entry, and it’s one I’ve had the good fortune to contend with for longer than I enjoy considering:

This is a whole new world to me, one in which women give blow jobs once a year and only after an expensive night out. A world where a girl consenting to watching softcore with her partner is rewarded with professions of love and a holiday in the Alps. Where threesomes are le dernier cri in unfulfillable fantasies. A world, if you can imagine, where people who sleep in the same bed elect to have sex with one another as infrequently as they can manage.
…
Lest you think I’m laying all blame for this state of affairs at the doorstep of women, I feel obliged to clarify - certain men encourage this behaviour. I’ve known men to walk away from a sexual dynamo only to end up panting at the feet of a frigid hag by choice. Clearly, in some minds, girls who have less sex must have pussies that are lined with gold. If you’re one such chap, here’s a free clue: the M1 still goes north regardless of how many people drive on it, ‘kay?

A giant part of the reason that I inwardly cringe when dates or even best male friends toss me off towards a group of the women that are part of their circle is due to the above.
I can’t stand hearing about how ones boyfriend hasn’t called for three days, and he had better show up with flowers and jewelry to appease her. Or how ones boyfriend wants a guys weekend and this, this, and this is how he had better make it up to her.
…
Seriously? I can let a week go by before I even begin to wonder…and go off with the guys please so I can fly to Buenos Aires for some downtime, alone.

The day before yesterday I had to endure a group of that sort of stereotype of American women for an insufferable afternoon. I wanted a valium and downed martinins instead. By the end of the day, I would have begged a doctor for a valium injection had I not been so exhausted. 

Mind you, my mouth stays firmly clamped in public. More often than not I adhere to the “shut up and smile” rule. Only those I trust enough to be intimate with - friends and lovers - are priviledged (or unlucky, take your pick) to the degree of truly knowing just how quick and opinionated my tongue can lash. I’m as endearing as an episode of the Family Guy.

So I listen half-assedly because watching the traffic go by is even more tedious:

Woman #1 began, once the men were out of earshot, to discuss withholding sex to get what she wanted.* You know communication being the immense difficulty it is and all. Woman #2, for the sake of continuity, rallied behind her sentiments with the glee of a near-special cheerleader. As Woman #3 began to say-hope of all hopes, I felt for a brief second-that she didn’t think withholding sex was appropriate, the first two talked over her and she retreated.

When asked for my opinion, I said “I do lovers, not boyfriends”.

I’m fully aware that there are exceptions to this rule(as with all rules). It’s been my luck, to have met and maintain friendships with some of the most amazing women-and men-alive.

My angst is not directed solely at women, and not in this post in particular: as Belle points out, women engage in the behaviors but a good amount of men encourage it.

Three of my favorite and most often sketched, painted, and prosaically pondered subjects have been Narcissus, Ophelia, and Eva/Ave. Something for my therapist to love, no doubt. It’s the latter, the Madonna/Whore dichotomy, which has troubled me the last few years.

It’s a difficult thing to be a sensualist: I’m not overtly sexual on the surface, least not in the day-to-day-that’s just dull and unimaginative. Sensuality is its own thing and I refine it as deeply as possible; it’s elegance and seduction, an extension of Epicureanism. With a subdued deportment comes misunderstandings: a considerable amount of those I have dated seem to objectify me as some sort of nice, sweet little thing - a Charlotte, if you will.

They’re not entirely off base. Love makes weaker than anything.

Few who date me from World #1(I’ve more than a double life-more like 2.5, at least) manage to get close to discovering that. Once sex begins in a relationship, I can see the disappointment slowly build. As long as I’m moderately interested at first, they’re fine. Once I am comfortable and let go, I can see, feel the discomfiture grow.

One of the men at this gathering was someone I dated a few years back-a fellow from World #1. As the comfort and trust expanded and my inner whore was unleashed, he began retreating. It was a long painful mess. A perfect fresh hell.

Now? He’s dating Woman #2. Per the best friend, said fellow is “frustrated. He complains about her all of the time, but he won’t leave her. Like he can change her sex drive or something. I wonder why you two didn’t work out: you’re a whore and that’s what he wants. Or says he wants.”

I can’t manage to feel empathy.

That’s why I enjoy the demimonde: if I have to be objectified as anything, I’d prefer to be considered a whore first. A whore with a heart of gold is in the end always better received than the nice girl who you eventually find out enjoys-encourages-acting out rape fantasies.

