August 11, 2009. It was very hot in New York yesterday, and the air was thick with humidity. I closed my terrace door for the first time (during the day) this summer. The columnar fans did the trick. By late afternoon there was a breeze that was thick with heat. I was reminded of the Santa Anas in LA although the New York one was so warm it felt like it could have started a fire.
Today is the birthday of my international beloved and/or reviled colleague, if I may be so bold, Taki Theodoracopulos, the international pundit’s pundit, playboy (ret.), yachtsman, Gstaadian literary gadfly-by-night, loyal friend, father and ex-husband. Taki, right now, from what I could gather, is on his yacht in the Mediterranean or the Aegean or somewhere beautiful and heavenly, living the good life. I’ve been reading Taki for many years -- at first in Spectator (Brit.). I must admit many times I was outraged at what I read. On the other hand, I liked the writer, even if I didn’t think the writer would like me. He's smart and witty. He has balls and he can laugh, including at himself. It always makes me laugh when I think of him; he gives that pleasure to even the passing parade. Taki was born a rich boy and it hasn’t changed him in the least. He’s still a rich boy. Happy Birthday Taki.
I have been reading Trollope’s “The Way We Live Now.” It’s about a thousand pages which is the reason why I’ve had it sitting at my bedside unopened for so long. However, two weeks and almost 800 pages later, it’s as if none of that happened.
“The Way We Live Now” was published in 1875. Greed, avarice and venality were flourishing in Victorian England, which was then the center of the world, not unlike New York of the past few decades. The main interest was in Getting the Money. The novel is about what goes on in the lives and thoughts of those people, not to mention the poor sons-a-bitches who had to put up with them as plied their trade which was bamboozlement.
Reading this book is like reading “very good gossip.” Frankly I rarely hear “very good gossip” myself. But when I do, it has the effect of a very good novel. Or biography. It’s rich and real. Mr. Trollope is constantly filling you in on the situation and the characters who are operating. It is easy to compare the time and the characters to today in New York. So easy as to be cliché. I have to keep reminding myself that it's not just like Now but rather Now is just what it’s like.
It is one of those books that when I close it (to be continued) I often say aloud: “I love this book.”
Sometimes when it is near me on my desk, I like to put my hand on the cover just feel its presence. I am in awe of Mr. Trollope, although I am not the first or last.
In its way it is a solace for what is going on now. Even the main character can be likened in many ways to Bernie Madoff.
Changing the subject but not really. Yesterday’s Washington Social Diary, if you didn’t notice was Carol Joynt’s commentary on the Diane Schuler story. Mrs. Schuler was the woman who drove the wrong way down the Taconic on July 26th killing her 2-year-old daughter, three young nieces and three men in the SUV she struck. Mrs. Schuler was drunk from vodka shots and high on grass.
Carol’s editorial was about how “using” is epidemic in our population and, in Carol’s piece, specifically among women of a certain socio-economic level, namely the affluent, although I tend to think it covers all levels. She hit a delicate note very clearly, judging from the mail she’s been getting.
Among her responses have been women candidly confiding their battle with drugs and alcohol. If you have ever attended a 12-step meeting – Alcoholics Anonymous or Al-Anon, or related meetings – you know that this is all common place, almost as to be ordinary. We are a society rife with what we call addiction. It’s a reflection of us, and our relationship to our world. It is not a condemnation but a reflection. And I am of the opinion that such “addictions” for want of a more adequate word, are simply the individual’s response to the current situation that he or she calls My Life. It is, I should add, only one such response. There are others, such as violence.
I’m of the generation that most people I know have done drugs, smoked grass, done coke or “ludes” or LSD or mushrooms or more recently, Vicodin or Oxycontin or Valium or Xanax. Many of these people are drug takers as much as pleasure seekers. A friend of mine who has taken Ambient every night since it came on the market does not regard herself as an addict. She likes it. It works for her. I don’t take sleeping pills. I read if it gets that bad.
We do not confide our addictions. Even the sound of the word gets in the way. Humiliation is buried in there close to the surface. No good comes of humiliation. Part of that is self-protection, protection from being “judged.” Not necessarily judged as “bad” but maybe judged as “inadequate” or “weak” or “stupid” or “helpless.” Or wounded.
In the time of Trollope, the opiate was, according to him, drink. The aristos who had nothing but time and money (even if they didn’t have it handy), boozed non-stop. And it showed. That is the opiate talked about in Trollope.
However, in the age of Trollope, the popular opiate among the upper classes was Laudanum, opium-derived. Like cocaine today, it was very popular with the English upper class, and if you want an example of what kind of English upper class I’m talking about, how about Queen Victoria, the old girl herself? It was a painkiller, prescribed for all kinds of ailments. A little laudanum before bedtime did the trick. This is not obscure: consider the history of the West with China, the Opium Wars, etc.
It’s not that history repeats itself so much as it never stops delivering the message. In New York it is common knowledge that many of the social ladies, keep a vial of Zoloft or xanax or other comfort pills at the ready. A friend told me that a great many of the ladies at a very popular suburban (Long Island) country club keep a vial handy in their lockers for after the game. This is a matter of fact, nothing more than habit.
The younger members of this same echelon have even more insidious problems. A famous American drug rehabilitation center was opening a branch in Manhattan. One of its supporters discussed the matter with me. They already had a waiting list. The problem wasn’t prescription drugs with the 20 and 30-somethings. It was cocaine and methamphetamine. Crystal meth. Young women, attractive, educated, brought up in affluence, self-abusing and suicidal. Don’t think they don’t think they’re desperate. They are, and they are not alone in feeling that way.
It’s counter-productive that all of this information must be hidden or disguised to avoid scorn or reproach. But we are a society of hypocrites when it comes to behavior: we condemn others while concealing our own foibles and shortcomings. Our current politicians personify this pithily. We may complain about them, but they are us. People Like Us, as Dominick Dunne wrote, or: The Way We Live Now.
Meanwhile, now that you know what I think, last week our friend Jill Lynne went down to the River to River Festival with her camera where she saw and heard Arlo Guthrie, Richie Havens and John Kelly perform. The former two are now folk figures although I was a fan when they were breaking out. Both were heroes of a kind in their day, embodiments of freedom of expression and goodwill toward man. They remain that.
This is Jill’s report (and photos):
"In the old days" every Summer I would join the rush to be away most every weekend. That Hamptons trip back and forth could be chaotic (depending on traffic), significantly time-consuming and exhausting.
Now I enjoy many Summer weekends basking in the beauty and bounty of New York City's glorious parks. Living in the "green" West Village, I am treated to the waterside Hudson River Park (which yours truly worked on as advocate and in-house photographer), the lovely floral Abbingdon Square, Jackson Square's Fountains, the newest unique addition - the High Line - and the diversity of Battery Park - all within easy walking distance. And of course there are those trips to the extraordinary Mother of them - glorious Central Park. Oh-how-fortunate are we New Yorkers.
This year the River to River Festival, based in Battery Park's historic Fort/Castle Clinton (1811), hosted by the Downtown Alliance and sponsored by American Express, celebrated the 40th Anniversary of Woodstock. With free concerts by headliners wonderful Richie Havens (who opened Woodstock in 1969), the amazing Arlo Guthrie, (who performed brilliantly for two solid hours with song, vignettes and good humor) magical John Kelly's "transformational "Tribute to Joni Mitchell, and Sly & The Family Stone”
These concerts, among the many offered in the City’s Parks, are produced by the important public/private partnerships, that also contribute to the very existence of these green oases. And you dear reader, as part of that very "private" sector may also contribute to this important part of our glorious New York lifestyle. |
