London. “City, city!”, as cries Tom Rakewell.
It’s been a pleasant if tentative weekend: having achieved a successful research seminar on Thursday, with the grand old man of musicological modernism Arnold W. in attendance (astonishing that he would be there – it couldn’t have been my topic, so I myself must have been the attraction), I went shopping (mostly for books), wandered around, got tired, thought of going to gay bars but didn’t feel quite up to it. The attractions of London: with which I couldn’t quite bring myself to grapple. (It might have been an easier way of having fun to meet Patrick in Manchester, where he says he’s ‘bashing bears’ at the Bear Bash.)
Actually, the great pleasure was three hours, yesterday, with Sophie. Although today I had a similar lunch with Adam, noted London writer/networker and charming, kindly gossip, there were elements of that second meeting that were a bit too narcissistic and grasping on both sides. With Sophie, on the other hand, although I can’t help wondering how many annoying tics I exhibited (talking about myself, talking while eating, etc.) the experience was more honest, alive. When I found the restaurant I was in a bad mood, tired from not sleeping, embarrassed over feeling rather ill the night before, sort of wanting to flee London; but with Sophie all was intelligent and affectionate amusement, even to wandering through a record store and sharing giggly comments on the apparent and real achievements of the artists represented there.
I continue to claim, though it may rank people in an unfair hierarchy, that there are people in one’s life who are simply wiser, more supportive, more deeply honest (emotionally, intellectually, etc.) than others. I think here of dear Trisha in Phoenix, of Susan H. in LA, and of Mitchell, of Terry, of David in that same city; and of people I haven’t seen in a long time, such as Bill in San Francisco, Laura now in New York, Jay who died last year, and of course V. who has made such an impact on this blog, and David O.-S. so recently gone. These are all people who have, I think, never lied to me, in any fashion; and more importantly people with whom I have practically never had a spare hour, over dinner or a drink or the phone, from which I didn’t come away refreshed, happier, ready to go on.
Why do such people seem to have a different status in one’s life than others? It’s not a measure of how much one loves a person, or of how big they loom in one’s life – there are others we care about who don’t quite have this status – it’s something a bit more abstruse, something suggested by Californian reincarnation fantasies of ‘old souls’, or nineteenth-century fantasies of ‘soulmates’. I often feel that I’m not getting enough of that kind of person: but I feel it in a greedy, rather childlike way – I want more attention, more support, from people who – one instinctively feels – can only spare me so much contact before they must go and do, well, their angels’ work on earth.
But perhaps this is a fantasy, even a mutual one in some cases: Trisha and I have long shared the joky promise that if, in another lifetime, we ever get this gender/sex thing sorted out correctly (i.e. that we come back not as a lesbian and a gay man, but as a pair of people with sexual orientations that actually point towards each other), that we’ll be lovers.
•••
Probably, when that happens, she’ll be the guy, as she is definitely the more take-charge and studly of us two. But think of the confusing combinations that could happen instead! – must make a matrix of possibilities….
(I've never used ConceptDraw before – this program is obviously designed for engineers, there are no human figures anywhere in it.)
Okay: the theory of this is slightly exasperating. If both gender and orientation are random, we have a one in four (four in sixteen) chance of getting it right. (Oddly, until I made the chart, I hadn’t been clear that each of the four possibilities is only successfully mated with one of the others… hmm. Strange that such an obvious thing would give me pause – I must be confused by all that queer theory.) And only one of the four is unsuccessful, without frustrating one of the partners unfairly – i.e. the combination we have now – and there’s a one in two chance of one of us being cruelly disappointed (i.e. if, say, I’m me and she’s a handsome, athletic, redheaded straight guy – all of which adjectives pretty much apply to her present life, except of course the last one).
… Should I have included bisexuality? – or transgender surgery? – oh that’s too many variables, Judith Butler will have to do the diagrams.
On the other hand, what if gender in reincarnation is random, but sexual orientation is not? (Hey, it’s my theory, I get to make the rules. And besides I have lots o’ trouble seeing myself as a lesbian, in any universe.) Then, we’re limited to p = f/s, m/g; t = m/s, f/g. (Yes, I’m slightly unamused at p = f/s, but hey it’s more possible than the deleted others.) And we’re then still one in four – only one, rather boringly normal, combination is successful; and two still lead to unrequited sorrow.
Perhaps we should be happy as we are.
Perhaps I should have gone out to a gay bar!...
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