*Caveat lector: Withholding affection, including sex and emotions, intentionally, is in my view a crime.

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I Had No Idea!

Spinoza on courtesans.

The most delightful and informative post I’ve come across on wordpress yet.

Update: I don’t agree completely with Spinoza, and will refrain from supposition until I read the texts considered in the article.

The Bane of Obamamania

From The Economist, an article on the potential “New Democratics” sums up what may well occur if Obama doesn’t bring in the right players:

The ambition of Mr Obama’s team is exciting, but in office it could be dangerous. In 1993 the clever Clintons tripped up very quickly. What if Congress doesn’t care for the finely-tuned policies of Mr Obama’s top-notch economists? Or if Mr Obama finds he can’t pull out of Iraq as planned? Or if Americans tire of his charisma and he stops being able to attract adoring crowds tens of thousands strong? The lynchpin of his campaign has been a faith, almost messianic, in his personal excellence. If that fades, then the whole operation could collapse in frustration and disillusionment.

As an acquaintance remarked: Obama is the fourth member of the Holy Trinity, should he condescend to join them. Keenly expressed. The most worrisome characteristic of the Obama campaign is his patronising and messianic manner which, from my vantage point, auspicates failure if not disaster.

There’s confidence, and then there is swaggering conceit: the declarations that they will only run once, Melissa Harris-Lacewell’s terrible comment on Real Time that its no longer about whether we should vote Obama but whether we deserve Obama, among storied others. I have no doubt that Obama feels complacent in his arrogance despite his paper-thin resume and frequent inability to be anything but “present” while on the floor(oh, and his fantastic ascent as a career politician of the worst sort must pad his ego).

Obama will never deliver on his promises. He can’t-his promises have been unrealistic. At best, he will reverse the way things have been going and only slightly at that. Mostly, he will not usher in an era of “new politics”-politics will never change. His campaign is already showing weakness in that manner by attacking McCain on the age issue.

The reality of Obama will disappoint, and I’ll be sitting in Europe witnessing the fallout, tsk-tsking all of you pesky Obama supporters while trying to stop myself from descending into pure schadenfreude as I witness the disillusion of an entire generation.

Gore Vidal: It Will Take A Century

America’s greatest living writer, and an author of prolifically significant distinction, has said:

“The president behaved like a virtual criminal but we didn’t have the courage to sack him for fear of violating the American constitution,” Vidal told the El Mundo newspaper.

The author, a trenchant critic of the US-led invasion of Iraq, said it would take the United States “100 years to repair the damage” caused by Bush.

“We live in a dictatorship. We have a fascist government …which controls the media,” he said.

I don’t know if I fully agree that it will take a century. At least, not economically. The perception of America and its citizens, on the other hand…

I presume this is the interview? (I’m unable to locate any El Mundo interview.) Fairly shoddy, even for the NYTimes.

As always, the UK is far superior: The Independent and Channel 4 interviewed him in late May. Then again, the UK hardly feels intimidated by the eloquently abusive. They’ve the patent on that talent.

 

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HORRORS!

From the roguish fellows at Dandyism.net on the big screen adaptation of Brideshead Revisited:

“The Independent summarized the “remarkable differences” between the novel and new version. These include an apparently incestuous relationship between Sebastian and Julia which Charles ultimately joins; Lady Marchmain’s encouragement of Julia’s marriage to Rex, a Protestant; an innuendo that Lord Marchmain buggers his children (at least the good looking ones); and the intensification of Charles and Sebastian’s relationship from mildly homoerotic to outright homosexual.

And most troubling, there have been conflicting reports of whether Aloysius, Sebastian’s teddy bear, wound up on the cutting room floor or merely peed on it.”

I’ll watch it solely to gripe about it. Stellar as always, Hollywood.

Ninon De Lenclos, On Her Last Birthday

by Dorothy Parker

So let me have the rouge again,
And comb my hair the curly way.
The poor young men, the dear young men
They’ll all be here by noon today.

And I shall wear the blue, I think—
They beg to touch its rippled lace;
Or do they love me best in pink,
So sweetly flattering the face?

And are you sure my eyes are bright,
And is it true my cheek is clear?
Young what’s-his-name stayed half the night;
He vows to cut his throat, poor dear!

So bring my scarlet slippers, then,
And fetch the powder-puff to me.
The dear young men, the poor young men—
They think I’m only seventy!

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