Sunday, October 05, 2008
Newport Lights
Walking back from the 7-11 I passed two cars that had pulled over after a minor fender bender. Nothing to see there. A young woman leaned out the passenger side window of the first car & asked me, in a New York accent, "Mistah, do you have a Newpawt?" No doubt about it, that kind of event would trigger a major craving in any smoker or ex-smoker, the ex's could be excused for indulging. But specifically a Newport? I'm not sure I ever knew a male who smoked Newports. I've known plenty of female college students, poets, artists, & dancers who smoked Newport Lights, often in combination with a Diet Pepsi, the latter preferably in a cup over ice to cut the carbonation.
I recall many lovely afternoons in the company of Claudia, my painter- young mother-older woman friend (by two years, it seemed like a lot at the time), chatting in her living room about the beautiful new Minimalist Music, & lack of interesting art in Soho galleries, & which poets were underrated or overrated, while her toddler son tranced out on Sesame Street in his bedroom. Claudia was the epitome of the Newport Lights / Diet Pepsi woman, sophisticated but not snobby, feminist but not in a condition of outrage, outside categories of hippie or punk, inclined to depression by brain chemistry & life's absurdities, the latter including a premature marriage to a pleasant man that was only alright & so she sensed wouldn't survive, & ultimately didn't, but she appreciated the equilibrium & security. I liked her. We were two young artists. "My neighbors think I'm a fortuneteller," she'd say. "No, " I'd say, " they think you're a Jew because you're married to one & not a blonde." They probably also thought she was having an affair with a college guy. Claudia may have been my first real female friend, when I learned to accept, reluctantly yes, sexual attraction as something I wasn't compelled to act upon like an adolescent just because it was there, but could enjoy as a natural spice.
"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." Thomas Jefferson
I recall many lovely afternoons in the company of Claudia, my painter- young mother-older woman friend (by two years, it seemed like a lot at the time), chatting in her living room about the beautiful new Minimalist Music, & lack of interesting art in Soho galleries, & which poets were underrated or overrated, while her toddler son tranced out on Sesame Street in his bedroom. Claudia was the epitome of the Newport Lights / Diet Pepsi woman, sophisticated but not snobby, feminist but not in a condition of outrage, outside categories of hippie or punk, inclined to depression by brain chemistry & life's absurdities, the latter including a premature marriage to a pleasant man that was only alright & so she sensed wouldn't survive, & ultimately didn't, but she appreciated the equilibrium & security. I liked her. We were two young artists. "My neighbors think I'm a fortuneteller," she'd say. "No, " I'd say, " they think you're a Jew because you're married to one & not a blonde." They probably also thought she was having an affair with a college guy. Claudia may have been my first real female friend, when I learned to accept, reluctantly yes, sexual attraction as something I wasn't compelled to act upon like an adolescent just because it was there, but could enjoy as a natural spice.
Labels: growing up, love, sex
